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BEE
“Here.”In his hands are water and aspirin. “You were supposed to take these last night, but you crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow.”
I’m glad to find myself in my own bed. Vague flashes of the drive home filter back to me, hazy and scattered. Morgan telling Sebastian I’d thrown up, pretending to be asleep in the car to avoid talking to either of them, Sebastian carrying me to bed.
“Take these, and then you’re coming with me.”
I struggle to sit up. Sebastian waits until I’ve finished the glass.
I’m way too hungover to make the obvious joke. Damn those vodka shots. Damn me for saying yes to them. “Where are we going?”
“It’s your lucky day. We’re getting a couch, and then I’m taking you for something greasy.”
My stomach argues against that idea. I inhale, long and slow, desperate to keep the painkillers down. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“Then we’ll get smoothies, but you need something.”
He’s gentle as he peels me out of last night’s clothes and puts me into my favorite pair of jeans. By the time he’s done, my head is still pounding, but my stomach has settled. If I had the energy, I’d be smiling. The most I can manage is heart eyes right now.
I’m expecting us to hit up the cheapest store in town, because let’s face it, that’s the sensible option. Putting together a couch while hungover sounds awful, but hopefully Sebastian won’t mind if I supervise from the fetal position.
So I’m surprised when he pulls into one of the nicer stores.
“Why are we doing this today?”
“Because if you find one you like while you feel your worst, imagine how good it’ll be when you’re better.”
Huh. Either I’m still drunk or that’s a fantastic point. Probably it’s both. Those double shots were a terrible idea.
The first few I lumber toward are awful, too low or too stiff to offer any comfort. But then. Then. I sink into the soft, oversized cushions and moan out loud. The wool or cotton or whatever it’s made of is heavenly on my cheek, like what I used to imagine a hug from the Snuggle bear would be like.
“This one,” I swoon. “Please, can we get this one?” I’m ten seconds away from falling asleep right here in the store.
Sebastian’s amused chuckle comes from above me, and then he’s lifting my feet and slipping underneath, taking the seat beside me. I have to close my eyes when he lets out a low groan of his own. Damn, that’s a good sound.
“You’ve got good taste, angel.”
In the cold light of day, my mistake becomes clearer.
Once again, I’m back in that bathroom. Even through vodka-stained memories, I can clearly picture the look of confusion on the girl’s face when I confronted her. I wince, and this time it’s not the headache.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not, and I might never be again. Because all I keep coming back to is how deranged I must have sounded asking that girl if she’d taken a photo of us. How I’d almost asked her to prove it by showing me her phone.
And I couldn’t even blame it on Morgan. She wasn’t with me at the time. Going up to that girl was all me.
Shit.
If secondhand embarrassment means witnessing someone else doing something cringey, what the hell is it called when you re-witness yourself doing it?
Omni-cringe? The feeling of being embarrassed by yourself at all times?
“I’m going to work in my room for a little bit.”
My instincts are telling me to hide for as long as it takes for this dread to go away, but that could be a year or two, and eventually, Sebastian will ask me what’s wrong. At most, I have a few hours before he’s bringing me dinner.
Better make the most of my wallowing, then.
