“Nebulous blob?” Bram asks.
“You can read my mind!” I’m offended at the violation of privacy.
“No, you just said nebulous blob,” he says. “Aloud.”
I take in a deep breath, trying to protect my thoughts from his mind-reading abilities. Then I blurt out, “I made out with something. I mean, someone.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, placing my shoes on the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed. “And you’re telling me this because?”
“Because you can tell the things I did.”
His breath hitches slightly and I roll my head to the side to peer down the bed at him. “I let a guy almost have sex with me in the bathroom. He was twenty-four and a Giants fan.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Sounds like half the boys in the city.”
“But I didn’t have sex with him.”
“No? Are you an Oakland A’s fan?”
“I’m a Giants fan,” I snipe, getting defensive. “And he wasn’t you.”
He tilts his head, studying the nebulous blob on the bed. “So why did almost have sex with him to begin with, if you knew he wasn’t me?”
“Because,” I say, frustrated. I place my hand over my eyes. My hand smells like beer. It makes me want to vomit. “I didn’t want the last person I kissed to be you. I wanted to wipe you from my lips.”
A heavy silence fills the room. I feel like I’m sinking further and further into the bed and I want to panic, thinking it’s swallowing me whole. Man, I haven’t been this drunk in ages. I’m going to regret absolutely everything in the morning.
“I was the last man you kissed?” he asks, his voice light and unbelieving.
I nod. “Yes. At the wedding.”
“And why would you want to erase that kiss?” He puts his hand on my bare leg, just beneath the hem of my dress. I want his hand to go up higher. I want the energy to do something about it.
I also want to pass out.
It’s a conundrum.
“Because,” I tell him. No use in holding back now. “I saw you with that girl later. You took her behind the bushes, to where we just were. You were a fucking asshole. Arsehole.”
I can hear him lick his lips. It sounds so loud in this room. My heart is thumping loud too, like a hammer against a padded wall. “She was second choice,” he eventually says. “You turned me on like nothing else that night, sweetheart, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Go home and jack off like every normal person,” I tell him snidely.
“You know very well that it’s not always a good substitute. And certainly not for a woman like you.” He leans forward and puts his warm hand on my face, his fingers trailing down the side of my cheek. It brings out a shudder in me that I can’t suppress. “I only had eyes for you that night,” he tells me.
He’s a liar. He had eyes for everyone that night. I roll over on my side, away from him, and the room makes this whom whom throbbing sound. I think it’s my brain. I broke it.
“I’m serious, Nicola,” he goes on, voice gritty and soft all at once.
Whatever. “Only an idiot would fall for a line like that,” I mutter into the sheets, sleep coming for me now, wanting me even when I’m feeling slighted.
A pause. I feel his weight lift off the bed and know he’s standing up, bearing over me. “Even smart girls can be fools sometimes.” He sounds almost sad.
I can hear him leave the room and for a moment I think he’s gone and something in my chest seems to be snuffed out. Then he comes back in and places a glass of water on my nightstand and shuts off the bedroom light.
“Ava is asleep. She did fine all night. Her blood was normal. I’m sure she’ll wake you bright and early and you’ll feel like absolute shit. But if you need anything, you know where I am.”
Then he leaves the room and leaves the apartment and I’m swept away into a spiral of beer, shame and regret.
I wish I had the drunken courage to have made him stay.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nicola
“Mommy, are you dead?”
“Almost,” I croak, attempting to open my eyes and roll over at the same time. I fail at both. The room swims and my head feels like it’s full of quicksand. My stomach churns. I don’t want to get up – I fear death by spinning room if I do – but if I don’t, I’m going to puke all over my child.
I can’t believe she’s seeing me like this. I can’t believe I was such an idiot last night.
Memories seep in.
Bram.
Bram.
Bram dragging my drunk ass to sleep.
Bram telling me he only had eyes for me.
Me, who told him I made out with someone else in order to get over him.
Shit.
Now, I’m really going to vomit.
I cover my mouth with my hand, throw back my covers and run into the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time. Somewhere in the back of my head, behind all the vile grossness being evacuated from my body, I hope that Bram can’t hear me. The bathrooms seem soundproof so far – thank God – but this is definitely something I wouldn’t want him to hear.
When I’m done and it feels like I have nothing left in my stomach, I flush the toilet a few times and stagger to my feet. The mirror shows me a hot mess. No, not hot – just a mess.
My hair is somehow still in its updo, but it’s completely askew and fuzzy like one giant dreadlock. My fancy eyeliner is halfway up my temple and the red lipstick is a smudge around my mouth and chin. I look like a creepy clown lady.
I look like a terrible mother.
“Are you sickie?” Ava asks. “Do you need the ouchie now too?”
“I’ll be alright, sweetie,” I tell her, quickly brushing my teeth and attempting to melt off my makeup with cream cleanser. I spend a few minutes trying to make everything right in the world but nothing works. I strip my clothes off, take a hot shower and then get into loose boyfriend jeans and a long grey tunic, all comfy. Anything tight today can just fuck right off.
It’s 7:15 am, so luckily I’m not too behind on Ava’s monitoring. I prick her finger and breathe a sigh of relief when I see the numbers in the normal. Then I get set on getting some egg and avocado in her, with a small slice of wholegrain toast, part of her carb counting to keep her levels in check.
As for me, I can’t eat and I can’t fathom drinking coffee, so I sit on the couch and finish a whole carton of orange juice, feeling sorry for myself. And all the while, I wonder if I’ll hear a knock on the door. I wonder if Bram will come over. I wonder if he still likes me – if anything – after being such a drunken fool last night.
Even smart girls can be fools, I hear his words echo in my head. I know it’s not what he meant, but I’m definitely feeling the fool right now.
When lunch time rolls around, I’m only feeling better enough to have a packet of chicken noodle soup, the fluorescent yellow one that comes in the packet and contains no chicken at all. That, plus Bragg’s soy sauce, plus hot sauce, plus a hit of Worcestershire and a side of toast, and you should be feeling right as rain in no time.
Only I’m not. I lament everything I drank, everything I did, and when Bram still doesn’t show, I start annoying Steph and Kayla via group message.
Steph assures me that Bram used to be worse than what I was last night and that was part of his nightly routine. There was no way he could be looking down on me.
Kayla thinks it’s a shame I passed out before I could get some and when I tell her it wasn’t even on the table because I was so drunk, she says that Bram was more of “the man” than she thought.
But neither have any answers and when I finally have a bit of strength, I go over to his apartment. I knock on the door and wait.