Every Kiss(23)

I say it every time this happens, but this time I mean it. Never. Drinking. Again.

It takes half of forever, but we finally manage to get the house back to the way it was. Shane tells us that the cleaning crew will be coming in this week, so we don’t worry with cleaning the floors and such. Then, we hit the yard. There isn’t near as much trash inside as there was outside, but without as many surfaces to put it on, most of it is on the ground. All of the bending is killing me. My head feels like it’s going to explode every time I squat to pick something up, and that’s making me a little queasy.

“You’re looking a little green. You okay?” Wes approaches me as I stand to throw another cup in my trash bag. He places a cool hand on my forehead.

“My head hurts. It pounds every time I stoop over, every time I walk. Even breathing, at this point, is more than I can handle.”

“What time are the two of you supposed to leave?”

“I’m not sure. I think Makenna said around four or five o’clock.”

He tugs his cell phone from his pocket to check the time. “Come with me. I’ll help get all of this finished later.”

“You shouldn’t have to. It was for your birthday.”

“Callie.” Is it wrong that I love how he says my name? “I don’t give a damn whose birthday it was. You feel like shit. You’re miserable. Come with me.”

I nod.

He turns on his heel and heads into the house with me following close behind. I hear Makenna call out, asking where I’m going, but I ignore her. I’m feeling sicker by the minute, and I need to just sit down. Wes stops in the kitchen to fill a large glass with ice and water, and he snags a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer. I eye him curiously, but he nods his head in the direction of the stairs.

Halfway up, though, I think I’m seriously going to die. My head is pounding so hard, it hurts to open my eyes. But my motivation to get the rest of the way up the stairs is the bile rising up the back of my throat. Nausea overcomes me, and I take off, shoving past Wes to make it into the bathroom to heave into the toilet. I feel like my stomach is turning inside out, and my headache is only making it worse.

A hand on my back rubs up and down the length of my spine until I have nothing left in me to give. I’m far too miserable to be embarrassed. I slump into the floor and press my cheek against the cool tile.

“Oh, no you don’t. Sit up.” Wes tugs my elbow until I’m upright, and then he wipes my face with a damp cloth. It feels like heaven. “Can you stand up without puking on me?”

“I just want to lie here on the floor.”

He snickers. “As much as I enjoy watching you roll around on the floor, I can’t let you do that. Hold on.” He crooks one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me slowly to carry me out of the bathroom. “You’re a lot lighter when I’m not drunk.”

I feel the cloud-soft pillow under my head, and I sigh out loud. The gentle pressure on my skull actually feels good. I hear some footsteps and shuffling around, and then I feel a weight at the side of the bed.

“I know your stomach is upset, but I need you to try to take more meds. You’re going to feel worse as long as your headache is that bad. Sit up a little, so you don’t choke.”

I sit up slowly, and he hands me two pills and the glass of water. “Drink slowly.”

Once I lie back down, he takes my glasses off, setting them on the nightstand, and grabs the bag of frozen veggies and rests it on the very top of my head. The cold definitely helps, and I can’t help wondering how many hangovers he’s had to know all the tricks. Then again, he is about five years older, and therefore, has had more opportunity for life experience.

“I’m sorry,” I say as quietly as I can manage.

“Shh. Don’t apologize. Just close your eyes and rest.” He stretches out beside me and lightly rubs his fingertips across my forehead. “Stop scrunching your eyebrows. Relax your face.”

He continues to graze his fingertips over my face until all the tension is gone. The throbbing eases ever-so-slightly, and the nausea is only gentle waves now, becoming barely a ripple within a few minutes. I feel my limbs growing heavier; my breathing is deep and steady. Sleep takes me slowly, tenderly.

Almost as tender as the lips brushing my cheek in my dreams.





“CALLIE?” MAKENNA BRUSHES my hair from my face. “Feeling any better?”

I roll over to face her. “I don’t feel like someone is stabbing me in the brain with a stiletto. So, yes.”

“That’s brutal.”

“It was.” I reach out and take her hand. “Sorry I wasn’t much help.”