Page 71 of Dirty Roulette
My head swims, and I’m nauseous. My feet overlap each other as I trot down the hallway, clawing the wall to support myself.
Charlie sits on a bench on the front porch with her plastic red cup. The gray eyes that match her brother’s soften as I stumble over to her, and all I can do is ramble. “Can we leave or something? I am done with tonight, and my head hurts, and guys are stupid. I just want to leave,please.”
“Where have you been?! I’ve been calling you non-stop.” She tilts her head to one side.
“Around...” I shrug my shoulders but cough up a sob. Her eyes roll, as usual. Her bottom lip curls under her teeth as she shakes her head. “Sorry, my phone died.” I lie, knowing I shut the damn thing off in the bathroom with her inches away from me.
“Are you okay?” She asks.
“Yeah...” I can’t even admit to my own defeat. With the back of a hand, I wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks. They aren’t helping me pretend everything is fine. Charlie glares with her lips curling. “No, I’mnotfine. I can’t compete with her. I dunno what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t want to feel this way abouthimor any guy!” My hands meet my face, and I’m sucking up air with no relief. My lungs are collapsing. Everything in my chest throbs.
“Okay,” Charlie chugs the contents in her cup. “Let’s catch an Uber. I’m kinda done with this party anyway.”
By the time we walk out of the driveway Charlie has scheduled us a ride. They’re only five minutes away, but it's the worst three hundred seconds of my life. Sitting on the curb, I stare at the road and focus on the white lines as cars cruise by.
Charlie and I don’t say anything when the Uber pulls up. We get in on opposite sides. The driver is one of those talkers who rambles non-stop about their amazing life and kids. There was something about how they missed college days. The entire time Charlie entertained the driver, and I’m a dead fish in water.
I’m losing myself in a maze of emotions, backing me into a corner with nowhere to go. I’m being robbed at gunpoint. I forgot what it was like feeling fine. I’m empty, and snapping in two like a brittle twig.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re dropped off at the roundabout in front of the hotel. My stomach is swimming. My mouth waters, my skin grows clammy and turns cold. When she unlocks the hotel door, I plow through with my hand over my mouth.
The toilet seat hits the tank and I heave, choking up brain matter and all the stupid decisions I made tonight. Tequila, the bottomless Kool-Aid I mixed with it, and an entire bag of Flamin Hot Cheetos. I clung to the porcelain with clammy hands. It’s coming up in waves and into the toilet bowl as Charlie holds my hair.
“I’m sorry!” Another surge splatters into the small amount of water coating the bottom of the toilet. “I’m so sorry!” My breath came in ragged gasps between bouts of vomiting. Bile burning like acid claws the back of my throat. A hint of blood lathers my tongue, and my inner spirit tells me never to touch alcohol again.
“How much did you drink?” Charlie asks.
“I dunno,” I sob, flushing before I slump against the wall. My whole body is trembling.
“Do you want to know why I don’t get attached to guys?” Charlie sits on the opposite side of the wall, propping up her knee and resting an arm over it.
“Why?” I ask. The stench of alcohol lingers on my breath, and I’m craving to suck on a toothbrush lathered in minty paste to destroy the bile coating my gum lines.
“Because of how you feel right now. It doesn’t go away,” she says. I bang my head against the wall. My eyes shut tight. “This is how Brody made me feel, every fucking day.”
“But he was a complete asshole.”
“Look, thisguy...” She gives me the finger quotations. “If he is really making you feel this way, he is not right for you. If a guy wants you he is going to go out of his way for you.”
“I don’t know how to not feel this way,” I say sniffling chunks of vomit stuck in my nostrils, it burns going back down my throat.
“By ending it. That’s how.”
Ending it. I’m so dehydrated I can’t process those words. I also can’t process how there are any teardrops left. Erasing any thought of Ryder out of my head seems impossible. I’m enraptured by an old-school crush. There are butterflies in my stomach, but a damn crow pecks at my insides, killing every single one of them.
“You gotta realize he’s not over her.” Charlie puckers her lips. The ugly truth hurts more coming out of her mouth because the same bloodline runs through her veins.
“So he’s going to go back to her.” I shrug, my lips tremble, and I bury my head behind my knees.
“I highly doubt it, but you trying to make something of it will honestly break your heart. Just look at yourself. I’m sure he cares about you, but not the way you see him. Do you love him or something?”
I wipe my face again. “I dunno. What if I do love him? Are you going to leave me?” My eyeliner and mascara smear in large streaks across my forearms. “I’m sorry. I’m really drunk.”
“Are you going to finally just tell me his name? Who you landed on for Roulette? Because clearly it’s whoever this guy is, and I think we both know it’s not really a mystery.” Charlie puckers her lips.
I shake my head at her and stare down at my fingernails. Chunks of vomit are on my hands. I’m disgusted. I avoid the question and mumble out, “I wish I could detach myself from guys like you.”
“Take a shower, you’ll feel better in the morning.”
