I woke up and fumbled around for my phone. The light in Christophe’s apartment was nonexistent. I had no idea what time it was.
My throat was so dry, I could barely swallow. I was fully clothed but had the feeling we’d made out for days. My lips were chapped. I really needed the backlight of my phone to find the bathroom. And water. And fucking Advil.
I got up cautiously, trying not to wake him. I sat up and steadied myself on the bed. I didn’t have a shot in hell at making it to yoga.
I couldn’t tell if we were in a basement apartment or a penthouse. There was no light from the street. He must have installed blackout shades. I didn’t so much as project a shadow as I felt my way around for a wall or a doorknob.
I finally found a wall and felt my way across. I landed on a light switch and flipped it briefly on and off. Bingo.
I shut the door quietly behind me, hoping I could find the kitchen and a glass of water next. I buttoned up my jeans and felt around to wash my hands.
I turned back to the doorknob, but it didn’t move. I tried turning the other way, then pulling. Nothing. I was either half asleep or still drunk, but either way, I started to panic. I took a step back. The light switch was outside the bathroom. I didn’t know if it would be worse to wait out the night in the pitch-black bathroom or bang on the door and wake him. Both options felt equally humiliating.
I gripped the handle again and pulled harder, a doomed sense of claustrophobia setting in. The alcohol was fueling my anxiety. I took a deep breath and pulled with everything I had. It finally gave way with a deafening rip, the force throwing me backward, landing me sideways on my left wrist. The panic gave way to shooting pain as I sat there trying to figure out what happened. Seconds later, I heard footsteps and a concerned knock on the door.
“Samantha? Are you okay? What the hell was that?”
I felt my right hand wrapped around the cold piece of metal.
“Can you please turn on the light? And open the door?”
The light came on as I saw the doorknob was still there.
Then I realized what had happened.
He knelt down next to me. “Holy shit!”
I dropped the wall fixture I was still gripping with my right hand and cradled my wrist. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left the light off ... and I thought the door wouldn’t open. But—I must have mistaken the towel rack for the doorknob.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Just my wrist. I fell back when this came out of the wall, and ...”
We both looked at the gaping hole in the bathroom wall and then back at each other. I could see he was trying not to laugh, which made me want to laugh. Soon we were both laughing hysterically.
He put his hands on his face. “You’re a tornado. Stronger than you look,” he said with a huge grin.
Something about the wordtornadomade me laugh even harder.
“I’ll get you some ice. Stay here.”
I rested my head against the wall and tried bending my wrist. “Fuck,” I whimpered.
I held the bag of ice against my wrist for a few minutes while we each finished a bottle of water.
“What time is it?” I whispered.
“Three a.m. That’s the devil’s hour in America.” He smirked. “We could finally ... you know.”
I looked down at my swollen wrist. “I think the moment passed.”
He smiled sympathetically. “You’re a cool girl, Sam. It was fun helping you find some fun for a night.”
I resisted the urge to retort.
We fell back asleep for a few hours. I woke to the smell of coffee and a fresh bag of ice next to me.
“You’re sweet,” I said when he asked if I took my coffee with cream or sugar.
