“I didn’t think I was,” the man says. His voice is smooth as velvet, and he smirks before taking a long pull from his beer. His calm confidence rattles me, but I grit my teeth. Not worth the time. Unfortunately, Kara doesn’t seem to agree.
“Well she says you were. And I want to know why.”
He steps towards us and I tug her jacket harder. “Come on, let’s go.”
Kara doesn’t move and the two of them stare at each other in what looks like a silent square up. I bounce my attention between them, halfway waiting for one to draw an ivory-handled pistol. The other men, too, have quieted and are watching their asshole friend tower over my very drunk, but determined roommate. The man’s cheek quirks with a laugh he doesn’t voice, his eyes darting to mine again.
“I simply told your friend she looked dissatisfied with her conquest, and that it didn’t surprise me.”
His words churn in my belly, the heat of anger growing by the second. Though I had no intention of engaging with him further, my response falls out before I can help it.
“That’s not what you said.”
“It’s almost exactly what I said. If you misconstrued it, that’s on you.”
I frown, my nausea cresting with my frustration. “Whatever, asshat.”
Tugging hard on Kara’s arm, I pull her back towards the street, ready to jaywalk if need be. His voice rings clear behind us as the light finally changes.
“Maybe next time try a man who doesn’t wear a beanie and suck on lollipops like a child.”
“That’s what I said!” Kara shrieks, her drunken giggle bursting out as she breaks free from my grip once more.
My anger rumbles and I twist back to respond, but instead of words, I double over as vomit pours out onto the concrete.
It’s a special kind of hell to have the sort of food poisoning that ravages your body from both ends, and leaves you praying to a god you don’t believe in from the cool bathroom floor.
The power of Christ compels you, I think as I peel my shaky sweat-soaked cheek off the mosaic tile and arch my back in what can only be described as an exorcism of the chicken taquitos that are somehow still lingering after last night’s antics.
Following my explosive sidewalk sideshow, the men fled indoors and the bouncer appeared to shoo us away. Thankfully, I managed to make it home before another bout of vomiting, but it’s been almost nonstop since.Fuck Spencer,andhis free food; I am never eating a catered lunch again.
Kara’s soft knock interrupts the silent cursing of my boss and pulls a defeated groan as I wipe the saliva dripping from my lips.
“I really think you should stay home today.”
It’s the third time she’s said it since we stumbled in, and it’s only gotten more irritating. Shutting my eyes against the throbbing in my skull and using the countertop as leverage, I pray once more the cheap formica stays secure as I hoist myself up to my feet. I rinse my mouth and spit the water out, an uncomfortable chill running the length of my arms.
“You know I can’t,” I croak. “Not today. Besides, I think that was the last of it. I feel better already.”
The door swings open before I’ve fully uttered my lie and I meet Kara’s gaze in the mirror. Her expression is one of pity as she holds out a glass of ice water. Somehow, even hungover and sleep deprived, she looks fresh as a mother-fucking daisy, while my reflection is more along the lines of death warmed over. My almost black curls, sweat soaked and sticking to my forehead, accentuate the pasty pallor of my skin, and the remnants of last night’s makeup highlights the bags under my bloodshot eyes.
I look like an undead Snow White.
“That’s what you said six hours ago. If you feel half as terrible as you look, you’re in no shape to do anything, let alone present for your new boss. No offense love, but you’re not exactly a walking advertisement for wellness right now.”
I roll my eyes, but immediately regret it when my stomach echoes the motion.
“I’ll be fine. What time is it?”
Kara chews her lip. “I was hoping if I waited long enough you’d realize how silly this is and thatyourwellbeing should come first.”
I spin past her, swallowing hard against the bile that rises with the jolt of adrenaline. My phone sits on its charger by my bed and I lift it, the number blinking 6:45 in bright white. I havefifteen minutes to leave or I’ll miss the morning meeting. “Shit. Shit.Shit. I told you to peel me off the floor no later than six!”
Kara leans up against my doorframe, the glass of ice water still gripped firmly in her hand. Her eyes track my agitated movements as I rummage through the clothes on my ‘not quite dirty enough to wash’ chair, looking for my lucky skirt. If I can find it and get in the shower in the next two minutes, I might be able to pull this off. Kara continues her argument.
“The presentation isn’t worth all this. You were exploding out of both ends four minutes ago. Let someone else have the project.”
With a hair tie still gripped in my teeth, I frown at her and struggle through the explanation I’ve given too many times already.
