Whoa . . . why does that smell like kielbasa?
“Why are you smelling the wall?”
Great, solid question.
And unfortunately, I don’t have a great, solid answer to match it.
“Favorite pastime,” I say. “Smell a wall in your spare time. Anyway, so you’re back from your date.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, taking a step closer.
“Fine,” I answer, gripping the neck of the bottle tighter. “Just, uh, thirsty.” I hold up the Scotch. “Going back to my room. Watching a documentary about dying polar bears. Don’t worry, I donated to help them . . . and the pigeons.” I swallow. “Anyway, just going to do that. But, yeah, glad you had a nice time and you look . . . you look beautiful in that dress. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s just an observation.” My throat grows tight. Why is it tightening? Am I . . . fuck, am I feeling emotion?
“JP, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I choke out. “Sorry if that beautiful comment made you feel weird. I just . . . I just think that you look really nice. Really pretty. But you know, you’re dating Derek. Was his kiss good?” I hold up the bottle. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. None of my business. I don’t want to know. I just . . . man, those polar bears, they’re really thin. You can see their ribs. And I’m going to write a letter to the pigeon place, and tell them they shouldn’t name a pigeon Kazoo. He looks more like a Kevin. Just my honest opinion. So, yeah, okay. Well, I’ll, uh, see you later.”
I turn and practically run to my room. I slam the door and lock it for safe keeping.
Fuck, what was that shit?
Embarrassing, that’s what it was.
I set down my Scotch glass on my nightstand and pour myself multiple fingers. I can’t imagine what she must think of me, but it can’t be good. And Derek, fuck, I think they kissed. I didn’t hear any lip smacking, but they might be quiet kissers. That motherfucker kissed her before I did and that stings.
I know her better.
We’ve been acquainted for longer.
I’ve pined after this girl for fucking months.
And he kissed her first.
I don’t even know the fucker, but it makes me so goddamn . . . sad.
Fuck.
I tip back my tumbler, sucking down some more Scotch. I don’t like this pain I’m feeling. I don’t like these emotions souring through me. I don’t like any of it. I want to be numb. I want to not have to deal with these self-deprecating thoughts. I don’t want to think about their date, what they did or didn’t do, or if she’s texting him right now. Or if she’s telling Lottie how much she likes Derek, how she wants to take him to the wedding.
The wedding . . .
I spend the next half hour downing the rest of the bottle until there’s only an inch left.
I cry about the polar bears, watching them all over again.
I send an email to the pigeon place, inquiring about Kazoo.
And I text Breaker that I’m a loser who masturbates to exhalations.
And sometime in the night, when I’m just about ready to pass out, I send one more email from my private account.
To: McKayla, Kenzie, Hattie, Eileen, Barbie, Olivia, Betty, Rita, Jessica, Tess, Pauline, Dominique, Miranda, Cara From: JP Cane
Subject: Be my Date
Hey ladieeees,
Sending a big old cock of an email because, you know . . . I have a big cock, so this email has to match.
Here’s the thing. Hux is getting married to Lulu Lemon and they told me I need a plus-one. Looking for a willing candidate to escort me down the aisle.
All expenses paid. Promises of pleasure.
If interested, hit me up.
I wear condoms still.
K. Bye.
JP
Fuck.
Me.
Ohhhh . . . fuck.
My stomach rolls, my body heaves, and I’m clutching my toilet, puking for the third time this morning.
Please, Jesus, make it stop. I promise to never drink that much again, just make . . . the . . . puking . . .
Fuck.
My body rears back, my stomach revolts, and once again, I let it rip until there’s nothing left inside me.
I slide to the bathroom floor and rest my heated cheek on the cold tile.
If hell was a place, I imagine it being this, over and over again. A hangover with a constant, throbbing headache and matching nausea.
I take a few deep breaths as my phone buzzes next to me on the floor. Needing a distraction, I look and see that it’s Breaker.
Breaker: Are you alive this morning? You texted me a picture of Kazoo eleven times last night, all in a row. That leads me to believe you didn’t stop drinking.