Page 9 of Give Me Love

My stomach growls, and my mouth is drier than the Sahara.

Jesus Christ, did I die and this is hell?

My alcohol-fogged brain tries replay last night’s events, but only remembers shots, the bar, and Claire puking in the club’s bathroom.

I squeeze my lids shut, forcing her name out as loud as my body will allow. “Claire!”

“Don’t yell,” she moans, and I flip to the other side, looking down at my bedroom floor.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a groan, swiping her brunette hair from her face. She slowly sits up, holding her head as she does it. She looks at me splayed out on my stomach, and I chuckle.

“Oh my God, what did we do last night?”

“Everything,” she says. “I remember shots. Lots and lots of shots.” Smudged black mascara lines her bloodshot eyes.

I scrunch my face. “I also remember that,” I respond, thinking I may die of dehydration if I don’t get some damn water in me. I throw the comforter off and messily roll over onto my back. “Ugh, I need all the water.” I sit cross-legged, trying to talk my body into standing. I’m never drinking liquor again. I swear, whatever is in Fireball gives people amnesia and the flu.

Scrubbing my hands down my face, my eyes land on my feet. “Holy hell. Why are the bottoms of my feet black?”

Claire laughs. “You threw away your shoes.”

“I did what?” I blurt, looking down at her, feeling how wide my eyes are from the stretch of what I know is crusty makeup on my own face. I didn’t even clean my face. After running a finger under both eyes, I look at my leftover makeup, disappointed that I slept in that shit.

She takes ahold of the bed and pulls herself up as I grab a tissue from my vanity. “Yep,” she groans when she stands, “tossed them into the trash.”

I shake my head and turn my body, stretching my legs out in front of me. Standing, I give myself a moment to gain my balance. “Jesus, when have I ever been this hungover?”

“Halloween,” we both say, looking at each other.

I laugh and swipe a hand through my hair. A finger gets stuck on a tangle and I wiggle it out.

“Yeah, that night was pretty insane. You lost your fake Toto.”

“I became Totoless Dorothy,” I reply, walking out of the room in my panties and tank top, wiping the cake of makeup from under my eyes.

“Shit, Austin.” I screech when he sits up from the couch.

Running past Claire, I grab my pajama shorts and slide them on along with a T-shirt to cover my braless boobs.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he calls out with a chuckle.

“You’ve never seen mine,” I reply, walking back into the living room.

He laughs.

I pick up a throw pillow and toss it at his head.

He ducks and grabs his smokes from the table, patting one out, he places the cigarette between his teeth.

“On the fire escape with that thing,” Claire says from the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah.” He walks in behind me with sleepy couch hair. “You two got pretty trashed last night.” He grabs the top of the doorway and rests his hand there.

I fill my cup with water and ice from the fridge. “Tell me we didn’t dance on the bar or anything.”

He laughs and puts his cigarette behind his ear. “Nah, just normal shit from the two of you.”

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