Speechless(13)

                The irony is that if I hadn’t been drinking, I probably                     wouldn’t have spoken up at all—not right there in front of anyone; I would’ve                     waited until it was just Kristen and me alone. And I definitely wouldn’t have                     touched Warren—he’s not the kind of guy you pal around with.

                Of course, if I hadn’t been drinking, I wouldn’t have needed to                     find a bathroom so badly and I wouldn’t have seen what I did.

                Warren shakes me off with a scowl, and I fall sideways into                     Kristen, who laughs and props me up against the wall.

                “You’re sooooo drunk,” she says.                     “Oh, my God.”

                “They’re fucking holding hands? Shit.” Warren spits into his                     plastic red cup—so many kinds of gross—before he nods at Joey and says, “You                     coming?”

                And Joey says, “Fuck, yeah,” because Joey is an idiot.

                “You guys.” I push myself off the wall. “You guys, seriously.                     Don’t. Just leave it, okay? Okay?”

                “Don’t worry,” says Warren, “all we’re gonna do is teach them a                     little lesson.” But his smile is all wrong, twisted, and there’s something else                     in his voice, too, warning me not to push it.

                And so I don’t. Because it’s easier. It’s easier to let them                     go.

                * * *

                My plans to have Brendon sweep me off my feet at the                     stroke of midnight are thwarted when my nausea catches up to me, and I instead                     ring in the New Year vomiting my guts out in the bathroom. I must pass out                     sometime after that, because I wake up the next morning curled around the base                     of the toilet the same way you’d curl yourself around another person. Kristen                     didn’t even think to wake me up and help me into the bedroom, and now I have a                     sore hip and a crick in my neck. Not to mention a severe case of dry mouth.

                I use the counter to pull myself to my feet then turn on the                     tap. As I scoop the cold water with both hands and splash it over my face, I try                     to piece together exactly what happened last night. I remember Warren and Joey                     taking off, but everything after that is a little fuzzy. It’s kind of freaking                     me out; I’ve never gotten that drunk before. Never to the point where I can’t                     remember what happened the next day.