There’s a wild fluttering in my stomach, and my heart is pounding, but outwardly I’m calm. I don’t know what’s going on with me right now. I no longer feel in control of my actions—and it’s kind of a relief. I just want to let go for one night.
“Let’s do this,” I say, rolling my shoulders like I’m preparing for a fight. I flash a confident smile at Nick, which he returns hesitantly.
“Okay,” he says, and taps one of the bottles. “My dad got these for his girlfriend. She hates the taste of alcohol, but she says Pinnacle’s flavored vodkas go down smooth, and they’re really tasty.”
I pick one out and study it, noting the strawberries on the label. “Have you tried them?” I ask skeptically.
“Hell, no.” Nick laughs, giving a swift shake of his head. “Come on, now. These are girly drinks—you know I only drink the hardcore manly shit.”
“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Manly,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So what do recommend?”
He has me try several different flavors—and they’re not bad! There’s a mild burn, and kind of a sticky medicinal sweetness—but not enough to put me off. I love the whipped one, mixed with root beer—it’s soo good, I could drink them all day!
I can’t stop raving to Nick about how good they are, and it’s only when I start snort/giggling that I realize…
“I’m drunk!” I exclaim, thunderstruck by the epiphany.
“Congratulations.” Nick grins, and straightens me—as I’m tipping ever so slowly to my right. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter…”
I feel flushed all over, and maybe like I have an inner ear infection—but not in a painful way. Also, it’s like someone turned my volume way up. It’s physically impossible for me to lower my voice. And why should I? I’m having fun!
We’re hanging out in Nick’s loft. The entire second floor landing is his space, and it’s awesome. The sectional sofa is furry and brown, and sitting on it is exactly like being cuddled by a giant teddy bear. In front of the sofa is a kickass giant television—we’re talking movie theater proportions here, people. The loft is large enough to accommodate a pool table, several computers set up on sleek chrome-plated desk, and just about every other toy other boys who aren’t stinking rich can only dream about. Nick has his own bar, for god’s sake. What kind of dumbass parent is Mr. Adler, I wonder. I hope I don’t say that out loud.
We’re sprawled on the furry sofa, watching angst-y eighties movies on Netflix. Nick seems really into it, but that could be because he’s drunk, and on painkillers. It seems a bad combination to me, but he seems mostly fine. Drunk Nick is almost the same as Normal Nick, but more quietly intense.
I, however, am wonderfully exuberant. “What about prom, Blaine?!” I shout at the television screen. “God, Andie! Andeeeeeeee!”
“Oh, it’s like that? What a dick,” Nick mumbles, genuinely pissed. “Why does she even like him, anyway? He looks like something my dog would use to wipe its ass on.”
“Hey, that thing with the thing! In the beginning with the computer? That was so coop!” I sigh. Then I turn to Nick. “You have a dog?”
“Coop?” He laughs quietly. “I had a dog. He died.”
“Aww, that’s so cute!” I coo. And I start giggling, even though I know I shouldn’t, because what is funny about a dead dog? I love dogs!
Fortunately, Nick starts laughing, too. He falls sideways into the cushions, cracking up. Oh, my god, his laugh is so cute, and sexy. Not high-pitched at all, like my dad when he gets excited when the Broncos score.
I’m having such a good time. I feel giddy, and overly warm, and kind of puke-y—but, like, in a good way. And I feel really sexy. I’m very aware of my short skirt brushing against my thighs every time I move, and I have the urge to spin in a circle so it flies around me so Nick can see what sexy underwear I have on right now. I actually wore them for Johnny, but he’s too busy hanging out with his “friend” and her panties.
I’m flirting with Nick. He’s nice and hot, and his long lean body is like Johnny’s, hard and muscled from football. I’ve always thought of him as just a friend, but Amanda, the party girl, has other ideas. Who’s Amanda? But it’s so wrong, but isn’t that why I wanted to get drunk? So I could do stupid things and blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol?
Oh, god, I have to pee!
I laugh at everything Nick says, and lean against his warm side, pressing my arm against his. I keep smacking him, too—really hard, and I’m not sure why, except I might be a violent drunk.
“Hit me again, and I’m gonna spank you,” Nick warns me with an evil little glint in his eye.
“You wouldn’t,” I say, letting my hand hover in the air between us. My head is spinning pleasantly.
“Try it,” he dares. Right now, he’s the picture of relaxation, leaning back against the furry cushions.
I hover over him and move my hand just a little, intending to fake him out, but then he grabs my arm, incredibly quick. I’m pulled off balance and crash into him on the couch.
“You dick!” I giggle, flustered and confused to find myself straddling Nick’s lap.
I struggle to get off of him, but he grips my hip with one hand—and start to tickle me with the other. I hate being tickled! But for some reason, my screams come out as hysterical laughter. I’m desperate to get away because my bladder has just about reached the critical overflow point—but Nick is too strong.
“Nick, let me go!” I gasp between snorts of mirth, locking my arms against my sides in a futile attempt to ward him off.
“Huh, what was that? You’re sorry?”
“I am! I’m sorry! I’d rather you spank me.”
His fingers drill me mercilessly in the ribs. “Beg me to spank you.”
I’m still squirming against him, giggling. “Please spank me!”
My hips abruptly come down over his—and suddenly I’m on fire. Nick catches my wide-eyed shock, and I feel his hands slide under my skirt to caress my ass. His touch tickles, but feels good, too. Different. Hm…
He slowly pulls me toward him, until our lips meet in a tentative kiss that taste like alcohol and caramel. The kiss deepens and I wait for the feeling of wrongness to hit me—this is Nick, my friend. Johnny’s best friend. We shouldn’t be doing this.
I wait, but all I feel is a pleasant kind of numbness, and the wild need to pee. Crazily, it makes me kiss Nick all the more passionately. I run my fingers through his soft golden brown hair and let my mind spin in brightly colored circles.
How can time seem to speed up and slow down at the same time? I guess it makes sense when you’re wasted. We kiss and kiss, and my eyes keep drifting shut most of the time. I feel Nick tugging on my dress, pulling it up. I want him to, because my insides are perspiring, and he’s a good kisser. Not slobbery like Tyson Rosewksi. That guy was a mess.
The first whispers of warning start to invade my consciousness when I’m half naked and Nick is undoing the button of his jeans. But it’s easy to ignore when he’s making me feel so good. He moves me so I’m lying under him, and the soft couch under my bare back feels too soft, and too…real. I sigh luxuriously as he kisses his way down my neck.
My thoughts blur and become tangled and confused. One moment it’s Johnny with his mouth and hands on me—then my eyes blink open, and it’s Nick. I don’t like how disoriented it makes me feel, so I keep my eyes tightly closed.
They stay that way through the discomfort, and the shocking, stinging pain. I want to curl up into myself until I disappear from existence. My body. Something profound is happening to it—and with the pain comes a nauseating clarity. And a frantic awareness of my bladder, which expands large enough to consume my entire identity.
I am my bladder.
“Juliet,” Johnny whispers into my ear as he moves against me.
“Johnny.” I sigh.
“It’s Nick.”
“Huh?”
Seconds pass, hurtling me toward tomorrow, and a reality I’m certain I don’t want to
face. I loosen my grip on awareness, and let the rushing fog ride me into oblivion.
******
Chapter 24
Sometime during the night, I awaken with the burning need to pee and puke. Hoping I don’t do both at the same time, I stagger around my unfamiliar surroundings in search of a bathroom. I don’t think I’m going to make it in time, but lucky me, I hit the jackpot on the first door I come to. After I empty both my bladder, and my stomach, I feel so much better. Tears form at the corners of my eyes in relief. I find my way back to the bed, and flop down next to the warm body sprawled there. My last conscious thought has me vaguely wondering who I’m lying next to. Then it’s light out.
I wake up in an unfamiliar room feeling like a used toilet. Disgusting, but true. Also, I don’t know what kind of monster is rhythmically squeezing my brain in his giant sweaty fist, but I’d wish it would stop.
Water. I desperately need water. And, secondly, a bathroom.
And—oh, my god—my clothes! Where the hell are my clothes?!
I’m lying under a plaid comforter, sticky and absolutely naked. Nausea churns in my belly when I try to sit up, holding the blanket firmly over my chest. I want to stop the rush of jumbled memories assaulting my senses right now, but it’s as useless as trying to contain a tsunami.
I had sex last night. I lost my virginity to someone other than Johnny. And who’s more not-Johnny than his best friend? Oh, my god. This is an epic mess. How could I? Shit!
“Hey.”
I startle, letting out a little scream, and clutching the comforter to me like the virgin I no longer am. Nick is standing at the foot of the bed. He looks freshly showered, and very sheepish.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologizes quickly, taking a step back.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. “No, you didn’t—I just—it’s okay. I mean…” I trail off as I run my hand through my hair, wincing at all the knots. I must look…I don’t even want to know.
There is a horribly awkward silence where we avoid looking directly at each other while searching for something to say. When I finally open my mouth to say something, so does Nick, and we end up trying to talk over each other.
Laughing uneasily, I gesture at him. “You go.”
“Uh…” Nick stares at the ground. “I just wanted to say…shit, Juliet, I’m so sorry about last night. I should have never—I can’t believe I did that. I’m a complete asshole, and I took advantage of you—”
“We were both wasted,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “I’m the one who came over and basically forced you to help me get drunk.”
“No, I should have known better. I should have at least stopped drinking.” Nick looks up, his hazel eyes more serious than I’ve ever seen them. “Johnny’s gonna kill me.”
“No, he won’t.” I firm my jaw, and meet his gaze. “We’re not going to tell him about it. Look, we both made a huge mistake, and—it shouldn’t have happened, and it’s not going to happen again.” I add much more quietly, “And he’s not my boyfriend, anymore.”
Nick winces, and carefully sits down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, but he’s still my best friend. You don’t ever sleep with your best friend’s girl—ex or otherwise. I’m shitty,” he says miserably.
He looks as devastated as I feel. I put aside my own guilty conscience and self-loathing to try to console him. “It was a mistake,” I repeat forcefully. “And I…Johnny and I aren’t getting back together.”
I try not to sound like I’ve just realized this, but tears suddenly fill my eyes. I guess I unconsciously came to that understanding last night, but it’s hard to say it out loud. It’s definitely over between us. It has to be.
I look away, trying to hide my face, and letting my tangled hair fall forward. I wish Nick would say something because I’m afraid I’m about to start making some weird squeaky noises right now—the sound that precedes my ugly crying. If you don’t know what ugly crying is, you’re about to.
“You okay?”
I feel the bed move as Nick leans over to pat my foot. I lift my head up, and paste a small smile on my face. “Fine,” I lie.
He makes this face that says he’s not buying it. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he mumbles, staring down at the bed.
“Um…okay.”
Nick doesn’t look up. “Was that your first time?”
He seems to be holding his breath while I die of mortification. As if things weren’t uncomfortable enough! I gather the comforter even more firmly against myself, and glare at him. He waits, embarrassed, but politely determined.
“Yes,” I huff out, helpless to stop the flood of color to my cheeks.
“Shit!” Nick groans and drops his head into his hands. “I’m such an asshole.”
“No, you’re not.” I start shifting, arranging myself so I can maneuver off the bed while remaining completely covered up. “I need to—oh, shit! What time is it?!”
I look wildly around the room—ow, my head—and spot a football-shaped clock on the bedside table. The digital display tells me it’s 6:01 a.m.
A.m.!! I am so dead!
“I have to go! Where are my clothes?! Oh, my god—my mom’s gonna kill me!”
I fall off the bed in my panic, getting tangled up in blankets and sheets. Nick immediately crouches down, and I almost punch myself in the face trying to yank the sheet over my chest. He tries to help me, but quickly backs up when I start flailing.
“I just threw your clothes in the dryer,” he says quickly as I sit there panting like a wounded bird. He shrugs apologetically. “They should be done in a few minutes. Do you wanna grab a shower while you wait?”
I can’t think over the pounding in my head and heart. Rubbing my forehead, I force myself to calm down and think. Okay, I’m already screwed, a few more minutes won’t hurt, and it would only help my case if I didn’t come home looking like this. I wonder if Mom called the cops. God, I hope not—should I call her? No, I don’t even want to check my phone to see how much missed calls and texts I have.
“Thank you,” I say after I’ve gotten hold of myself. “A shower would be great.”
Nick shows me to an adjacent bathroom, roughly the size of my living room at home. After making sure I have clean towels, he tells me he’ll leave my freshly laundered clothes, and a couple of aspirins just outside the door. He’s being so nice, and I want to cry because I know our friendship will never be the same. We may never be able to look each other in the eye again.
I mean to take a two-minute shower, but I have dried puke in my hair and one of my fake eyelashes is stuck to my ass. Gah! Why do people continue to get drunk if this is what happens the morning after?
I feel too sick to really dwell on the consequences of last night, and that’s fine since I’ll be dead once my mom gets hold of me. I can’t believe I spent the night with Nick! What happened…afterwards? The last thing I remember was—Nick and I were…but what happened after that? How did we end up in bed together? Is there more to the story? If so, I don’t think I want to know.
My dress is still slightly damp and wrinkled, but I slip it on anyway. I grab the aspirin and the giant bottle of Gatorade while I’m putting on my shoes and rushing out the room. It’s a shame I don’t break my neck along the way.
“Is your dad home?” I ask Nick nervously as he starts limping down the stairs.
“Nah, he’s over at Ashley’s. I’m usually here by myself,” he replies with a shrug.
I take a moment to silently sympathize. The only person I know my age whose parents are actually around is Heather, and she’s always complaining how hard it is to get away with stuff. Not that it stops her from partying—she has her parents completely fooled.
I could use more adult supervision. Clearly I don’t make good choices.
I remember I don’t have a way home only when I’m wobbling down the paved drive. I turn around and almost bump into Nick, who’s right behind me with his keys in his hand. I guess he
didn’t forget. He shuts the door, and nods toward his Range Rover, parked in front of a three-car garage. I smile at him gratefully.
The ride to my house is beyond uncomfortable. For the first half, the only time we talk is when I throw out directions to my house. I take my aspirin and drink my Gatorade, but I’m worried nothing will touch this monstrous pounding in my head. I think Nick must feel the same way—he’s wearing sunglasses though it’s mostly dark out, and the Range Rover keeps drifting to the left when he nods off. I almost think it’s better to get in a car accident than to go home right now with no excuse about last night.
I can’t believe I just had that thought. Man, I’m dumb.
“I can drive if you want,” I offer after Nick swerves back in the lane.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, giving his head a little shake. “No, I’m good. Let me just…” He reaches for his Gatorade and takes a long drink. Then he straightens his shoulders and leans forward, trying to look more alert.
There’s nowhere I can look that doesn’t freaking hurt. If I try to look out the window, the passing scenery makes my stomach swirl in oily circles, and I want to throw up. If I look down, I worry my eyeballs will pop out of their sockets, and my brain will ooze through the openings—and I’ll puke everywhere. If I look at Nick, one of us will inevitably say something about last night—and I’ll end up word vomiting.
I settle for leaning my head back against the seat, keeping my eyes closed, and playing dead. Why am I not trying to come up with a reason for being out all night? I’ve got nothing, and you know what? I think I’m going to tell Mom the truth—the drinking and passing out part. Not the part where I had sex with—!
“Oh, my god!” I gasp, my eyes popping open. I turn to Nick in horror. “Last night, did we—did you…use something?”
He blinks, looking confused at first, then alarmed. “What, you mean, like…Liquid X? ‘Cause I swear to god, I didn’t put anything in your drink—”
“Oh—no, I know! I mean, uh…” I pause, and cough self-consciously. “Protection?”
SLOW BURN Page 24
