Caramel | A Short Story Collection ✓

6. Heels In Hand

Bee lives life cautiously... until the night she lets loose, and finds the true meaning of the Walk of Shame.

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I've heard a lot about the walk of shame.

It tends to feature on many TV programmes - a girl walking home bedraggled, bare feet slapping the concrete, eye makeup smudged. Claire, the most wild of all my girlfriends, has had a lot to say about it in the past.

"Everyone looks at you." She confided in me once. "Like they know exactly what you've been doing last night, and they have every right to judge you. The stares are worse than the walk itself. It makes you feel ashamed, diseased, disgusting. Honestly, Bee, don't ever leave yourself with no method of getting home other than your two feet."

So I always have. Anytime I went on a date, I had a taxi ready to pick me up afterwards, and I didn't usually go off with random guys at bars. Despite being on the edge of twenty-seven, the advice my over-protective gave me still sticks in my head; never go off with strangers, never accept a drink from a stranger, never talk to a stranger. I am cautious to the point where Claire wrinkles her nose and says, "Loosen up a little, Bee!"

And last night, well, I got sick of it. Watching all my friends dance away their inhibitions, hearing Claire doing some championship flirting with the bartender, tasting sips of weak alcohol only every few minutes in an attempt to slow myself down. Something in me snapped; careful Bee was thrust aside, and a new, overly confident one took her place.

I downed the rest of my wine a few gulps, then joined Claire at the bar. "Can we get some shots please?" Claire's widened her eyes.

"You're going to do shots with me!" She exclaimed, throwing her arm around my shoulder. "You're the best, Bee! I love you so much." Claire was a pro drinker whose words rarely slurred, but her sudden affection towards me confirmed my suspicious that she was already pretty drunk. She angled her head to give me a sweet smile, her teeth a shining white due to some concoction she smeared on them earlier as she gagged.

Shot after shot burnt the back of my throat, the vodka quickly taking hold of my system. Unlike Claire, I wasn't particularly great at handling my liquor, and I struggled to keep my balance as we staggered onto the crowded dance floor. We danced uninterrupted for a few songs, just two best friends having the time of their lives, until an arm snaked around Claire's waist.

"Kyle!" She exclaimed joyfully, turning round to give him a sloppy kiss. I grinned - out of all Claire's boyfriends, Kyle was most definitely the best. Granted, there wasn't much competition, but Kyle had lasted more than a week which was already a major milestone, and he and I got on pretty well. I could definitely picture Claire and Kyle together in the long run, and he got my seal of approval, which was good enough for her.

"Hi." He idiotically smiled back at her, with the disgusting sap that consumes all couples in the first few months of their relationship. "Hi Bee," he added, and I gave him a little wave. "I'm going to take her home now... we have a big presentation to a client tomorrow afternoon and she can't be too hungover... you need a lift?"

I remembered all those times Claire told me to loosen up, and shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. So good." I giggled.

His brow furrowed. "You're drunk."

I swatted my hand dismissively. "I'm not a Muslim. I'm allowed alcohol."

He glanced furtively around. "Bee, you cant say things like that."

"Who cares?" I shrugged. "I'm letting loose. Let me make inappropriate comments if I want to."

He sighed. "You sure you don't want a lift?"