Page 51 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 29: Skylar

I was woken by a woman standing over me. She screamed and swore and ripped away the sheets, which had been the only thing covering my nakedness.

“What are you doing in my bed!” she yelled.

My head pounded and my mouth was dry as dirt. I couldn’t think clearly enough to form a response. I looked around, the sunlight penetrating my skull, making my brain throb like a stubbed toe. I wasn’t in my condo; I wasn’t anywhere at all familiar. Then I saw a Ski Patrol stocking cap on the floor and I remembered.

“Where’s Frank?” I managed to rasp.

“Huh!” This girl, this waifish blonde with multiple piercings and a Betty Boop tattoo on her thigh, put her hands on her hips, which were covered by a diner uniform with a short skirt and apron. “He’s gotta be at work. That doesn’t say much about you. Usually when he brings a whore here, he at least wakes her up before he goes.” She rolled her eyes and simultaneously grimaced. “He must still be pissed at me for hooking up with Jimmy,” she said this softly, as if talking to herself. Then, in an instant, remembered her anger and set her torch-like eyes back on me. “Get dressed and get out!”

I moved just a little and my knee sent out the urgent reminder that it was wounded. “I can’t walk,” I said, “and my crutches are back at the clinic.”

“Not my problem!” she yelled. “You have three minutes to get out, or I’ll call the police and have you arrested for prostitution.”

“Um, I’m not actually a prostitute…”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT! GET OUT!!!”

Somehow I rolled out of bed, but crawling around with my naked butt in the air represented a new low. Finding my clothes and getting dressed improved matters slightly, but once I was out in the hallway, with the door slammed behind me, reality set in. I had no phone, no crutches, and no way home. I used the stair railing to hoist myself up, stood on my right leg and attempted to put weight on my left, but doing so made me yelp. So I sat and crawled down the stairs, toddler style, my massive hangover and my knee crowning me as the queen of pain. I thought about the chili and grapes that I’d puked up the day before. At least I never ate dinner last night, because it would surely be all over the stairwell by now if I had.

After what seemed like a month, I made it down the stairs. I hopped on one foot, pushed open the front door and managed to struggle outside where I stood, leaning against the building, until someone, anyone, came by who could maybe help. Around twenty minutes went by. Twenty minutes that seemed like twenty years, as I shivered in the icy wind, leaning against the building, trying not to put weight against my knee, trying not to think about who I was and how I’d gotten here.

You did it to yourself. Lyrics from one of Gavin’s favorite songs rang through my head.

Gavin.

I was flooded with guilt at the mere idea of him. Why hadn’t he entered my mind last night? How could I hook up with Frank without giving Gavin a second thought? No, forget about second thoughts. If I was being honest, I’d admit that Gavin had never even rated a first thought.

Finally, somebody came by on a scooter much like Frank’s, and I convinced this stranger to give me a lift to the nearest bus stop. From there I got off at the stop closest to the clinic, where I sat on a bench, until I saw a fellow skier who I recognized from the dorms, and I convinced her to go to the clinic and retrieve my crutches. After that things got easier, but they were still no picnic. I was sick with shame, dehydrated and nauseous, and my knee forced my whole body to pound and ache. I didn’t think things could get any worse, that I ever would feel such self-loathing, such pain, such an intense desire to disappear.