I can’t remember the last time I was this hungover. Actually, I don’t think I ever have been—not even in my wild, misspent youth. A vision of Lewis laughing and me yelling ‘Pour, pour!’ vaguely swims into my mind, and I cringe. God, he must’ve guessed right quite a few times for me to have drunk so many shots. Hopefully, I was just drinking for the sake of it and not incriminating myself in any way. There’s something, though, a memory lying just below the surface that I can’t quite grasp.
Did we? Surely not. I would’ve remembered that! Besides, I was fully dressed when I woke up. You can still have sex with someone while wearing clothes, don’t be naive,a little voice whispers. With that thought, I hotfoot it to the bathroom, strip, and inspect my lower region fully. But there’s no dried semen. Nothing feels sore, and I just don’t think it happened. But I feel scared all the same, like he’s violated me in some way. You fucking idiot, Holly! Why the fuck did you go to his hotel room?
After showering, washing my hair, and drinking a litre of water, I feel marginally better. My phone lights up on the bed; Andrea again. I answer with a curt, ‘Hello.’
‘Holly! Thank fuck! I rang you so many times last night. Why didn’t you pick up? I thought you were dead!’ She sounds so relieved to the point of tears that I soften.
‘I know, I should’ve called you back first thing. Sorry. I’m not dead. I just had a bit too much to drink. I’m at home now.’
‘You spent the night at the hotel?’
‘Uh ... yes.’
‘Were you with someone?’
I gulp. ‘Yes.’Maybe best to change the subject.‘What about you? What time did you leave?’ I enquire.
‘Around eleven. The party was just getting started. I wasn’t sure where you were, so I called. But then you didn’t pick up, and I got worried. Lewis came in just as I was leaving.’
I blink at that. ‘Did he mention me?’
‘No, I asked him if he’d seen you, and he said he hadn’t. That’s why I tried calling you again.’
‘But I was with him!’
‘With Lewis?’ Andrea sounds confused. ‘You spent the night in Lewis’s hotel room?’
‘Yes! I may have had a bit too much to drink, and he kindly let me use his bed.’
Andrea doesn’t say anything. The uneasy vibe I had when I woke up intensifies. Something fishy is going on with this guy.
‘Hello ...? Andrea?’ I say, worried that she’s going to think I’m some kind of slag who sleeps with clients. ‘I should clarify he wasn’t in the bed too! Nothing happened with him. It wasn’t like that.’
‘I’m here. I believe you. I was just checking something,’ she replies.
Phew, the relief I feel is palpable. I need Andrea on my side, and not just for HR purposes.
When she speaks again, her voice is calm. But there’s an underlying seriousness to it, like when a policewoman is delivering bad news. ‘Holly, I don’t want to freak you out. But Lewis posted something involving you on TikTok last night. I’ll send it through.’ She doesn’t say what it’s about, just adds using that same calm voice, ‘I’m going to watch it all now. Call me back when you’ve seen it.’
The ‘watch it all’ bit of her sentence has me curious. What exactly has he posted? A sweeping room shot where you can see my head in the background? Some kind of climate change promo tagging me in it?
My expectation levels are low. So I get a fright when I see a close-up of my pale face, sans glasses, staring at the camera with an eye-piercing scowl. Lewis’s voice sounds from off camera like a radio announcer, ‘My mate Holly has a Christmas message for you all ... Take it away, Holly.’
My scowl deepens, and my lip curls. ‘Yeah, so listen up, TikTokers ...’
What follows is a rant about the evils of consumerism and how Christmas is nothing but Western capitalist propaganda designed to extract money from our wallets.
I breathe deeply. Dear God. Did I really say that? It’s what I think, but I normally keep my opinions to myself.
But it’s not over yet. The scene changes to me perched on the edge of the bed. There’s obviously been a lot more tequila shots happening off camera. My mascara has smudged into two dark circles under my eyes; and I’m wearing, of all things, an eco-friendly shower cap and holding a hairdryer like it’s a microphone.The pieces of the puzzle start falling into place.
My anti-Christmas rant continues, and I’m angry-slurring every second word. ‘Santa is an asshole, and his elves are worse. Tiny tinkering fools, tap tap tapping with their hammers, making boring shit that no one wants.’ Then I start on the reindeers, the carols, and all the other elements that make up the festive hell I’m forced to endure each year. My loathing of eggnog even gets a mention.Cringing, I force myself to watch to the bitter end.
‘And anosher thing ...’ I pause, as if I’m trying to think of something meaningful to say, but all that comes out is ‘Have a crappy Christmas.’ I flick two middle fingers up smartly, then collapse backwards onto the bed—and start snoring.A gentle rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ starts playing, and the camera switches to Lewis’s smirking face. He holds a finger to his lips, whispers ‘shhhh,’ and winks. The video cuts off.
The TikTok has over 500,000 views, 43,500 likes, and 1,500 comments. The back of my neck starts sweating. Feeling sick to my stomach, I click to read the comments but then wish I hadn’t.
U crack me up Lewis, this is hilarious. Sharing right now!
