He shoots her a thumbs-up. “You got it.”
I try to protest but Nina’s already dragging me off my stool and onto the dance floor. The bass from the live band thumps through my chest, and for a little while, I actually let myself go, getting lost in the music and flashing lights of the stage.
It’s easier than thinking, that’s for sure.
As the night rolls on, shots blur into more shots. Hands and bodies brush against mine, grinding and swaying as I’m led through each number that slowly erases whatever worries I’d been carrying walking through the front door. I laugh and dance with my friends until the bar does last call, and I soon find myself stumbling out into the cold air with the rest of the crowd.
I’m half-carrying Alia while Nina fumbles for her phone to call us a rideshare. Declan’s trailing behind all of us, some girl wrapped around him and desperately trying to yank him down into another kiss. His lips and cheeks are stained from her lipstick in a hilariously ridiculous way.
“Shit, where the hell is it?” Nina mumbles.
I stop right on the edge of the curb, keeping my arm locked around Alia when she sways again. She’s singing to herself, an out-of-tune rendition of the last song that had been playingbefore we left, her head moving to rest on my shoulder as she lets out a contented sigh.
“I love you guys,” she mumbles.
I’m forced to shift my body weight when she practically ragdolls in my arms.
My body is still buzzing from all the alcohol, enough to keep me from really feeling the chill in the air. Luckily, the cold is starting to sober me up a bit, making it easier to move my limbs and keep Alia from slipping out of my grasp and flopping down onto the dirty sidewalk.
“Found it!” Nina sings, holding her phone up triumphantly.
My eyes move away from her to something flapping on a nearby light post. It’s a colorful flyer with a picture of a globe on it. Smiling cartoon people are all linked together by their hands around it. Beneath the picture is a headline that reads,Teach English Abroad! We Pay BIG BUCKS!
Huh…
“Hey, you need help?”
I turn to the voice, spotting Declan, the girl who had been clinging to him no longer around. Before I have a chance to answer, he bends down just enough to scoop Alia up into his arms and practically throw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
She laughs, her speech slurred enough that I can’t make out the words. Whatever she does say gets a small snort out of Declan.
“Thanks,” I say, rolling my shoulders.
“Nina put in for a ride yet?” he asks.
“I think so.” But my attention is already shifting back to the flyer.
Before I can stop myself, I pull away from Declan’s side and walk over to it, plucking it from where it’s been stapled against the post. At the very bottom is a phone number and an urgent request to call for more information ASAP.
I’m not sure what possesses me to fold the flyer up and stuff it into my bra by the time the rideshare finally pulls up to the curb, or why I bother tossing it onto my nightstand once I finally make it home and climb into bed for the night, not bothering to change out of my clothes before passing out.
Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but for the first time all night as I drift off to sleep, I find myself imagining picking up and leaving the States behind for good.
Come the next morning,the light spilling in from my open window pulls me from my sleep. A headache throbs like a drumbeat behind my eyes, forcing me to shift slightly and immediately regret it.
My mouth feels like cotton and tastes too much like I stuffed a bunch of paper towels in it—dry and bizarrely sour. I smack my lips a few times, trying to generate any hint of moisture while wondering if I made the spectacularly bad choice to eat cotton balls sometime in the night. Wouldn’t put it past me, honestly.
Last night was… blurry.
And loud.
I squint. The curtains are barely even pulled closed, allowing the sun to punch me in the face like it has a personal vendetta.
Groaning, I reach an arm over my head and stretch with a tight sigh, feeling pops along my spine like someone cracking their knuckles one by one. I shift from the crumpled and awkward position I apparently collapsed into at some point, one leg under me and the other hanging off the side of my mattress like I’d attempted yoga and died halfway through it.
“Fuck me,” I mumble under my breath.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pause as the floor tilts like it wants to throw me straight back down onto my bed. My stomach churns, threatening vengeance for all the bar snacks I greedily snuck between drinks like they were some kind of neutralizer. Cheese fries don’t cancel out vodka, something I should know from plenty of past experiences.
