Intoxicated

by Alicia Renee Kline

  “For what?” My tone was still light, unsuspecting.

  “This deal came up, and I need to fly to Arizona tonight. I’m at the airport right now.”

  My heart sunk to my feet. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

  “Eric,” I struggled to form a coherent thought, dragging out the last syllable of his name as my mind raced, “we had reservations.”

  Really? That was the only thing I could come up with?

  “I know. I know. And I’m sorry. I promise, next time.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  I lowered the phone from my ear, hearing unintelligible words on the other end as I did so. I disconnected the call and shut the phone completely off. At least I had done a little bit to save face. My reservations comeback was weak at best. I tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside me and buried my face in my hands.

  For the longest time, I sat in silence, completely numb. Outside, the sun began to set, casting shadows throughout the interior of the house. I stood to turn on the lamp in the corner, deciding then to change out of my outfit. I made my way up the stairs as if in slow motion, one painful step at a time. The walk of shame.

  How long had Eric known about this trip? How many hours ago had he decided to stand me up? Why did he have to be a coward and call me from the airport? Why did he have to be so heartless and cruel?

  I shrugged out of my dress as soon as I hit the doorway to my bedroom, letting the fabric pool around my feet. Spitefully, I kicked it over to the corner, intentionally not picking it up. I hated that damn dress, hated it instead of Eric. I grabbed the first thing I could find out of my closet that appealed to me: a pair of ratty sweats, a tank top, and a hooded sweatshirt. I slid them on, feeling as horrible as my clothes looked.

  The tears started as soon as I hit the stairs to go back to the couch. Blindly, I navigated my way, tripping over a platform heel in the process. I fell onto the couch, my body convulsing with sobs. I pushed the hood up over my head and curled up in a ball, wanting to make myself as invisible as I felt. I was certainly invisible to Eric.

  I was so wrapped up in my sorrow that I didn’t hear the Mustang pull in the driveway. I did, however, hear the key turn in the lock. I froze, not sure what I wanted to do. I wondered if I had time to run upstairs and hide in my room. I seriously doubted it. Instead, I chose to stay put, wrapping up into an even tighter version of the fetal position. Maybe if I stayed still and didn’t make a sound he wouldn’t notice me.

  The front door swung open and closed softly behind Matthew as he entered the house. His keys jangled as he shoved them in his pocket. From my position on the couch, I could see only his legs as he moved toward the kitchen. I held my breath, praying that he wouldn’t look over and see me. As much as we needed to talk, I didn’t want it to be now. His feet hesitated, then spun around.

  “Lauren?” he asked.

  “What?” I responded harshly. The voice that came out of my lips was unrecognizable, rough and husky from crying. I grabbed at my hood, pulling it farther down my face so it shielded as much as possible. Embarrassed, I shifted so I faced the back of the sofa.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  The cushion beside me sunk down as he sat next to me. Reluctantly, I turned back around.

  “I didn’t think you would be here. I just came to drop this off.” He gestured to the DVD case he was holding. I didn’t look to see what the contents were. He slid the container onto the table, then stared straight ahead. “The shoes should have been a clue.”

  Yes, the red heels that I had tripped over during my descent of the stairs.

  “I’m sorry. I should have cleaned up after myself,” I said softly.

  “No biggie. I didn’t run them over or anything. I’m just used to things being so orderly. It was just odd. Out of place, you know?”

  This wasn’t going so badly. Perhaps we could have an entire conversation without him looking at me. I could pretend everything was okay, then he could go home. The awkwardness could be attributed to how he had left the other night, and everything would be fine.

  “Blake’s out on a date tonight,” I babbled. “I’ll let her know that you stopped by.”

  “Wasn’t the boyfriend coming over tonight?” he asked suddenly, as if he’d just remembered.

  Blake had been discussing things with her brother, after all.

  I choked back a sob. New tears slid quietly down my cheeks. Matthew reached over and pulled my arm away from my face. Our eyes met, one tortured soul staring back at another.

  He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. He dialed a number, probably a saved contact and waited briefly for the person to answer. I hoped it wasn’t Blake. Since he was so close, I couldn’t help but overhear his side of the conversation.

  “Hey, man, it’s me. Something came up, so I can’t make it tonight.” A pause. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll catch you later.” Finished, he hung up.

  From the greeting, it was obviously a friend and not his sister. Plus, guys didn’t exactly hold marathon phone conversations.

  “You had plans?” I asked, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “So did you. And now we don’t.” He shrugged.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t look like you’ll be fine.”

  Heat rose to my cheeks. I could only imagine what my tearstained face looked like. I was certain it was streaked with mascara and eyeliner and horribly unattractive. “I suppose I could use a tissue.”

  A small smile formed on his lips. “I don’t think a tissue would help at this point. Stay here.”

  He rose from the couch and took off down the hall. He returned with a washcloth and a towel from the half bath. The washcloth was wet and had been wrung out. I sat up and reached for them. He shook his head.

  “No, let me,” he whispered.

  I nodded, not sure what else to do. The thought of him being so close to me, of him touching me, made me dizzy.

  Slowly, he lowered the hood to my shoulders. His fingers brushed my hair away from my face, smoothing the longer pieces behind my ears. His eyes never left mine, his gaze burning into me. He lifted the washcloth to my face. Instinctively, my eyelids fluttered shut. Gently, almost reverently, he pressed the soft cotton to my skin, removing all traces of my formerly exquisite makeup job.

  I held my breath for as long as possible, taking in shallow, ragged portions of air when I couldn’t stand it any longer. My heart was pounding, the blood rushing frantically through my veins. Fresh tears threatened to spill from my still closed eyes.

  Matthew raised the towel now, gently patting me dry. When I sensed he was done, I forced my eyes open. Those blue eyes still studied me intently. He wrapped the washcloth in the towel and dropped them both to the floor, never looking away from me. His hand reached for my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  That comment was more than enough to trigger the waterworks. He brushed away my tears with his fingers, tipping my chin up so I looked him straight in the eye.

  “Don’t cry for him. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  My body shook with sobs. Matthew pulled me against him, embracing me with his strong arms. He leaned back against the couch, extending his long frame over the cushions. He positioned me so that my head rested against his chest. He rubbed my back in a circular motion, making small loops across my spine with his fingers. His other hand raked leisurely through my hair.

  We laid in silence for the longest time. I allowed my eyes to close, still feeling his unmistakable presence all around me. The scent of his soap filled my nose. The warmth of his skin was apparent even through my clothes. His chest rose and fell with each breath, gently moving against my cheek. I listened to the cadence of his heart.

  The tears subsided, and
before I knew it I had drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  I awoke in my own bed. Disoriented, I sat up and immediately wished that I hadn’t. My head pounded from a combination of sobbing and lack of food. The blinds were drawn, leaving the room awash in shadows and darkness. I had no idea what time it was or how I had gotten here. I was, however, fully clothed. Even my hooded sweatshirt remained intact, zipped modestly over my tank.

  I reached blindly for my nightstand, flipping on the lamp once I had located it. The light hurt my eyes. I squeezed my eyelids shut, reopening them in baby steps. I imagined this was what a hangover felt like. I had no personal experience with which to compare. How ironic.

  As my vision cleared, I vaguely remembered hearing voices. Undoubtedly those of Blake and Matthew. She had come home from her date and he had still been with me on the couch. They had spoken in hushed tones, obviously discussing how Eric had stood me up. Then I had felt weightless, like I was floating. I realized that Matthew had carried me up the stairs and tucked me under the comforter.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. Even though technically nothing had happened between us, we had spent quite an intimate evening together. Never before had I exposed myself to someone like that, especially not someone I had just met. Granted, he had caught me at one of my most vulnerable moments. It was hard to pretend that everything was okay when tears were streaming down your face. When Eric upset me, my usual defense was to hide behind anger, even around Gracie. For some reason this time the floodgates had opened and Matthew was on the receiving end. Instead of turning and running away, which I would have totally understood, he had canceled his plans and stayed with me.

  With all that remained unsaid between us, he had sat beside me, holding me as I cried. For all he knew, I could absolutely hate him because of his past. But he hadn’t given me the third degree about my opinions. Instinctively, he had settled down next to me, offering his shoulder to cry on. No one had ever done anything that kind for me before.

  My eyes slid to the nightstand again, noticing that he had brought up my cell phone. More importantly, he had set a full bottle of aspirin and a glass of water beside it. I uncapped the bottle, shook out two tablets, and swallowed them quickly. I prayed that relief would come soon. I doubted there was anything that I could have done to deserve this pain.

  Shakily, I rose from the mattress and went into the bathroom. My reflection was hideous. My eyes were swollen and rimmed with red, dark circles underneath. My hair stood straight up in random tufts. I wondered what Matthew had seen when he said I was beautiful. I hoped it wasn’t this.

  I decided to take a shower in hopes that it would make me feel better. I turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was nearly scalding hot. The droplets stung my skin when I first stepped in, but my body quickly adjusted to the heat. I imagined my pain and worries washing down the drain along with all the suds, wishing it was truly that easy.

  When I was finished, I dried off and went in search of another stylish ensemble to wear for my pity party. Again, I settled on sweats, but this time with a tight fitting t-shirt on top. As I slid on my selections, I noticed that the red dress was missing from the floor. On a hunch, I went to my closet. Sure enough, the offending article hung neatly in front, staring innocently back at me. The platform shoes that matched were displayed directly underneath.

  Fresh tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. The last time this dress hung here, I had gazed up at it with anticipation. Now it was a reminder of an evening gone horribly wrong. I brushed my fingers across the full skirt. Too bad Blake and I weren’t the same size. Even though it was beautiful, I doubted I could stomach wearing it now. I thought of Matthew, carefully lifting it off the floor and putting it in its proper place. Trying his hardest to clean up my mess.

  With a sigh, I grabbed my cell off the nightstand and powered it on. No time like the present to face reality. Once it loaded to the home screen, I learned that it was now ten in the morning. This shocked me. No wonder my head hurt; it had been nearly twenty-four hours since I had eaten that apple. So much for gorging at the restaurant.

  Not as surprising was the fact that my phone now contained a barrage of voice mails and texts from Eric. In our ten years together, I couldn’t remember ever hanging up on him before. I had either convinced him that I was really pissed, or I had made him very mad. Perhaps a little of both.

  I decided to listen to the voice mails first. Eric did sound angry in the first couple, proclaiming that his career was important and that these were crucial accounts he was flying out to settle. He told me that unpredictability was part of the job and that I should understand that by now. He admonished me for playing the career card to go out and follow my dreams but to not give him the same respect.

  Just as I was about to delete the remaining messages without listening, the fourth or fifth startled me with his change in tone. This series sounded sincere, almost remorseful. The anger had subsided, and he spoke quietly, solemnly. He apologized and swore he would make it up to me. I imagined I should be expecting another huge bouquet of flowers shortly.

  The string of texts were all sent after the voice mails, begging me to talk to him. Asking for my forgiveness. Never telling me he loved me. I deleted all of them.

  My indicator light still blinked even after I cleared all of Eric’s many messages. It was then I noticed that Matthew had also texted me. At three thirty-eight this morning.

  Goodnight, sweetheart.

  My breath hitched. I stood frozen in place staring at the display. My hand trembled, nearly causing me to drop the phone. I lowered myself to the mattress, head spinning.

  I assumed the text had come through shortly after he had left the house. For all intents and purposes, he had spent the night here. Instead of slipping out unnoticed, he had made sure I knew he had gone home. As if he was showing me that not everyone in my life would abandon me. Again with the terms of endearment that made my pulse quicken.

  My growling stomach brought me back to reality. I took a couple deep calming breaths, willing my heartbeat to regulate. When I felt I could successfully navigate the stairs, I rose from the bed. The pain still throbbed in my head, slightly lessened by the effects of the aspirin, but it was tolerable. I clutched the handrail on my way down, feeling rather wobbly.

  As I passed by the kitchen table, I noticed that the bouquet of roses Eric had sent was missing. Matthew sure did think of everything. I was certain that if I looked in the trashcan, I would find the blooms there, vase and all.

  Blake was already up and moving about the kitchen. She looked in way better condition than I was. She was wearing pajama pants and a spaghetti strapped tank, her long hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. Even bare-faced, she appeared as if she could walk a runway at a moment’s notice.

  “Hey, the dead has risen,” she announced to no one in particular.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I said, my tone suggesting anything but.

  Blake slid a plate of scrambled eggs across the breakfast bar and motioned for me to sit down.

  “You don’t cook,” I said warily, lifting my fork and examining the eggs. Surprisingly, they looked edible enough.

  “They’re eggs. I can handle those. I figured you’d be starving.”

  She glanced knowingly at me. Her face was full of concern, but she lowered her eyes. She had no intention of prying, or at least not until I had a few cups of coffee in me. As if on cue, she pushed a steaming mug in front of me.

  I ate, surprised by the appetite I had. Within minutes, the plate was clean and I was working on my second cup of coffee. Blake stood across from me the entire time, happily serving me. I imagined that she had already eaten long ago, judging from the late hour. In this context, her perkiness also made sense. She was probably functioning on five or six hours of sleep. Not too amazing, considering she was minus my broken heart.

  “How was your date last night?” I asked, purposefully directing the conversatio
n towards her. Anything to stall the inevitable.

  She took my empty plate and placed it in the dishwasher with a shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  “You don’t have to downplay it because of me. I won’t think you’re gloating.”

  “No, really, it was just okay. I worked at the shop until about seven or so. Then I met the guy for dinner at eight. We went to a movie and then back to his place for awhile.”

  My eyebrow raised. Doing the calculations in my head, I understood that going home with the guy had occurred either very late last night or early this morning. There was no need to press for further details. As my father would say, if you were just getting to someone’s place at that time of night, you were pretty much there for one thing only.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Probably not.”

  While she seemed unphased, I practically had to pick my jaw back up from the counter. I couldn’t imagine that kind of lifestyle, to give myself in that way with no commitment whatsoever. Of course, my experiences were clouded by being only with Eric from the tender age of sixteen on. Hell, I got flustered when Matthew called me “gorgeous” or “sweetheart”. I was practically a prude. Blake, on the other hand, likely got hit on all the time.

  “Is our Blake a player?” I winked, feeling a small glimmer of amusement. I latched onto it, the first ray of sunshine I had seen in a long time. I needed a distraction.

  “Your Blake isn’t going to settle down until she’s positive she has found the right guy. Until then, there’s nothing wrong with having fun with some of the wrong ones.”

  She laughed, though it sounded a bit hollow. She grabbed the coffee pot and refilled my cup.

  Slowly, I was beginning to feel alive. The food, the caffeine and the aspirin were working in tandem and only a dull roar of a headache remained. I remembered that she, too, had dated someone exclusively for about three or four years. She had mentioned it was a long story, and didn’t seem at all interested in filling me in. Things must have been ugly. I wondered if maybe we could commiserate. In due time, I hoped we could. She might be able to provide me with much needed insight.