Page 66 of Don’t Be A Stranger

I shake the memory from my head. A replay of that night is the last thing either of us need right now. So, instead I give Summer one last kiss on her forehead and move to quietly shut my bedroom door. I’m glad that Summer doesn’t ask me to lie down with her because if I did that, I’m pretty sure I’d finally tell her that I love her differently too.

Twenty-Two

Summer

Dad: Everything okay? Papi has been trying to call you.

Waking up in River’s bed isn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, but waking up in his bed with a pounding headache and my throat drier than the Sahara Desert is a little strange.

The room is darker than usual, which is saying a lot because River’s room is typically dimly lit but right now there’s a blanket hung over his window with pushpins. I don’t remember that ever being there but I appreciate it right now.

I lick my lips, trying to bring some moisture back into them, then reach for the glass of water on the bedside table and chug.

I remember going out with Bethany, Ava, and Jeanette. They snuck me into a club—I remember that. And then I remember people offering to buy me drinks, with me declining and Bethany encouraging me to have some fun. That it’s summer and we’re in college and screw my training diet plan. The next thing I know, I’m back at River’s apartment, not even quite sure how I got here.

Although I highly doubt that any of us were sober enough to drive home last night. I guess River and Moose came to our rescue. I just don’t remember sending out the distress signal in the first place.

Chugging the water apparently wasn’t the smartest move because when I set the glass back down on the side table with a loud thud, my stomach begins to churn.

I press a hand to my mouth, a silent plea for the liquid to remain in my body, but it doesn’t listen. The covers go flying and my feet hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thump as I sprint to the bathroom. I all but shove the bathroom door open and drop to my knees, just in time for me to empty out the contents of my stomach into the toilet instead of the floor.

My hair is thankfully braided out of the way but I’m not sure when I had the time to do so last night between my first and third shot.

I don’t usually drink this much. Sure, I like a beer or some fruity drink every now and then, but the idea of getting plastered has never seemed fun to me.

Last night was the exception, I’m guessing.

I just wanted to let go. To rid my mind of trying to search for the next best thing to fix. Guilt was gnawing away last night so apparently I decided to drown it with shots of Fireball and Patrón.

When I finish puking my insides out, I pull away from the toilet and fall back against the wall and onto my butt.

The bathroom light—which usually gets complaints about being dimly lit—is now too bright for my liking.

No more shots for me. I’ll stick to my club sodas. My body is simply just not meant for alcohol. And I’m fine with that. But I would have rather not learned that the hard way.

Now that I’m not preoccupied with throwing up, I’m aware that the shower is most definitely running.

“Feel better?” I hear River’s voice.

I crack one of my eyes open to see him peeking out from behind the shower curtain. Hair all wet and sudsy.

“Sorry.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and I can’t help but cringe at the toilet bowl. “It was an emergency.”

River smiles tenderly. “Let me just rinse this crap out of my hair and I’ll make you some eggs.”

I quickly shake my head, and the movement makes my stomach churn again. “No, thank you. I’ll just die here in peace.”

The thought of eating anything gives me the urge to hunch over the toilet bowl again.

River reaches for me, resting the back of his hand on my forehead. I sigh at the touch. Whether because it’s River that’s touching me or the fact that his hand is cold isn’t something I have the brain capacity to get into right now.

“Don’t die on me yet,” he chuckles and pulls away too soon for my liking.

I remain sitting on the bathroom floor purely because River hasn’t kicked me out yet. But I do go to flush the toilet, not really needing anyone to see that sight, and then lift myself up onto the now closed toilet so I’m not sitting on the hard floor.

Maybe it’s because I don’t feel good. Or maybe I’m losing my mind. But I take it upon myself to stand up, pull the shower curtain back slightly, and get into the shower with River. Fully clothed and probably reeking of vomit, but I don’t care. I wrap my arms around River, resting my cheek on his shoulder.

He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he rests his hands on top of mine before turning around in my arms to face me. The shampoo is now out of his hair and it’s pushed back from his face.