“Mercy didn’t answer when you tried to get a hold of her,” she said.
“Not the first time. You told me she turns off her phone.”
“She does.” Why couldn’t Susan remember any of that?
“I left her a message. Told her I met some groupie, who loves my work, in a bar, and we came back here and fucked like bunnies, and now you need a ride.”
Her face heated to scorching. “You didn’t.”
“No. I told her to call me A-sap. I won’t share details unless you want help filling in the blanks. She got back to me right before you woke up. She’ll be here in about”—he glanced at the clock—“five minutes.”
“Oh.” Susan wasn’t sure what else to say. Her head pounded. She desperately wanted to curl up and go to sleep. Things barely made sense, despite the explanation. Every time she tried to grasp a thought—a flash from earlier tonight—it slipped away. Sometimes she caught the tail, but others vanished in a poof. “Thank you.”
He waved a hand, and turned his gaze away. “Yeah. If you’re okay, Ima watch TV till Mercy gets here.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her anymore. With her heart rate returning to normal and the mental haze slowly lifting, it sank in how much her head hurt. Especially when she tried to wrap it around the situation. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there? Didn’t know Mercy? Hadn’t cared one way or another? Would Susan be waking up with far fewer clothes, in a not-so-kind stranger’s bed?
Her gut lurched. Bile surged into her throat. She stumbled from the bed, and her legs threatened to give out. She bolted for the bathroom. She kicked the door shut behind her and reached the toilet, before the contents of her stomach evicted themselves. The heaves continued after there was nothing left to vomit, and she knelt in front of the porcelain, hating that she had the extra-hot salsa on her nacho burger. The thought made her want to hurl again.
Tears and sweat streamed down her cheeks. She was so stupid to let this happen. A nagging voice reminded her it wasn’t her fault, but she knew better. Always be alert.
Someone knocked nearby, and seconds later, she heard the squeak of hinges. Then Mercy’s voice. She and Andrew spoke in hushed tones, so Susan couldn’t make out the words.
Susan waited until she was sure she wouldn’t puke again, then extracted herself from where she knelt on the floor.
“You alive in there?” Andrew’s question carried through the bathroom door.
“Yeah.” The word rasped out of her throat. She looked in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes stared back, studying blotchy cheeks and swollen lips. Gah. She was a wreck. She splashed cold water on her face. Now she was a drowned wreck, but her skin was cooler.
When someone pushed into the room, she whirled, startled. Andrew didn’t so much as twitch at her appearance. He held out two cups. “Water. Don’t swallow it; rinse your mouth out. Mouthwash. You know how that works. When the nasty vomit taste is gone, drink some water. Tiny sips. No gulping.”
Mercy moved around him—the most welcome sight Susan had seen all night. She rubbed Susan’s back. “You okay?”
“No.” More tears threatened, and Susan swallowed them back. She turned away, cups in hand, and followed Andrew’s instructions, not trusting herself to speak. The mouthwash burned, and she fought her gag reflex. It was pathetic. She didn’t care.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to wash up. Come out when you’re ready,” Mercy said.
Susan closed her eyes and focused on calming down. Knowing security sat outside the door helped. When she was ready, she headed back into the main room.
Mercy sat next to Andrew on the bed, their heads bowed together as they talked in hushed voices. They looked comfortable, as if this was how they spent every free night. According to Mercy’s stories, they had, when they were younger. The two toured a lot of South America and Europe together, in their late teens and early twenties. It was how they met.
A pang of envy knocked behind Susan’s ribs. For Mercy’s experiences. That she had this close friend here and an amazing fiancé at home.
Andrew stood and grabbed Susan’s Converse from the floor next to him. He handed them over with a sympathetic smile.
She was grateful he didn’t say anything, because she didn’t have a lot of brainpower for talking; she used most of it doing up the laces on her shoes.
Mercy moved to stand next to Andrew. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. See you Monday?”
“I’ll be there.” He met Susan’s gaze. “Take care of yourself, Suzie-Q.”
The nickname made her cringe, but a portion of her liked the quirk of his mouth when he said it. She returned the smile.
Moments later, she dropped into the passenger seat of Mercy’s battered Honda. The worn leather was already warm from the heater. With comfort around her, reality threatened to overwhelm Susan again, reminding her how bad things almost got, and she shuddered. “Can I stay with you guys tonight?” She managed to talk without her voice cracking.
“Of course. Don’t want to face Dad?”
Susan frowned at the implication. She didn’t like the nudge that, while Mercy and Dad were on speaking terms after years of being out of each other’s lives, there wasn’t any trust between them. The thought gave Susan a new focus, and she was grateful for that. “He’s in Seattle.”