Contrite ✓

Chapter 13.

When I got home from HES I did something I had never done before — I got drunk, all by myself. The bottle of tequila sitting in the kitchen cabinet resembled an old friend, one who I was in desperate need of. After downing three shots within thirty seconds, I had to take a couple of deep breaths as to not throw up. Not having bothered to slice up a lemon, the strong taste burned my tongue even more than usual.

Pouring a fourth shot, I picked it up with a shaking hand and tossed it back. Finally my body started to feel a bit warmer and relaxed. Trying to smile a little, I realised it was impossible. I couldn't even force a fake smile to my lips.

Walking over to the docking speakers on unstable legs, I tried to put my phone in place with sloppy hands. I definitely needed to drink more often because feeling smashed after four shots of tequila couldn't be normal. Randomly choosing a playlist, music suddenly blared through the speakers and I bobbed my head up and down. Some boys sang about being ready to run, to escape from the city and follow the sun.

Maybe that's what I needed to do. Rent out the house and just leave. I'd been toying with the idea before, letting it play out in my mind, but never considered it too seriously. If I were to leave, I didn't have first clue to where I should go.

I could go to university in London. Or even move to America. No, not America. I would always associate that country with Harry and living there would be a constant reminder. Perhaps Australia, it seemed nice enough. They had sunny weather and beaches.

With these thoughts circling, I spent the rest of the night dancing around in my living room with the bottle of tequila in my hand. It was many hours past midnight when I finally passed out on the sofa, not noticing the bottle slipping from my grip only to shatter on the floor.

A dull, persistent ache woke me from my restless slumber. I had a hard time to recall what I was up to before going to bed but I could tell it wasn't anything good. I started to stretch out across the sofa but had to stop when the headache increased.

Then I remembered.

Tequila. Dancing. Thoughts about leaving. Harry being involved with drugs. Adam lying.

Letting out a soft groan, I slowly sat up. Doing shots had felt like a mighty grand idea the night before and I completely neglected the fact that I had work in the morning. I checked my phone, disappointed when seeing there were no messages at all. I had one hour to get ready and get to work. With a yawn I stood from the sofa and let out a hiss when something cut through my foot, pain shooting up my leg.

"Shit," I muttered, noticing the glass scattered across the floor.

I didn't have time to clean it up and forced myself into the shower with a bleeding foot, already knowing it was going to be a long day.

.

.

I quickly learnt that working with a hangover was one of the worst things you could put your head and body through. Sweat dotted my forehead and my sight was blurry — several times I had to sit down and breathe calmly through my nose.

Madeline snickered when she found me on the floor behind the counter. "Rough night, huh?"

"You could say that," I huffed and gulped down the glass of water sitting beside me.

"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt your nap but you need to get up and deal with the next customer. I have to go pee." She gave me an apologetic look and shrugged.

"Ugh, fine. Go ahead," I told her and stood up on shaky legs.

And almost sat down again when I saw Heather leaning casually against the counter, scanning the menu.