The Mistake

Remorse

I didn't kiss her.

I'd felt a pull to her that night at the pier as we sat at the edge, her hand laced in mine, that was hard to describe. I could feel it, and I knew she could too; there, at that moment, it was undeniable.

Sam had looked at me with those curious, warm eyes; my breath hitched. I was intoxicated by her, and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to kiss her. My mind drifted off, yearning to see what it would feel like to run my hands through her dark hair, hold her close to me. But Alex's voice parted through those thoughts like an echo in the back of my mind, unrelenting and loud.

What exactly are you doing with Sam? You're manipulating her, using her until you move on to the next girl. Do you even give a shit about her?

What was I doing? Could he be right? That's what I always did anyway. But I didn't want to use her. And I couldn't want a relationship. Even the mention of the word sounded dirty. It's impossible. I promised myself I'd never put myself in that situation again.

But with Sammi... there was something different. I didn't know why she made me feel some of the things I felt when I was with her, but it'd been so long since I'd actually wanted someone, I didn't know how to recognize when I did.

I gazed down at her lips, and back to her eyes, those big blue eyes tempting me as she watched me through her lashes. I couldn't resist; I inched closer.

Then the fireworks exploded above us, and I saw her eyes; nervous, hopeful. I couldn't do this to her. Not when I didn't know what I wanted.

So, even though it took nearly all my willpower, I pulled back.

I knew a split second after that, I'd regret that moment for a long time.

***

Samantha

I was going to throw up.

Scratch that, I was currently throwing up, clutching the toilet seat with one hand, desperately clutching my hair back with the other.

I groaned as I pressed my back against the wall with my eyes closed, the heavy thumping of my pounding head drowning out the flushing toilet. I looked over at the clock on the wall. Three twenty-three am. What the hell had I done last night? I thought back to the party, a twisting knot forming in my stomach when pieces of events flashed in my mind. I could see myself dancing with Jacob, then on the grass, leaning against Nick. Nick.

Slivers of conversations I didn't want to remember came rushing back. I'd made a complete fool out of myself. My heart started beating faster, my legs shaking; the gaps from last night were too much to bear. What had I done?

I knew all too well what was going to happen by now. Crawling and with my sight starting to get blurry, I scrambled to my bedroom drawer, my twitching fingers desperately reaching for the little orange bottle. I chucked a pill onto my palm and threw it to the back of my throat, forcing my achingly dry mouth to swallow.

I laid on my back as I breathed in short gasps. I was terrified. I'd had anxiety attacks at least every couple of weeks, but not like this. Not for a long time. The alcohol coursing through my blood seemed to make it feel a thousand times worse.

I was so stupid. How did I even get home? Why was I like this? Did I learn nothing from all those months ago the last time I drank like this?

This and a million more crushing questions ran through my mind like an endless marathon; restless, wearing me down until I could barely stand to think anymore.

I lost track of the time I spent on the floor, waiting for my legs to stop shaking, my vision to come back as I kept scolding myself for every shitty decision I've made.