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“Do you think she needs to go to the hospital?” I made out Dave’s concerned tone behind me.
“No hospital,” I managed to get out. I could not take my eyes off of the deep read streaks against my skin.
Chase pulled the glass out of my hand without warning, and wrapped a clean rag tightly around my wound. I winced as he finished the knot.
“Sorry, baby. It has to be tight.” His hand cupped my chin, gently raising it until my eyes focused on his. “Are you alright?” He offered a halfhearted smile. His lips were inches from my face, and they served as a pleasant distraction from the pain.
“There’s blood...”
“Take her upstairs,” Dave ordered, for me more than Chase.
“N-no,” I stammered. “My tips...” I attempted to stand, but my knees refused to cooperate.
“Easy, girl. Dave’s got your tips. You’ve lost some blood – you’re coming with me.” Chase put his arm around my waist, hoisting me out of my seat, and carried me up the stairs to our apartment.
“Please don’t take me to the hospital.” My voice sounded small, like a child.
“You might need stiches if the bleeding doesn’t stop.”
Several minutes later, Chase was kneeling on the bathroom floor, while I sat on the lid of the toilet. I squeezed my eyes shut to avoid seeing the bloody mess on my hand when he unwrapped the towel.
“You must think I’m such a baby,” I shook my head, feeling embarrassed.
“Stop. There was a lot of blood coming out of this tiny hand. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of there sooner.”
“I’m just thankful you did. I was getting trampled. That must be what it feels like shopping on Black Friday.”
He raised my hand to his lips, planting a kiss over the bandage. “There ya go. All better.”
“Thanks, babe.” I went to stand, but felt lightheaded. I held onto the towel rack to steady myself.
“Alcohol thins your blood. That’s why your hand was bleeding so much,” he said.
I put my hand on my stomach. “Seeing that blood made me feel so sick.”
“You sure it wasn’t the shots making you queasy?”
I looked down at the floor, guilty and unable to make eye contact with him. I did not want to see the look of disappointment on his face. The checkered tile squares began swirling together, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep the spinning at bay. Saliva reappeared in the back of my throat.
“Merritt, I’m concerned–”
Dropping to my knees, I lifted the lid to the toilet seat as quickly as I could. Waves of vomit began erupting from my stomach. I felt Chase pulling my hair back from my face while I heaved my guts up into the toilet. I wanted to shoo him away, though I knew he would not listen. This was not something I wanted him to witness.
When I finally finished, I kept my head down. “Can you give me a minute, please?”
He sighed behind me, and then I heard the bathroom door close. I tied my hair up, brushed my teeth, and washed my face, all while completely avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t look at myself. I shuffled into the dimly lit bedroom to change into my pajamas, and slipped into the bed beside Chase. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.
“We need to talk about this,” he began. “But it’s late… you’re drunk, and I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“I know,” I replied.
To my surprise, he wrapped his arm around me, and pulled me over to his side of the bed. I rested my head on his chest, and tried to match his breathing. After I was sure I wouldn’t throw up again, my eyes finally began to close.
I woke up the next day hugging Chase’s pillow. My head felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and my throat felt dry and scratchy. On the nightstand sat a water bottle with two aspirin, signaling that Chase had already left for the day. I reached for the pills, and felt a sharp pain slice through my hand, as I remembered being slammed to the ground the night before.
“I’m a mess,” I mumbled against the mattress.
My phone buzzed with a text from Dave, asking about my hand. I typed a reply, and scrolled to find Shelly’s name.
