I throw up in the bushes to the side of the garden, holding my head as I sway around, shoes in hand
and bag dangling down at ankle level. I feel like hell, tired and recounting- how many drinks I had and
again gawp in disbelief that I can feel this way on a minimal amount. It hasn’t been that long since I
stopped being a seasoned drinker, so there is no way my tolerance has waned this badly. I only drunk
three, maybe four glasses at most, yet I am in the state of having had ten or more. Everything is
spinning weirdly, and it doesn’t feel like normal drunk at all. Normal drunk doesn’t give me this dry
throat and painful ache in my stomach that has made me throw up twice.
I stagger up to my front door on unsteady legs; the sound of the departing cab still echoing in the
distance and alerting me to the fact it’s early in the morning, around four am. or more. I have no idea
what my mom will say. I’m completely disappointed in myself. And to make it worse, being drunk just
makes me crave to speak to Arrick again. My heart filling with reasons I should call him and my head
finding excuses not to that are pathetic in comparison. This is the last thing I needed to do to myself.
I stumble into the hall when I get the door open, trying so hard to be quiet and catch sight of myself in
the hall mirror. My hair is flyaway, dress hanging off one shoulder where that prick Malcolm tore it, and
my lipstick smeared where he forced his tongue down my throat when I was semi-conscious on a booth
chair. I came to in a quiet corner of the hotel, in semi-dark shadows to find him trying to get my clothes
off. I pushed his groping hands and grinding body off in disgust while, the asshole called me a ‘cock
tease’.
He actually had the nerve to try and hold me down, try and force his tongue in my mouth while his
knees pried my legs apart, and I fought back and caused a hell of a scene.
Camilla just laughed at first, until I made enough noise and chaos to bring the attention of other
drunken stragglers, and then she got snippy, dumping me in a taxi and telling me next time to lay off
the booze if I couldn’t handle it. She seemed majorly pissed, unconcerned that Malcolm had managed
to rip my dress and unhook my bra, and I found that my lace panties were around my upper thighs and
halfway off.
I feel dirty and vile, wiping the back of my hand across the smeared mess in a bid to remove it with
utter disgust. My head is a riot of drunken emotional anger, hoping to god that creep didn’t violate me in
anyway while I was out cold, and wondering again how the hell I got so wasted on such a little amount
of booze. Camilla can go fuck herself. So much for taking care of me; she seemed completely sober
and sat gyrating on some loser’s lap, watching us the whole time, while getting off with his hand up her
fucking skirt.
Climbing the stairs quietly, I sneak into my bedroom; the sudden urge to strip off this restricting dress
and scrub myself clean overwhelms me. Tonight, I behaved exactly as I have always done; getting
trashed while some sleazy man made moves on me. Only this time Arrick wasn’t at the other end of the
phone to be pissed at me or come to take me home with him. Nothing has changed. I’m still an idiot,
acting out and bringing heartache to those around me.
I walk into my bathroom, turn on the shower and climb in as soon as I strip down, wiping the mess of
makeup from my face as hot water pours over me, removing the smells and memories of that creep
from all over. The smell of his aftershave on me makes me retch and I can’t get his slimy face out of my
head. Waking up to that perverted fuck on top of me was like a flashback to hell. The nausea rises and
I can’t stop the vomit hitting the floor of my shower cubicle as emotion pushes me to eject what’s left in
there.
I slump down on the shower floor, away from the mess I made as it rinses it down the drain, tears
overtaking me, water washing away all my indiscretions, but my heart is as raw and wounded as it has
been for months. This isn’t a new Sophie, this is the same old Sophie with a new wardrobe and a new
hangout, and I’ll be damned if I go down this route again. All tonight has done is made me realize that I
don’t want to go back to this, don’t want to be this girl anymore.
Finally, I climb into bed with damp hair, holding the short strands up above my face as I scrutinized it,
wondering what Arrick would say if he saw me now. I miss him, despite everything, and know how
much worse it will be for me if I call him. I just want to hear his voice. Want to feel like he’s still there,
that even with shit like tonight he would have still come for me. I need him more than anything to make
me feel better, to feel safe from perverted assholes always trying to get something I don’t want to give.
I roll over onto my side, pulling Princess Snuggles and snuggling up to her. She was a present from
him, a long time ago and one of the few things I cannot part with, about as close to him as I can get
right now. My head is a mess and I’ve only pushed myself back to square one. This is everything I told
myself I would change, everything that I have come to despise about myself since being back here.
Tomorrow I will start over, get back on track and cut that Camilla bitch out of my life and my cell.
***
I sit at breakfast with a gurgling stomach and pounding head, after forcing myself to get up, despite
getting in so late, and I am trying to appear normal for the sake of my parents. My mom eyes me warily,
but as yet hasn’t said much as I pick at my granola, trying to keep it down.
“I don’t know if it’s the hair, but you look pale and washed out, more than usual.” My father interjects
into my thoughts as he regards me over his paper. I keep my eyes on my plate and don’t respond.
Knowing I literally have no ability to behave normally or speak right now. “What time did you get in, we
didn’t hear you?” He adds a little more forcefully, an obvious tone in his voice this time.
“I don’t know, I didn’t check.” I answer quietly, honestly, as I didn’t check the time. I push my plate away
and make a move to get up, knowing more is to come if this was how Dad is starting the morning, and I
literally cannot handle. My body is fighting me in the worst kind of way, the nausea strong. I should
have stayed in bed and got the rest of this booze out of my system before attempting to stand upright.
“Did you come home drunk?” His tone notches a few octaves in the anger department, and I sigh.
Good timing to be a forceful dad! Years of leniency and he chooses now to get harsher.
“Dad, come on; I don’t feel good. I think I’ll go back to bed.” I sigh, trying to stay passive and not get
mad at him. My mom throws me a shady look and then one at my dad, that translates to ‘she looks like
she was.’
“I asked you a question and I expect an answer, young lady!” He snaps at me, makes me and my mom
jump with the sudden bitey tone. He never snaps, like ever, and I instantly bristle defensively with that
good old fucking temper of mine. A rage, that he has always let me be, let me behave like a pampered
little bitch, and now he has the nerve to try to control me, at twenty years old!
“Yes, okay. I got drunk, I came home, and I vomited in the garden. Are you happy? Cos I’m fucking not,
and I don’t need any goddamn lectures over this shit right now. I think someone spiked my drink, so I
am going to my bed!” I sound like the spoiled little brat who told her parents to go fuck themselves
months ago and ran to New York. I grimace that I’m being that same little shithead right now. I hate that
they’ve pretty much let me get away with any kind of behavior over the last six years to
overcompensate for what that sick fuck did to me, and then when they tried to reel me in, they let me
run away and left me to it.
I hate that they always let me get away with everything, and this morning is no different. My dad is just
sitting looking at me like he thinks he shouldn’t keep pushing, now that I’ve snapped back, and my
mom starts to cry. I wish they would just do what they did with Ben or Rylanne, and go crazy psycho at
me for getting trashed and fucking myself up, let it out, then let me go to my room to suffer, ground me
and speak no more about it. But they won’t, they will make passive-aggressive remarks, and then I will
never hear the end of it, making me feel guilty endlessly.
“Sophie?” My mom’s emotion strained voice catches me, sheer disappointment on her face and I can
only hang my head in shame again. I slide away from the table, avoiding my father’s angry glare and
make a move to leave. “I thought you were trying?” My mother’s pained voice hits me hard in the heart.
She obviously doesn’t believe that I suspect someone spiked my drink, all they see is Sophie going off
the rails again.
Still. Whatever.
“I am trying... … but sometimes trying involves falling off your horse once or twice. Or sometimes,
some shithead comes along and spikes your drink for shits and giggles and then your family don’t
fucking believe you.” I snap at her, hoping to God going back to bed calms down the overwhelming
nausea, rage, and pounding head so I can deal with my parents later.
“Sophie, stop right there.” My father’s commanding tone is a rare thing, I stop obediently, more from
shock than anything, that he might actually try to control wild little me in some paternal way this time,
and not let my past make him wimp out. He gets up and comes to meet me at the table where I am
standing. “I know you are trying, and I trust that Emma is taking good care of you, but I really think we
should consider a live-in establishment for a little while, until you can stop drinking. I think it’s time we
put our foot down with you because enough is enough.”
I blink at him in sheer stupefaction. Pretty sure my bottom jaw hits the floor and my mom just sits there
like a goddamn zombie, in silence. This was so not what I had in mind when I thought I wanted them to
set more boundaries with me. I have no idea how to react.
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