Chapter 32
chapter thirty-two
Audrey
Today's vocabulary word: drift
I rolled over and yelped at the ache rippling through my shoulders, down my back, and around my hips. I hadn't felt this battered since convincing myself I could dig a path along my side yard and lay a brick walkway by myself.
My mouth was dry like chalk and my head rang with a deep, dull headache. I would've hidden under the covers and slept all day if my stomach wasn't twisting in that old familiar way that told me I needed the bathroom more than anything else.
A hand over my eyes to hide from the worst of the sunlight slicing in through the curtains, I shuffled to the edge of the bed.
I made my way across the suite like I was trudging through a snowbank and into the quiet dark of the bathroom.
I locked the door and yanked some towels off the shelf because these episodes always made me cold.
Nothing could convince me that bare feet on frigid tiles didn't set off a chemical reaction that kicked the whole matter into a new level of awful.
I liked to think about my irritable bowel like a bridge troll.
I knew what made it angry and, over the course of many years and much error, I knew how to cross that bridge without bothering the troll too much.
But I also knew that the troll was, by definition, irritable.
There would be times that I pissed it off for no discernible reason and I'd just have to deal with the wreckage it delivered.
The troll hated tomatoes and cucumbers, and deviating from my usual schedule.
Traveling with a troll was tough but I'd reached a point where I knew myself well enough to manage these issues without too much noise.
The real problem was prolonged stress. That fucked it all up.
Whenever I found myself on edge for days at a time, emotionally activated and hypervigilant—or married to a self-obsessed, paranoid narcissistic asshole—the troll lost its shit.
All of which was to say I'd put one foot after another for the past five days, knowing this end awaited me. I wasn't sure what'd set it off but that didn't really matter. It was inevitable.
Half an hour and most of my will to live later, I emerged from the bathroom. I still had a towel shawled over my shoulders and it'd probably stay there until I could get some fluids into my system and stop shivering. Very chic. Very sexy.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my zip pouch of meds clutched to my chest, and grabbed the bottled water on the nightstand. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor and I would've left it there if I hadn't noticed Jude's precise handwriting on the page as it fell.
I hadn't processed his absence from our hotel room until now but dealing with the troll always gave me tunnel vision. I grunted out a sigh as I reached for the paper. On a page from the hotel notepad, he'd written:
Saunders —
My mother gave you two hits of ecstasy last night. Drink all of this. Going to the gym. Don't leave the resort without me.
j
Well. That explained a few things.
As I reread the note—no signature though none was needed—last night drifted back to me in pieces.
The memories were strange, like photos captured through milky filters, but they were all there.
Every last humiliating one. Even me pawing at Jude and attempting a standing wall split for reasons that must've made sense at the time.
At least I knew why my hips felt like an overstretched rubber band.
I propped myself up in bed, blankets clutched to my chin, and called the only person who could help me fix this.
With my phone propped on my bent knees, I sipped the water while waiting for Jamie to answer. When she came into focus, I found her in an identical position. She was swaddled in a bathrobe, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I had a lot of sex the other day," she said, "and now I have a UTI."
This always happened to her. "Are you on meds?"
She bobbed her head. "I just feel like I've been stomped on."
"We need to find a specialist for you. This shouldn't happen so often."
"Yes, Mother."
"I hate seeing you in pain like this," I said. "I'll help you find someone. I'll go with you."
"We'll talk about it when neither of us look like last week's laundry." She took a sip from her mug. "What's the news? Please tell me that you finally let that fiancé of yours fuck you right through a concrete wall."
"More like I accidentally did ecstasy and begged him to fuck me through a concrete wall and then made him explain in detail why he wouldn't do that. Oh, and I humped his leg until he was so embarrassed for me that he put a stop to it."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do I want to know where you got the X?"
"His mom gave it to me," I said, heavily salting every word.
"Sabotage or silly goose? Which side is she on here?"
"Silly goose, most likely," I said, remembering Janet's horror when she'd realized what happened.
"Okay, here's what you're going to do." She held up a finger. "First, we're not embarrassed by the things we said and did when we were high. Especially when getting high wasn't our choice."
"While I do support that," I started, "I've already died of embarrassment. You're speaking to my ghost right now."
"Well, Ghost Audrey looks at least twenty-five percent alive so my recommendation stands. Next, we're going to listen to our id. The things we do when we're wasted are the things we actually want but don't let ourselves admit. They're an owner's manual for managing our unconscious needs."
All I could think about was grabbing Jude only for him to pry my fingers from his pants. "I don't think we can do that because my id is oddly fond of sexual harassment."
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," she said.
"Did I not mention the leg humping?"
"You're not the first and you won't be the last," she said with a wave of her hand. "What I'd like to know is why you can't embrace the honesty and see if you have as much fun on his leg today as you did last night."
"I'm very busy being dead," I said. "I don't see any time in my schedule to revisit that horror."
"Okay but really," she said. "Why can't you have a fling with him?"
I leaned back against the headboard and sipped my water. My belly didn't clench or gurgle like it intended to reject the water, and that was fantastic news. "Because what then?" I replied. "We just have sex and then go our separate ways?"
"Yes, I do it at least once a week with multiple people. I promise, it's fine."
"You haven't been in love with those people since you were fifteen," I cried.
"Ahhh. Now we're getting somewhere."
"That's not what I meant. I just—it's not as easy as a fling."
"Of course it isn't." She said this like she'd been waiting for me to figure it out all along. "But that isn't a good enough reason to play dead."
I motioned to my towel shawl and my bloodless face. "I can't imagine why you'd think I'm playing."
"Ha. You're hilarious." She lifted her mug in salute. "Stop being ashamed. Start being honest with your fiancé."
"Fake fiancé," I added.
Jamie gave me a wide, toothy grin. "We'll see about that, baby girl."