Flipping the lights off, I drag over my mountain of food and hunker down. Now this is my kind of party. My mind wanders to Sloane, and I hope she’s having fun. Preferably not with Keira, but that’s not in my control so I have to let it go.
I send a text to Mum letting her know where I am. I even send a picture to show I’m not half-cut on nasty beer. She replies with a heart.
Several episodes later, Nicole and Waverly are getting it on—yes, I skipped a few episodes so I could see themgetting naughty. It’s just about to get to the good bit when the door crashes open and Becca stumbles in with a very drunk Sloane. I don’t even think she’s conscious.
“Eden,” Becca shouts far too loudly. She’s not much better off than Sloane.
Launching myself off the bed, I catch Sloane before Becca drops her. She slumps in my arms.
“Becca, is this just alcohol?” I have to be sure she’s not on anything else. I did first aid over the summer, so I’m confident I can deal with her like this, but if she’s on anything stronger I’ll call an ambulance.
“Tequila! Lots and lots of tequila.” Becca laughs. She stumbles backwards, does a weird salute, and leaves the room.
Sloane mumbles something unintelligible. Bending my knees, I hook my arm under her legs and, by some miracle, lift her up. It’s a miracle because, as I’ve said before, I have no muscles to speak of. Sloane is trim, but she’s toned and not light to handle.
Staggering over to the bed, I set her down as gently as possible. My sparrow arms are trembling at the effort.
Scratching my head, I weigh up my next move. To put it bluntly, Sloane stinks. I bet she has half a keg on her and God knows what else. There are at least three stains on hertop alone. She can’t sleep like that, but the alternative feels super creepy.
Making a decision I hope Sloane won’t be pissed about in the morning, I carefully peel off her spoiled top. Doing my best to be decent, I keep my eyes focused on her clothes and nothing else. Her jeans come off next. They are even more gross than her top. Folding the offending items up, I place them on the chair in the corner.
Whipping off my band t-shirt, I wrangle Sloane into it and pull the duvet over her. She snuggles into the pillow and turns to her side.
It’s doubtful she’ll wake, but if she does I want her to have water close by. Thankfully, the massive bedroom comes with an equally massive attached bathroom. Grabbing the glass meant for swilling out your mouth, I rinse it before topping it with fresh water.
Wide awake, I climb into the bed, leaving a nice amount of space between us. I’ll watch a few more episodes before trying to sleep. That way I can keep an eye on Sloane too.
8
Sloane
Overwhelming nausea. Throbbing at my temples. Oh, and no memory of how the hell I ended up in bed.
Next to Eden Sawyer.
Who, by the way, is only in a bra. I haven’t had the balls to check under the covers to see if she’s wearing pants.
I’m not.
Nothing happened, though. Right?
Oh God, what did I do? I never get that drunk, ever!
I remember leaving Eden to her night, disappointed she’d not invited me to stay with her. Then Becca handedme a shot of…ew, tequila. Then another one. I think I danced with Keira again.
That’s it. Nothing but black fuzz after that.
One thing is for sure: I cannot let Eden see me in this state. Well, not again. I’m mortified. Did she have to look after me? Where is Becca?
Gingerly rolling my head to the side, I see a glass of water. My mouth feels like a dry loofa. The smell of old alcohol has my stomach rolling. My head pounds to the beat of my heart as I take the glass and sip. The water provides a moment’s worth of relief. The simple motion of moving my head has me scrambling out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom.
I make it just in time to paint the toilet. My body shakes as I hug the bowl, waiting for the next round of vomiting to begin. I’m so angry with myself. This is sonotme. Sure, I like to have a good time. I’ve been to every one of Bryce’s parties, but never, and I mean never, have I gotten that wasted. Usually I have a few shots, maybe a beer, before jumping over to soda or water. I like a good time, not a hangover. Plus, no one ever makes smart decisions when they’re drunk.
So why did I do this to myself?
I’m deep in my mind when I feel another wave of grossness make its way up my throat. I can only hope Eden can’t hear me.
“Here, let’s get your hair out of the way.”
