Hell to the No

Trust Is Overrated

If there is anything I will ever learn about myself, it is to never ever, under any circumstances WHATsoever, trust ANYONE with persuading me into drinking alcohol.

But yeah... Four Strawberry Daiquiris and two Margaritas later, I find myself with my head in the shitter. After the Daiquiris, Roman had left, no doubt, to buy more drinks for other unsuspecting girls, and here I was alone, holding back my own hair. Well, essentially alone. I had toilet mates in the stalls beside me, doing as I was. Shaking, I flush for the third time and wipe my mouth with toilet paper. Groaning, I hold my stomach. Every time I move my eyes, the room waved and spun.

I hate your ass so much.

~Roman's POV~

I haven't seen Aleithea in a little under an an hour. I'm not the worrying type, but I do feel a tug of responsibility to find her and make sure she's okay, since I'm the one who persuaded her to have alcohol in her system. I lean against the wall beside the bar, scanning the dance floor and bar seats one last time before concluding that Aleithea is most likely in the ladies room. Chewing one of my snakebites decisively, I head toward the back of the club and down the back hall where the restrooms are located. Barging into the ladies room, I briefly check each stall before spotting Aleithea hunched over and shaking in the third from the end.

"Hey, partner," I say as I come up behind her and pat her back. Her form shakes underneath my touch as she starts gagging into the toilet again.

"I... fucking... hate you-" she manages between puking.

"Hey, I told you to go slow," I retort with a smirk. Carefully, I lift her curly brown hair from around her face, holding it in a pile on the back of her head. With her hands free, she shakily rips toilet paper out to wipe her mouth.

"You... are a terrible pershon..." She slurs. I chuckle at that.

"That may be so."

Aleithea slumps against the side of the stall, my hands sliding out of her hair. Her slender eyebrows knit together as her face scrunches up in distress.

"I want to go home," she says, her words sloshy with intoxication.

"I think your parents would probably kill you."

"I... want to go home, and I want this... all of this... to just... to just stop. Like now. Right... now-" Her breath hitches in her chest as her chin quivers, and tears begin to slide down her pale cheeks. "I hate this..." she says, her voice high-pitched with emotion. Her body shakes as she sobs, and her make-up begins to run.

Oh boy. Party's over for this one.

I use her elbow to pull her towards me, and I gather her into my arms before standing. She drapes limply in my hold, her shower of curls falling over one arm, and her legs dangling loosely over the other. I get her into a more snug position, and she finds refuge in burying her face into my chest.

"Take me home," she mutters, her voice muffled. I don't reply as I carry her out of the restroom. "I... I hate you soooo much. You know that. I hate you."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah... I... hate how hot you are. Like, smokin', I can't stand it. You're so. Damn. Hot. Sodamnhot. But I hate it. Cause... You like think you're... the king. Of everything."

"I'm gonna love telling you about this tomorrow."

"I hate you. I hate you..." And after this, she remains quiet for a while, with the occasional groan or whimper. I talk to Seth shortly before I leave with Aleithea, telling him what's going down, and to let Kaitlin know where she went. I get Aleithea buckled into my car safely, and I glance at her periodically as I drive us back upstate, making sure she doesn't barf on the upholstery. All the while, she mutters "I hate you" and various other insults in her funny, slurred talk. Soon I pull into my driveway, grateful to see that my dad's truck isn't in. Of course he's out. He'd never be in on a Friday night, either.

After unbuckling her, I carry Aleithea into my trailer, and to the back where my bedroom is. I lay her gently on the twin mattress resting on my carpeted floor, and I retrieve a wastebasket to set beside her.

"Allie," I say clearly. She had been mostly unresponsive to anything since I got her out of the car. I wonder if she blacked out. "Aleithea." This time i give her a small shake. She whimpers, her eyes scrunching up as she turns her head away from me.

"Everything's spinning..."

"I know, babe. Here, sit up." I hold her securely around the waist, and pull her up into a sitting position. She grumbles in protest inaudibly. I sigh as I hold her securely against me with one arm, and use the other to snatch a black MCR shirt of mine from a pile on the floor. "Lift your arms," I say, despite knowing I have to lift them for her. I manage to get the shirt on Aleithea, and it falls loosely on her small form. She slumps against me, and I can feel her starting to sob again. I lay her down carefully, and start to remove the stiletto heels from her feet. I hear her give a contented sigh as I toss the second one onto my floor. I get her tucked under the covers of my bed before I leave to get her a giant glass of water.

~Aleithea's POV~

Head still spinning wildly, I clutch the pillow I'm laying on. If I were sober, I'd probably care about where I was. But I could give two poops right now. Roman returns to me, a tall glass in his hand. I squint at it in the low lamplight.

"This is your best friend," he tells me, his voice soft. He helps me sit before handing me the glass. "You're really dehydrated from puking up your guts, Allie." I ignore him as I gulp down the water. The faster I get this down, the sooner it can flush my system of alcohol, right?

"Slow down, stupid. Or you'll throw it all up."

With most of the water gurgling in my stomach, I slump back into the soft pillow. Roman sits beside me, his feet on the floor, and his body twisted towards me. He holds a wet cloth in his hand, which he uses to begin to wipe my face gently. It's warm. I mumble a small protest, though I do like the feeling of it.

"You have smeared make-up all over your face," he informs me. My stomach drops, and I try to turn away from him.

"I look like shiiiiit," I whine, but Roman catches my face in his other hand while shushing me. I calm down, enjoying the warmth from the cloth and from his hand. I gaze up at him as he washes the mascara from my cheeks. Behind his straight black hair, his eyes are tired. That gorgeous, smoky blue-green hazel. All I can seem to focus on at the moment is my intense attraction to him.

He finishes, and places the cloth on a bedside table. Tossing his shoes off and removing his shirt, he slides into the bed beside me, causing my heart to go wild, and my inebriated brain to agree with it.

"Don't puke on me," he tells me with a smirk as he faces me on the pillow, "I'll throw you right out." I mumble in response, trying to laugh with him. His tired eyes watch me for a moment. "What's wrong?" he asks. I mutter something about my dress. And being uncomfortable. He sighs. Then moves the blankets of the bed up to cover us from our shoulders down. He scoots toward me, his forehead almost touching mine, and places his hands on my hips gently. Carefully, he moves them down, finding the hem of the tee-shirt I was wearing. He lifts it, and I squirm to enable him to, my own hands falling against his chest, and my body involuntarily moving to rest against his. With his forehead against mine now, Roman reaches under my arms to find the edges of the tight black dress. Wary of my lady parts, he tugs the fabric down, and I kick the dress off. He returns the tee shirt to its full length on me. In the process, I end up half on him, with one of his arms wrapped around my waist, and the other wrapped around my shoulders. His hand rests on the flat of my back, in a comforting way. With his arms still draped around me, Roman shifts both of us onto our sides to keep from putting weight on my stomach.

"Is that better, Aleithea?" He murmurs softly, his lips brushing my forehead as he speaks. I can feel his snakebites.

I mumble an agreement into his neck. The warmth of being against him is glorious. Behind my closed eyes, I can tell the room has plunged into darkness. As Roman's arm returns to its spot around my shoulders, I realize he switched the light off. I entwine my legs in his, the comfort of it all easing the dizziness of the darkness. My face is buried into his neck and hair, and I mumble words that I can't even understand. Roman cradles me, stroking my back. He calms me that way, and I slowly drift off as the dizziness becomes less noticeable.