Page 87 of Outspoken

She fades as I walk away.

I'm a little unsteady from the shots, but I manage to make it inside and find the living room. There are people around chatting and drinking, but no one pays me any attention. I'd rather not fall apart here, but I'm not ready to leave yet and face what I've done. I can't face this fuck-up, not yet. So, I curl into a ball on the couch and cry.

The booze and tears drain my energy until I'm asleep.

SOMEONE FALLS ON ME, THEIR elbow digging into my thigh, so I startle awake.

“Shit,” the woman mumbles, standing while her friends laugh.

After they walk away from the couch, I lift myself with a yawn, my neck and back aching from the uncomfortable cushions. The amount of people around has tripled and music is now blasting. I have no idea how I slept through this, but I pull my phone from my wristlet—which is thankfully still attached to my wrist—to check the time. Apparently, I napped for more than three hours. It’s now eleven. I’m groggy and my mouth is sandpaper, but I can tell the shots have worn off.

Ashley sent a text an hour ago:We're heading to a better party with some guys. LMK when your beauty sleep is done and I'll send the address.

Great. So they left me.Definitelynot the best of friends. Maybe at one time they were, but people change. I’ve changed. I know that thought should give me some spark of joy or hope, but it doesn’t. I’ve changed, yet that doesn’t mean life is peachy or that I’m happy. Only different.

Though I'm not ready to go home and face reality, I guess I should, so I open my rideshare app. I punch in my address and select a car. Instead of confirming, a screen pops up to tell me my payment method is declined. I try again. Declined.

I scowl at the screen. I'm sure I had enough left for a ride home, so I open my banking app.

My stomach drops.Fuck. A check I wrote to pay my credit card bounced. I had hoped the check would get cashed after payday, but the damn postal service decided to be efficient for once. It withdrew early, costing me a $75 overdraft fee along with the $50 late fee to the credit card.

I slap my phone on my thigh and curse. The music is so loud no one hears. I curse more, drawing attention from a mousy-looking woman nearby. After walking outside to get some air and figure out what to do, I pinch my nose. Since there are more half-naked people around the pool, there's a lot of BO floating through the air.

The crowd of strangers presses in around me, and I feel so utterly and completely by myself. I don’t know anyone here.How the hell am I going to get home?

Paige and Brody are out of town for five more days. Ashley and Destiny are probably too drunk by now to answer texts. Jackie is unavailable because her Man of the Month took her on a weekend getaway. And Frank is visiting his daughter. I screwed myself by doing this when absolutely everyone I know is busy.

In classic Amber style, I’ve also been distancing myself from them. The consequences of that are smacking me in the face. I need a little support sometimes, though I hate admitting that and it's hard to actually ask for it.

I open my contacts and stare at a particular name for a really long time. He gave me his trust and now I’m going to call to admit he shouldn’t have done that?

Lingering traces of acid rise up my throat. I can’t. There has to be someone else.Anyone else.

I scroll through my contacts. There aren’t many left after my purge in rehab. I try Brody’s friend, Dustin, but the call rings and rings and he never picks up. It's late, so he might be asleep with his phone on silent.

I stare at Miguel’s name again, the letters burning into my retinas. He could also be asleep, and I'd hate to wake him. But maybe it’s good to show him my true self.Thisis the Amber he keeps ignoring—Fuck-up Amber.Sheis the reason Brody always asks people to watch his little sister. Though I hate when he does that, I get it. I get in moods and push people away, then do stupid things—Miguel couldn't possibly want to deal with all of that.

Hesitating, I go inside to use the bathroom, only to get rushed out by a woman who yells that shereallyneeds to pee. After washing my hands, I walk to the kitchen. Of course, the granite counters are cluttered with every alcohol imaginable, including all of my favorites. They glint and sparkle under the rustic pendant lighting. Even though I had some kind of epiphany earlier, I’d rather not be around this tempting booze—a constant reminder of how awful I am.

I chug a glass of water to help with my dry mouth, then I surrender, hitting 'call' on my phone. I chew on my lip, dreading having to tell Miguel where I am.He’s going to be so disappointed.His disappointment matters more to me than I had realized.

It rings and rings and then goes to voicemail.Guess I'm stuck.Lowering my phone, I glance at a sloppy-looking guy across the kitchen who is grinning at me. My only option may be flirting my way into a ride home. Of course, I forgot my damn mace.

Hell, maybe I should walk to a gas station and beg people for change to get a taxi.

As I think about my options, my phone rings. Miguel.

I sigh in relief—turning away from the sloppy man—even as my heart quickens. Migueldefinitelywon’t have any feelings for me after this—he'll know never to trust me again. That makes me want to cry.

Stupid.

I hit 'answer' before I can chicken out.

“Hey, what's going on?” he asks before I can say 'hi'. He doesn’t sound groggy like I woke him. He sounds upbeat.

It breaks my heart.

I wet my lips, preparing myself. This is the moment of truth. I’ll have to say,“Hey, Miguel. Guess what I just did? Now come get me.”

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