Swish

2.3

~Elodie~

I did not wake fresh faced, sans hangover, and in a lovely mood. 

Quite the opposite, really. 

After spending the morning dry heaving after the alcohol's effects worked its way through my body, a freezing cold shower, fresh green smoothie and acetaminophen  helped me to rid myself of the nasty headache and heaviness in my gut that threatened another vomit session in my bathroom. 

Instead, however, I was faced with something equally as nausea inducing as gulping down vodka the night prior: having to face not only my family, but Matthew as well, and to tell them that there would be no boyfriend present at dinner that night. 

Rolling my shoulders, I quickly typed Phoebe's number into my phone and it rang and rang while I bit my thumbnail begging for her to answer. 

"Hello?"

"Pheebs!  I have a favor..."

"Let me guess.  You want to take the bikes out today?"

I flushed quickly, wondering how she knew me so well even after us only knowing the other for two years.  Even Eli didn't know me that well.

"How'd you know?"

"You never ask for a favor unless it's about the bikes.  So, what happened?  You usually save the thrill seeking for big weekends and the holidays."

I cringed, feeling guilty that I hadn't called her after the breakup, but technically I hadn't told anyone about it, yet. 

"Ben broke up with me last night."

"Oh."

Yeah.  Oh. 

"I'm so sorry, El.  What happened?  I thought after you caught him with that girl on his lap you were giving him one more chance and that was it.  I thought he was like, begging for your forgiveness...what happened?"

"He only did that to get me to break up with him.  He said he didn't want to dump me because he was worried it would throw me off the deep end.  You know, since I was 'abused.'"

"He did not."

"Oh, yes he did."

I could just imagine the fiery redhead on the other end of the phone with that same red haze around her in a halo that punctuated her anger. 

Phoebe was someone you never wanted to piss off, and if you did, well, good luck to you and your lasting survival which wasn't likely.

"Okay, I'll call my uncle and have him keep one of the bikes out for you.  You don't need me telling you to be careful, do you?  You're aware of how dangerous your little habit is, right?"

Of course I knew how dangerous it was.  That was the point.  

"Yes, I am well aware.  I'll wear my helmet and everything."

She sighed heavily over the phone.  "What am I going to do with you?"

I couldn't wipe the anticipated smile off my face the entire drive to the dirt strip in the middle of nowhere, New York.  

The ride was a full two hours long, but I used the drive to get out most of my emotions singing badly at the top of my lungs to sad songs that would've made even the happiest of people depressed. 

By the time the sounds of dirt bikes reached my ears, the mud flinging through the air at high speeds from the wheels of various bikes, the nerves that had once frayed my veins settled to a thin line not unlike the dust floating in sheets down to the packed earth beneath it.