Hunger Point | Phan

Chapter Thirty-seven: The Day After

We quickly got seated, in a round Booth in the back, left to our menus. "Okay, last night..." Carla began, eyes scanning her menu. I just thumbed through mine, focus wavering. Then I piped up, before she could continue, "I don't remember a thing," Everyone looked at me, stunned. "Seriously?" PJ asked, laughing slightly. I nodded, heat flooding my cheeks, inquiring a hit bashfully, "Is that bad?"

"I guess not. Just means you've never gone that hard." Colby said and my mouth went dry, like I was sucking on a cotton ball. "Oh.." I muttered, asking the question I've been dying to: "What happened then?"

"I only remember certain pieces, and they're pretty big ones. Let's...share what we know to get an idea of what we did?" Colby said and they began, putting pieces together, taking some back, replacing ones, until it all fit and made sense. We didn't figure it out until all of us had finished off our food.

So, this was the story: After Carla brought out the alcohol, the pot had set in by then, so we all started drinking. Somewhere amidst our drunken state we decided fireworks would make everything so much better. We stumbled out of the woods, reaching a "rundown neighbourhood" a few blocks away. Believe it or not: they had fireworks and heroin. We spent over a hundred pounds—one hundred and fifty five U.S dollars—(thankfully not out of my money; that was the present my mum had given me: a whole hundred pounds just for the trip! I have to trade it in for U.S money when I shop, though, its a bit of a hassle).

Arriving back from the fireworks+heroin trip unbruised, we shot up with heroin (I apparently insisted upon doing it?) and shot off fireworks. After two sparklers, PJ claims I 'stole' his phone, instantly calling my mum. Must've slipped my mind in my illegal substance stupor that Dan's number would be in the recent calls. Chris added that I requested Dan's number, and once I got it I refused to answer any questions about the trip, and ended up hanging up on her to call Dan. They all remember thinking it was funny, and that even I laughed. Carla heard the entire conversation because she "loves the drama". She says it was bad—Dan was really upset and even said he dumped Mitch and not to call him when I was high and also that I disgusted him. PJ and Chris gave eachother shitty high handjobs and laughed about it, Carla and Colby kissed, nearly hooked up but didn't because Carla said she was a lesbian, and I told Colby I hated him and that he should leave me alone.

I would've laughed at that if I didn't feel so sick. "How long has it been since we finished eating?" I asked, an idea budding in my mind. I needed to...purge myself of everything.

"Fifteen minutes. Why?" Carla said and I knew I should. I mean, after an hour of eating, your calories have been absorbed and there's no point in puking. It's only been fifteen minutes. "Don't you dare." Chris warned and I ignored him, jumping up and sprinting around tables to the bathroom. The diner was near empty so I didn't have to worry about public humiliation. Racing in, I entered a cubicle, slamming the door shut and locking it. I leaned over the toilet and stuck two fingers down my throat, not bothering to wet them so it'd be easier. I didn't want it to be easy. By the time my stomach was convulsing from the sudden emptiness, I was consumed with relief. I felt so much better, and I needed to stay thin.

I didn't even realise Chris had followed me in here until I was done and had flushed the toilet. "Phil," he called from the other side of the stall, knocking on the door. "You were doing so good..what went wrong?"

My surroundings began spinning, like earlier, as I thought about what I had learned about last night. I had called Dan...and obviously been a dick to show-off...while I was high...and he despises drugs and those who do them. I slid down to the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest, my throat burning with the residue of stomach acid still potent. I said nothing to Chris. "Please let me in." He pleaded, leaning down and sticking his hand under the stall door. I took his hand and just held it gently but refused to open the stall door. I just needed to know someone was there and someone cared. And he was—he did.