It makes me feel better and worse all at the same time. He pulls me gently to my feet and I turn away from him, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my mouth. We’re both drenched.
“Are you okay?” he asks tenderly, and my heart cracks again.
I’m not okay, Devin. I miss you. I feel like I’m dying inside.
“I’m okay,” I whisper back hoarsely.
“Let’s get you back to Rosie and Luc’s, okay?” he says, moving away from me and back to the cab.
As soon as Devin opens the door, the driver starts to complain that he doesn’t want to drive us. He’s scared I’ll puke in the cab. Devin tells him there’s a hundred-dollar tip in it if he’ll just take us a few more blocks.
He nods and we slide into the backseat. The cabbie drives much more carefully now and my blurred drunken vision and my still unsettled stomach are grateful. There’s not a lot of traffic this late at night on a Tuesday, so we get to Luc and Rose’s rental apartment in Williamsburg pretty quickly.
A block away he stops at a red light and I jump out of the car. I try to race my way to their apartment but I’m still way too drunk and I’m weaving all over the sidewalk, which is slippery from the freezing rain. I feel a hand under my elbow and suddenly Devin’s guiding me in a straight line.
“I’m not letting you fall on your damn face,” he says almost begrudgingly.
Oh God, he must hate me. He must think I’m just a dirty little drunken bimbo who can’t hold her liquor. Just some crazy girl he was stupid to ever get involved with. Who would want me? He deserves way better than me. Now he knows it.
“Stop.” I glance up and his face swims into focus as he tugs me into the waiting elevator. He looks…broken. It takes my drunken brain a few seconds to realize I just said all of that out loud. “I don’t think you’re a crazy bimbo. I’m just…I’m upset. I’m hurt.”
The elevator opens on the third floor, Luc’s floor, and I wrench my arm free from Devin and mumble, “I have to go.”
Then I promptly drop my keys. I bend to retrieve them and almost fall flat on my face. He saves me once again, scooping me and my keys up and leaning me against the wall. He’s right in front of me now. Staring at me.
“You’re not happy, Callie,” he says flatly, his eyes hooded and sexy as all hell. “Look at you.Thisis not happy. Why are you insisting on being unhappy?”
“I wasn’t happy with you either,” I slur and sniff back tears. “I was scared. I knew you’d leave.”
“I didn’t leave.Youleft!” he argues, his voice rising.
“She came back.”
He sighs and shakes his head in frustration. “You’re drunk. You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning anyway. Why am I even trying to talk to you?”
He guides me down the hall and leans me against the wall again as he opens the apartment door. I stumble straight to the guest bathroom and puke again. He holds my hair again as I pray to the porcelain gods. I have never been this drunk in my life.
Half an hour later I finally start to feel better. I’m still drunk, but the room isn’t spinning and my stomach is done rejecting its contents, mostly because there are no contents left. I stand up and reach for my toothbrush.
He stays there in the bathroom while I brush my teeth, leaning on the marble countertop like I’ve just gone three rounds in a boxing ring—at least that’s what it feels like. I brush my teeth twice and swirl a copious amount of mouthwash.
“You look like shit,” he tells me flatly as he turns, pulls back the curtain and starts the shower behind him.
I glance in the mirror. My hair is matted and there’s vomit in the ends. I’m pale, sweaty and my makeup is smeared. I probably smell too. I start to peel out of my clothes.
Devin watches me, his face neutral. I’m still too drunk to care if he leaves or not. Completely naked, I step out of the piles of my clothing at my feet and attempt to climb over the tub but start to lose my balance.
I am never drinking again.
Devin’s there once again, holding me under the arms and helping me into the warm, soothing spray. I hold on to the tiled wall for balance and close my eyes.
A minute later, the shower curtain is pulled back, I feel a waft of cool air circle me and then his hands are on my waist. My eyes open. He reaches past me and grabs my purple shower pouf off the hook under the shower nozzle. I don’t turn around. Not because I don’t want to see his perfect naked body behind me but because I’m scared I’ll lose my balance again.
I hear the body wash container lid flip open and seconds later he’s washing my back in slow, easy circles. Foamy soap slides down my front as he pushes it over my shoulders.
“Face me,” he whispers and I slowly turn. He steadies me with his hand on my shoulder.
He runs the soapy pouf over my breasts, my abdomen, my hips…
