Trembling from the cold, shock and a growing fear, I grab my jacket to pull it on. I can’t get my hands to work right. The zipper feels painfully cold between my fingertips and I abandon any hope of closing it. Standing quickly, I run back across the rocks and up the bank to my sister’s car. By the time I get there I’m nearly hyperventilating.
Her friends have arrived and they’re standing in a halo of streetlight, clouds of warm breath rising around them in the cold air. Cara sees me and my anxiety must be on my face because she rushes over.
“What’s wrong? Were you sick?” she asks, touching my arm. She frowns and pulls her hand back. “Your coat is wet.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you puke on your coat?” she asks, her face disgusted.
I think of the guy leaning over and throwing up river water.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
“Gross. I think you’re done for the night.”
“Me too,” I say eagerly. I nod but it’s more of a convulsion and I practically run for the car.
Cara says a hasty goodbye to her friends who laugh in understanding. Once inside, she cranks the heat and eyes me, watching me shake.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I just want to go to sleep.”
“That’s a first,” she says, but leaves it at that.
Over the years Cara has learned that I don’t like to talk about half the stuff that goes on when I’m asleep. I’ve seen things and been places that I don’t like to revisit, waking or otherwise.
“What’s that smell?” she asks suddenly.
“My dinner’s second coming.”
“No, you smell like a swimming pool.” She scrunches up her nose and glances sideways at me. “Like chlorine.”
This night is getting weirder by the second. I vow to never drink again
About the Author
I was born in Eugene, Oregon and studied English Literature at the University of Oregon (Go Ducks!) It was there that I discovered why Latin is a dead language and that being an English teacher was not actually what I wanted to do with my life.
My husband, my son and my 80lbs pitbull who thinks he’s a lapdog are my world.
Visit my website for more information on upcoming releases, Tracey Ward
Copyright
Text Copyright © 2014 Tracey Ward
Editor — Jessie Allen
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in book review.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.