by Niki Hager
Also, I had a pretty difficult time getting these skinnys on earlier due to how tight they are. I almost fell over when I reached the part where I had to pull them over my butt so I can only imagine what kind of catastrophe could occur if I tried to take them off drunk. Well, if I'm going to show my boobs to an entire house full of people I barely know, I'm going to need another shot.
"Shot!" I yell and raise my hand, knowing damn well somebody somewhere will bring one to me.
As predicted, I watch three guys walk over, each with a shot in hand. They must really want to see my boobs. Roman is socializing with his friends and didn't seem to mind when I was asked if I wanted to play beer pong, however, he has been keeping an eye on me. I see him glance over here every time my turn comes to take a shot.
The first couple of times I missed the shot it was my socks and shoes I had to remove. He almost looked amused and sort of happy, if I'm not mistaken. I can tell he likes how I'm getting along with his friends. He was so worried about me he wouldn't even invite me places. I bet he feels pretty silly about the whole thing now since I'm getting on fine.
I take a shot from one of the guys and hold it out in Roman’s direction in salute. He cheers me back with the beer cup in his hand, yet I think I catch a glimpse of worry in his expression. I wonder what about. I knock back the burning liquid faster every time. Each shot is getting easier and easier to take.
"All right, Dollface. Let's see if you're straight enough to make a shot," Reece says like he's almost worried for me.
I catch him glance at Rome and then he looks back to watch me take my turn.
I miss my shot again and am about to unsnap my bra when I feel a hard hand grab on to my wrist and pull me away from my game.
"What are you doing? It was my turn," I whine to Roman.
"You were about to take your fucking bra off in front of everyone!" he points out the obvious.
"Yeah, the game is called strip pong for a reason," I remind him. "Strip pong," I pronounce the word again for emphasis.
"Bee, this is not like you. I get the whole, it's New Years’ Eve let’s let loose thing, but you're taking it too far, don't you think? I really didn't expect this to happen."
He waves his hand around me. What the hell does he mean by that?
"Well, everything happens for a reason," I tell him, and then dramatically turn on the heel of my foot to head back to my game. He catches a hold of my hand again and pulls me back so now we are only an inch apart face to face.
"No, things like this happen because you’re being foolish and making bad decisions."
"Hey, let her come back and play!" Levi complains.
"Shut up, dude, you’re a bad influence!" Roman thunders.
"Yeah, I'm a bad influence all right, but fuck if I'm not fun!" Levi gets in the last word, but Reece eyes him enough for him to let it go and continue to play without me.
"Okay, well as unlightening as our conversation has been, I came here to have fun. The way you have fun every weekend without me. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get another drink."
I turn to walk away with a certain swagger in my hips, but the damn guy won't let me leave. He doesn't let go of my hand, and the force of his hard body even standing still tugs my hand back and halts my movement, keeping me in place once again.
"Ah, I get what you're doing? You get drunk and you let all of the repressed feelings you have about shit loose? I thought you got over that?"
"Maybe I haven't."
"Clearly."
"I want to be normal enough for you to want to take me places. For you to not feel like your girlfriend won't be accepted, or for you to have to think first about will or won't I be able to handle it."
"Will you stop already with the normal shit. What does normal even mean anyway? Normal? Nobody here is normal. There is no such thing. Normal in our house is a button on the dishwasher. Do you ever ask yourself why you think you're not normal? Like, maybe because you're quirkier and funnier and smarter than all of these people. And because you’re honest. You're already pretty fucking incredible."
His words have me dumbstruck. I am wrecked, shattered. I am in love. I am drunk and I am going to throw up.
I go from standing to doubled over at the speed of one-hundred W-T-Fs per hour.
"Fuck. Hold on, Bug. Stay with me for a minute."
I barely hear Roman's rough voice through my drunken daze before I feel the weightlessness of being lifted into the air.
The next thing I know, I'm prodding my eyes open in a dark place with a trash can in my face. I struggle to take in my surroundings, but I think I am lying on something resembling a cot. A futon, maybe?
I feel a warm breath at the back of my neck. Someone is behind me rubbing my head and holding my hair back. I turn my head to try and see but my stomach flips and I am right back to having my head in the bin.
When there is nothing more left to possibly come out of me, my stomach muscles start to relax. I turn around to grab for Roman, but instead, I see a guy I have never met before, lying behind me on his side, propped up on an elbow with one hand on my shoulder and the other holding my hair. I instantly tighten back up. He tries to calm me down with a soothing voice and a gentle rub on my shoulder.
"Whoa there, Rigbee. You're okay. I'm a friend of Roman’s. My name's Lawrence. I met you earlier."
Oh yeah, he must be Law-man, the one who had the birthday party I wasn't invited to. His lip ring shines as the steel reflects off the dim lamp and I remember he was also the same guy who handed me my first shot.
"You've been down here sick for a while, you know. Roman sat with you most of the night, and I thought he could use a break so we've been tagging off every half hour for the last few hours."
He reaches over next to him to grab a water bottle and hands it to me. I take an appreciative gulp. The cold liquid seems to help me get my bearings straight as I squint my eyes and try to take in the information he's giving me.
"What? Where's Lyle?"
Out of everyone, Lyle's the only one I know or think would actually help me while I puke up my guts.
"Lyle?" he snorts out a laugh. "Lyle, I'm afraid, is doing about as good as you are. A couple of hours ago we found him purging and pissing in Wes' shoes."
"Gross." Poor guy.
"Yeah, we had to put him to bed too," he informs me.
He continues to rub my shoulders and hair. I'm too sick, and it feels too good for me to argue so I give in and let him continue until I drift back into darkness.
I wake this time to the feeling of wetness on my stomach. I must've spilled the water bottle Lawrence gave me. I slowly prod open an eye at a time and blink them into focus. What the hell! I sit up and scurry backward on the futon when one of the guys I recognize from last night comes into full focus. He sits back on his knees and wipes his mouth of the leftover dribble he had from spitting on me just now, and then he smiles.
"I thought that might do it. I was told to come down here and wake you up. I couldn't think of how to do it gently yet effectively. Done. Mission accomplished." He holds out his hand. "Name's Dirks."
I reach out and take his hand. "Rigbee," I hesitate but then reply somewhat politely as I wipe his spit off my stomach with my other hand and then pull my shirt down far enough to cover my bare midriff in case he gets anymore crazy ideas.
"Hi, Rigbee, do you wanna build a snowman?" he sings in his best Anna from the movie Frozen impression and lifts his brows up and down.
I can't stop the traitorous burst of giggles I let escape. He is too surreal. Dirks is completely weird, and definitely politically incorrect, but he's got a magnetically charming smile and a gentleness to his eyes which is surprisingly growing on me. He has piercings all over his face, and I would bet what's left of my student loans he has them in other places on his body. The gauges in his lower lobe are gigantic. Dirks is definitely not normal, and he's not trying to be. I think I get now what Roman was trying to tell me last night.
"
I'm messing with ya. Do you wanna hear a story, though?"
"Sure?" I phrase as a question.
"Good, because I was going to tell it anyways."
He pulls out a random book from somewhere by his side, and sets it on the mattress between us. Then he goes and unbuttons his jeans, sliding them down to his ankles.
"Whoa! What are you doing?" I shriek and put a hand up to stop whatever he's doing from happening.
"Sit back, relax and enjoy the story."
He picks the book back up and I see the giant hole in the middle of every page,
"This story is called Pokey. Once upon a time there was a fireman …"
He turns the page and grabs at his boxer briefs. My eyes go wide with realization.
"Stop!" I yell and cover my eyes with my hand. "I get it, I get it. I know what you do with the book and I don't need to see it!"
"Aww, man, but I was right about to get to the part …"
"Where you put your junk through the hole in the book to act as a three-dimensional fire hose, yes I got that!" I interrupt him.
I hear some people coming down the stairs, and I am extremely grateful for the exceptional timing of their interruption.
"Roman, thank goodness it's you."
"Sorry, sweetheart. I swear I was only gone for five minutes. I had to go check on Lyle. What's wrong?"
"You slept down here with me?" I momentarily forget what I was thinking.
"Of course. You didn't think I would let you sleep in the basement by yourself, did you? I mean, I went upstairs once in a while, but I made sure you were taken care of. Between me and Law-man, you shouldn't have been left alone at any time. And when I was checking on Lyle, I caught the time and thought we should head out so I sent Dirks here to wake you up." Oh, right, that's what I was thinking about.
"About that, do you know he tried showing me …"
"His book?" his jaw tightens and he crosses his arms. "Dirks, c'mon, man, really?" he yells over to his friend.
"You know about that?"
"He tries showing it off to everyone. It's actually a funny book."
I give him a look implying he better watch what he says next. "But, not the best way to introduce himself to my girlfriend," he says loud enough for Dirks to hear. "Let's just say he's scared off more than a couple other females with his ways," he says to me but mean-mugs Dirks at the same time.
"Hey, man, my ways are how you can tell if they're keepers, if they hang around even after meeting me. I'm the best test they have to pass to be worthy of my buddies," Dirks replies proudly.
"I can assure you I'm not going anywhere. It's going to take more than a creeper with a mullet, a book, and excessive amounts of jewelry, to scare me away," I say.
Jewelry! I look down to find my necklace still intact and tied around my neck, thank Thor, but I knew something was wrong. The key piece is missing. My ladybug charm is nowhere to be found. I start to panic as I search all over and under the covers and floor for it. When I don't find the charm anywhere, my body fills with a crushing dread. I'm almost positive it fell into the puke bucket.
I touch my neck.
"My charm," I whisper more softly to myself, but Roman hears and looks at my neck anyway.
"It's okay, Bug, no big deal. You've had a rough night. Happy New Year."
Roman then kisses me right on my mouth.
"What was the kiss for?" I ask him, since his statement and kiss come at such an inopportune time.
"You passed out way before midnight and I didn't get my New Years’ kiss, so I took it now," he explains to me.
"Yeah, and how was it?" I ask with a smirk.
"Pretty gross. You taste like puke. Now you know how much I like you; I'll even kiss your pukey lips."
Dropping the Ball On the Ball Drop
Together We'll Ring in the New Year- Motion City Soundtrack
Rigbee
I'm alone in my bed later on New Years’ day. I don't remember Roman leaving. I do remember riding home in The Ghost with the same guys earlier in the morning, and I faintly remember leaning up against Malik and accidentally dripping drool all over him as I went in and out of consciousness. What I remember the most, and what I am still going through, is the most horrendous hangover I have ever experienced.
I've heard of these things happening, but I had yet to encounter one myself. My stomach is still twisting and nauseous, but even worse, is the splitting feeling in my head which only gets worse with every small movement I make. I reach for my phone to check the time, but the usual spot on my nightstand is empty. My legs wobble when I get up and out of bed to go look for it. I feel like I'm going to get sick again. I push the feeling down and start searching my room.
I end up finding the phone under my bed. I cannot for the life of me figure out how it got there, but I guess I should be thankful I have it at all, considering how easily the phone could've ended up in the puke bucket with my charm.
My stomach sinks again when I see the time. It's already two in the afternoon. In my frenzy to find something to wear, I notice a note on my dresser. Next to the note is a Gatorade and a couple of pills I assume are Advil. I read the note.
Didn't want to wake you sweetheart but the team has a meeting before the Miami tournament next week so I'll text you later
I personally don't know why anybody would plan a function for the day after New Years’, but since the holiday fell on a Saturday night and today is Sunday, a lot of people are doing it. I even have a wedding shower to attend, and I wasn't looking forward to it in the first place. The shower is for an uber conservative friend of the family, and is being held at a church. Church and I don't get along very well, talk about a stress trigger, but I put on a skirt and blouse and make my way.
Right away, the smell of the food makes me nauseous when I enter the room the party is held in. I ignore the squeeze in my stomach and look around for someone I know so I can hurry up and sit down. The invitation for the shower mentioned the party was unisex, both men and women were welcome, so it wasn't too surprising to see my grandpa with my mom sitting at a table with a couple of other people who I don't know.
I sit down next to my grandpa and sip on the water and coffee he already has held out in front of me. Grandpa Joe knows everything. Everyone at our table is in the process of making unnatural small talk until the party begins, but for me, the effort is pointless. The act is annoying and awkward. I have nothing in common with anybody, and I will never see these people again. My mom is over here as loud as can be, chatting and laughing away with everyone, and the twinge I feel when I watch makes me realize how sometimes I do wish I could be more like her.
When the hostess of the party begins to talk, I immediately know this is not going to be like any bridal shower I have ever been to. The first twenty minutes is a full on church sermon and is followed by another twenty minutes of preaching why God should come first, even before marriage and family. W-T-F. What a pep talk for the bride-to-be. Is she for real? Listening to the lady spew this kinda crap is making me sick. Uh oh. Nope, I think it's the hangover.
"As you grow together as husband and wife, never forget who is responsible for your happiness. In order to receive true happiness, you must always serve God before each other and before anything," the mean preaching lady scolds, and I feel the bile rise in my throat.
"Honey, are you okay?" my mom leans over and asks me.
"No. I'm gonna vomit."
"Yeah, I know. Some of the religion shit can make a person ill, can't it?" Grandpa mutters, unfazed by my impending crisis.
"No, Grandpa, Mom, I mean I'm gonna puke for real, like right now."
I put my hand over my mouth and begin dry heaving.
"Oh, my God-goodness," she changes her wording and looks warily out of the corner of her eyes, as if she thinks someone will smite her for saying the word God in a church.
"Here, try a muffin."
She waves a cranberry muffin in front of my face, and I swear I can hear Lucifer laughing a
t me as the gates of hell open up right here in church.
I physically feel the dredge as my face drains of color. With my hand still over my mouth, I stand abruptly and cause my chair to knock backward with a crashing sound that is only amplified by the sterile dome-shaped room. I see heads turn and eyes dart toward me as I run out of the room and then out of the church into the parking lot. I barely get through the last set of doors before I'm hunched over and retching poisonous foam all over the concrete.
After my stomach settles, I decide to sit on the curb to catch my breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grandpa Joe walk out the doors. He sits down next to me, wraps an arm around my shoulder, and starts rubbing his hand up and down.
"You should've seen the look on the old bat’s face when you stormed out of there. It was priceless!" he says, laughing.
"I'm sure it was," I snort out with a smirk on my face.
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
"Nothing, really, I'm just terribly hungover."
"Ahh, yes that's what your mom thought. Was it worth it?" he asks without judgement.
I contemplate the question for a while, and then I look at him with certainty in my face, and I answer with the truth.
"Yes. Every second."
I didn't want to go back in to the overly judgmental wedding shower so I end up driving home. When I walk in, I'm surprised to find Enz home. He is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of something I don't recognize in front of him. His head is hung low and he's rubbing his temple like he has a headache. Maybe he had a wild weekend also. I hope so, he deserves it.
"Hey! How was your weekend? What did you do for New Year's?" I ask him.
"Oh, you know, stayed in and watched the ball drop- by myself," he replies as he looks up at me.
