13. Kai
Kai
Iopen my eyes and scan my surroundings, not a goddamn clue where I am.
My head feels heavy, pounding in time with the bass from the music.
No, that can’t be right. I’m not at the club anymore.
The pounding is solely in my head because I’m experiencing a hangover from hell.
My ears are ringing and my mouth feels like I swallowed shards of glass.
Light streams in through a large window covered by curtains that definitely don’t belong to me.
I’m lying in a bed. I look down. Naked? Yup, definitely naked, my bottom half at least covered by a thin sheet.
Where the fuck am I? What time is it?
I wearily reach over in the bed looking for my phone but instead, I’m met with a giggle. Shit. Someone else is in this bed with me. I turn to look at a fully naked brunette, sitting up, back against fluffy white pillows scrolling on her phone.
“Shit. Uh, did we?” I ask, hoping she fills in the blanks.
“Yes, we did. A few times. I’m surprised you don’t remember.
Well, not that surprised. You were pretty shitfaced for a while.
But you fucked like you were sober, don’t worry,” she explains without looking up from her phone.
How much did I drink last night? I don’t even remember leaving the club or the bar.
Wherever we had been. I sure as hell don’t remember picking her up or having sex with her, which is saying something because a woman like this would be hard to forget.
Gorgeous face, full tits, luscious curves, and legs for days. But she’s not Kendall.
“Got it. Where are we?” I wonder, swiping my hand down my face.
“A hotel room in Vancouver.” Right, we had won our game last night against the Grizzlies.
That’s why I was out of my mind. I vaguely remember taking an Uber to a bar with my teammates and then having shots.
A lot of shots. Everything else is blurry after that.
The night swallowed in a sticky, drunken haze.
“Sorry, I don’t remember much from last night,” I admit sitting up and resting my arms on my knees.
“She really did a number on you, huh?” she asks, her eyes flicking to me, her face filled with pity.
“What are you talking about?” I reply with confusion.
“Your ex? You kept asking if you could call me Kendall. You wouldn’t let it go so eventually I gave in.
She must have really messed you up.” That’s the fucking understatement of the century.
Just when I think this can’t possibly get any worse.
The last thing I need is some random chick I have no recollection of psychoanalyzing me while the room around me starts to spin.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I apologize and cover my face with my hands.
“That’s okay. I need to get going anyways,” she responds, seemingly unbothered.
Mystery girl gets out of bed in search of her clothes, giving me a view of her stellar ass.
Jesus Christ. I need to fucking reign it in.
This is a new low for me. I don’t even know her name.
She slips on her skimpy excuse for underwear and pulls her hot pink mini dress over her head.
She stands at the foot of the bed with her clutch and heels in hand, staring at me awkwardly. The fuck if I know what to say.
“I’m not going to bother giving you my number. I know you won’t call me,” she grins. “But you were an amazing lay. I sent you a request on Instagram. If you’re ever in the Vancouver area again, you know how to find me. Nice meeting you, Kai,” she smiles warmly before heading for the door.
“Yeah, you too,” I call after her.
And as mysteriously as she appeared, she’s gone.
I lie back and pull the covers over my face, hoping to sleep it off.
As the day drags on, the previous night comes back to me in pieces and fragments.
A final buzzer, a game winning shot. Three assists.
The crowd erupting with hysterical, manic energy.
Everyone around me is hollering and cheering.
I get swept up in the euphoria, the high of winning one of the most crucial games of the season.
I forget for a second about Kendall and the damage she had done.
Later at the bar, I see a girl who looks so similar to her I have to do a double take.
I nearly break my neck staring at her. Once I’m certain it isn’t her, I return to the chaos of my teammates and their celebratory partying.
But I’m no longer drinking to celebrate; I’m drinking to forget.
To chase away memories that were ingrained in my head and imprinted on my heart.
The sound of her laugh that lives rent free in my mind.
Shot. Her smile that feels like sunshine.
Shot. The feeling of her beneath me, moving inside her, my body pinned to hers.
Double shot. The kaleidoscope of colors that form her hazel eyes.
Shot. The first day we met. Shot. Spring break in Cabo.
Double shot. The look on her face when she told me she was pregnant.
Shot. And before I know it, I’m too far gone.
My only goal to erase her completely. At least for the night.
I’m certainly fucking paying for it today.
But how long am I going to keep paying for it?
The ghost of her that haunts me wherever I go, this sickness that feels like it’s eating me alive, this incessant festering wound that refuses to heal.
I’m quickly running out of options and out of vices.
I could drink myself into an early grave, emerge unscathed from fights I instigated, rack up DUIs and sleep with my choice of women and it doesn’t change a goddamn thing.
I still wake up wishing for the only person I can’t have.