Chapter 17
Ellie
My head is pounding, and I cannot think without it hurting. A sliver of sunlight stretches across my bed, and I swear the light pierces directly through my brain. I have never hated the sun more. If I had any motivation to move, I would sink further under my covers and never come out.
Trying to gain some semblance of normalcy, I gulp down lukewarm water from a glass that I don’t remember putting on my side table and fight the sickness permeating in my stomach. I think I’ve closed my eyes for a second, but when I open them, it feels like I might’ve fallen asleep again.
“Morning, sunshine.” Nick greets me as I walk out of my bedroom. He is way too chipper, and I contemplate his murder for the second time this weekend. “You got soooo drunk last night. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time, but you seemed like you were having a lot of fun. ”
He adds a wink, and I rub my eyes, trying to get accustomed to the lights in the apartment. “I don’t know why I feel this shitty. I only had four drinks, and I was there for a couple hours.”
Nick lets out a hearty laugh that makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. “Six. You had six drinks and a shot. Hopefully, you don’t feel as bad as you look because—”
Grabbing a pillow off the couch, I chuck it at Nick’s face before he has a chance to finish, and it hits him dead in the chest before he has a chance to stop it. “I am never visiting you at work again, and I am never drinking again.”
Both are threats that I will not stick to, but it feels right to give Nick a hard time.
“I think your fake boyfriend liked it, especially when you were sitting on his lap,” he teases, and my brain goes into overdrive, trying to fill in the blanks from last night.
“Are you sure you don’t like him? Because you were whispering in each other’s ears all cuddled up together. It was super cute and kind of hot.”
“I don’t know what—” All the pieces shift together at once, and the picture starts to become clear.
I remember complaining about the seat. The way he was so close I could smell him.
Mmm, his scent was clean and manly, like spice and sandalwood.
I don’t remember what he said, but I can remember the feeling I got when he pressed his lips close to my ear.
The tingling that hit straight to my core.
It is very rare for me to get turned on at all, especially in public, but I distinctly remember having to squeeze my thighs to keep my composure.
He was wrapped around my waist, and I had my arms around his neck. “Oh my god, I really did that?”
“Yeah, you did!” He’s basically cheering at this point, and I am ready to buy a one way ticket to a random country and live in solitude forever. “Who knew getting a fake boyfriend would make you so relaxed and flirty?”
There’s an attempt to roll my eyes, but it just causes the pain of my headache to resurface. “Was it the fake boyfriend or the copious amount of alcohol you over served me? I’m going to revoke your liquor license!”
“I’d like to see you try.” He sticks his tongue out at me and grabs his wallet off the counter. “But, I gotta go. Someone called out, so I picked up an extra shift. See you later!”
Confusion sets in as he walks out the door.
He was obviously dressed for his job at Working Class, but they don’t open until the late afternoon.
When I do a quick scan of my surroundings, I notice the clock in the kitchen revealing a shocking piece of information.
Nick is going to work because it’s 4 p.m.
It’s 4 p.m., and I have done nothing all day.
As I’m about to throw myself into a state of panic, my nauseousness overtakes me. Luckily, I am fast and stubborn, and I refuse to throw up anywhere that is not a toilet or trash can. Rushing into the bathroom, I vomit up the two glasses of water and whatever is left of last night’s fun.
I am never drinking again.
I piece myself back together with a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a blue Gatorade. It is not a perfect hangover cure, but it will have to do for right now. There is an analysis paper I need to submit by Tuesday, and about one hundred and ninety pages of reading standing in my way.
A lo-fi study music video plays on the TV, and I do my best to make myself comfortable. James Joyce and I are about to be best friends. Unfortunately, I don’t even make it past the first page before I hear my phone buzz and feel the strongest urge to check it.
What if it’s Patrick?
Disappointment washes over me when my mom’s message pops up. I know I shouldn’t be upset, but I am.
Mom: Your dad told me about your boyfriend, and I’m so happy for you! I don’t like when my Elle Bell is lonely. *heart emoji*
Ellie: Thanks, mom…
Mom: Oh, Eleanor. You know your father and I just want what is best for you! Your father says he is a handsome young man, but I want to see for myself. Let’s have him over for dinner soon! Choose a day, and we will make it work. Love you so so so so much!
Ellie: Love you too, mom. *heart emoji*
She means well, but I wish she could just be happy with me.
My last relationship broke me, and I haven’t really felt the need to rush into a new one.
Well, I guess at this point it wouldn’t be rushing.
It’s been four years since then, and two years since I’ve hooked up with anyone.
God, I couldn’t even commit to sleeping with my rebound.
It only got as far as third base. I had gone down on him, but when he tried to reciprocate, it sent me into a panic attack.
It wasn’t his fault. He was nice enough, but my ex completely ruined my confidence and my trust.
Nick watched me go through the whole thing, which is why he has been good about not pushing me to start something if I’m not ready.
I know that he wants to see me happy with someone new, but he knows the trauma that is still with me.
That’s what I wish my parents could see, but I don’t have the type of relationship where I can talk to them about stuff.
They only care about surface level, so that is what I give them.
I manage to finish the book before Nick gets home. It is completely covered in annotations—yellow highlighter, black pen, and sticky notes. Feeling accomplished enough, I make my way back into my room and crawl under the covers.
My mind wanders to Patrick’s whispers as I try to fall asleep.
If I wasn’t so drunk, I might be able to remember exactly what we talked about, but what I do remember is the shiver I felt all through my body when he called me baby.
Turning off my lights to go to bed, I attempt to resist what I’m feeling, but I can’t stop myself from sliding my hand down my body.
In my head, it’s Patrick’s hands holding me, touching me, making me come.
I drift off to sleep, temporarily relieved and satisfied.