soz about the loss..heres to next time.
My vision blurs.
“What the fuck,” I whisper, staring at the screen.
One hundred thousandGreat Britain pounds.
Is this guy mental?
I shove my phone face-down on the bar and suddenly the room feels too loud.
The bartender sets the drink down in front of me. “You alright?”
“Toilet,” I say, already sliding off the stool.
I don’t wait for directions. I follow the little sign down a narrow hallway and push into the women’s room, locking myself into the first stall. The second the door shuts, my body gives up.
I barely have time to lean over before I’m retching into the toilet, the alcohol and adrenaline and grief all coming up at once.
My eyes water. My hands shake.
When it’s over, I flush and sit back on the toilet lid, breathing hard, then remember why I came in here and lean forward again, this time to pee.
My hands are still trembling.
I rest my forehead against the stall door and close my eyes.
Get it together.
Get it together.
One hundred thousand pounds.
I look down at the seat of my underwear and see a faint red.
Oh. Of course.
I flush, stand, and move to the sink.
My face is blotchy. Eyes red. Mascara smudged under my lashes. I look wrecked.
OH! Of course!
I splash cold water on my face and grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection.
My phone buzzes again in my hand.
Another message from the same user:
hope ur okay.
I dry my hands,unlock my phone, and stare at the chat box then type.
Frankie: thank u… seriously. dat means more than u know.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
User: u deserve it, i know how hard u worked. Chastity deserved better.
