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Quickly, I enter an empty stall and close the door, closing the latch with trembling fingers. What did I just do?
I sag against the door. It’s sticky against my forehead. If I wasn’t swimming in vodka and embarrassment, I’d maybe be worried about that, but it pales in comparison. Holy fucking shit.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
Who the fuck was that?
Not me, surely.
Never in a million years have I been confrontational. Never.
I need the ground to open up now. Swallow me whole until enough time has passed that this is a distant memory. Even though I know I will never forget it. I’m going to wake up sweating every time I remember this.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I can’t believe I did that. What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t, is the answer. I let my insecurities get to me. They were fueled by Morgan’s words and an idiotic amount of booze, but ultimately, it was no one’s fault but my own.
Fuck, I can’t stop seeing the look on her face. Shock, amusement. Like she hoped I was joking.
But I wasn’t.
I wasn’t.
Heat stings my eyes as the tears fall. I have half a second of warning before I turn and everything purges itself. The shame, the tequila. Up and up until there’s nothing but air and a violent regret.
I’m not cold, but I can’t stop shaking. It’s a miracle I manage to unlock my phone.
“Miss me already?”
The soothing rumble of Sebastian’s voice pulls a sob from my throat, but I swallow it back. I don’t want him to ask. I’m disappointed in myself, and I can’t handle the thought of him feeling that way. I never want those gorgeous green eyes to look at me with pity.
But maybe he hears it anyway, because there’s a sharpness in his tone that was missing before.
“Where are you? Stay there. I’m coming.”
I’m able to choke out the name of the club before my stomach attempts one last lurch.
Morgan is pissed.
Not simply because I’m calling the night short, but because she already bought us another round.
I’ve ruined the night for both of us.
“Sorry,” I say again. “At least you’ll save on cab fare.”
“Yeah, okay. It’ll be hell getting a car at this hour. It’ll be the first time in years I’m going home before midnight. Still, at least we got a bit of dancing in. Next time, you’ll need to pace yourself better.”
I haven’t told her about what I did. Telling her I threw up wasn’t a lie, but it feels like one anyway.
Honestly, I deserve her anger. I’ve been the one spending more and more time at home, saying no when she suggests a night out. I’m the one who accepted drinks tonight, then bought us more when I knew my tolerance wouldn’t be able to match hers.
I’m the one who made a fool of herself tonight.
25
