My Life After Now

5

If My Friends Could See Me Now




A beam of warm, white light pierced my eyelids. I cracked one eye open, then the other, and blinked at the curtainless, bar-clad window.

Where am I?

I moved to prop myself up on my elbows, but the sudden shift in position made my body angry. My stomach heaved and I was weak and shaky. My brain felt like it was sloshing around in my head and crashing into the walls of my skull.

Then I remembered—I got wasted last night. This must be what a hangover felt like. All I could do was lie perfectly still, clear my mind, and wait for the nausea to subside.

When I was ready to try again, I carefully sat up and looked around.

I was in a small room, not much larger than the bed I was in. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and laid out on the counter were tiny little Ziploc baggies, needles, and pipes.

Under the unfamiliar sheets, I was completely naked.

I quickly pulled the top sheet up to my chin. The equally-as-naked, tattooed man lying face down beside me sparked a few more sparse fragments of last night. The club. The band. The singer. What was his name? Lee something. Through the filter of my drunken stupor, both he and his apartment had seemed a lot more glamorous last night. But now everything about this place felt dirty.

I shouldn’t be here. I have to go home.

As smoothly and quietly as I could manage, I slipped out of bed and gathered my clothes. I dressed quickly, found my purse on the stovetop, and crept out of the apartment, my boots still in my hand.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, my heart racing. My mind was going in a million different directions, but I forced myself to be pragmatic.

First things first: shoes. Gingerly, I sat down on the stairs and wedged my boots on.

Next: communication. I checked my phone. Eight missed calls and seven texts received from Court and Max between one a.m. and six a.m.—which was less than an hour ago. All were various versions of: Where are you? and Are you ok??

I didn’t know the answers to either of those questions, but I quickly wrote back, Yeah. Sorry. Explain later. I slid the phone back into my bag.

Next on the agenda: leave this godforsaken place. But my body wouldn’t budge. I planted my feet squarely on the step below me and tried again. Nothing. Come on, body, I begged. Work with me here. I promise I’ll never do this to you ever again. I gripped the railing and pressed firmly on the cinderblock wall. Leverage. Okay, I warned myself, on the count of three…

One.

Two.

Three.

My unwilling body remained stationary. But the alcohol inside it lurched into motion, and before I could do anything to stop it, I was vomiting all over the landing. When I thought there couldn’t possibly be anything left in me, another surge came on. I sat there, helpless and miserable, puking my guts out for a long time. At least it was early enough that no one came out of their apartments to find me. Thank god for small favors.

Eventually, the nausea receded. But I was still too brittle to move. I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here forever. Doomed to spend eternity in this filthy stairwell, with no company except a coagulating puddle of puke and some mysterious-looking mold, staring at the outside of Lee’s apartment door. I rested my head on the railing.

What happened last night?

I desperately tried to recall even the smallest shard of a memory, some clue as to the events of the last seven hours. But it was hopeless—I couldn’t even remember coming to this apartment building, let alone what happened after I got here.

But the longer I sat, the more my head unclogged, and soon a solitary ray of recognition broke through, dull at first but growing sharper. I didn’t need to actually remember it to know what had happened; it was obvious from the moment I woke up in that bed. I had sex with Lee.

I suddenly felt an entirely different kind of sick. I drove myself upright at long last and ran down the stairs as fast as I could, not caring about my body’s protests and not caring if I woke up the whole building with my clomping. I pushed through the front door, and the cool morning air slapped me in the face. I shivered. My skimpy outfit had seemed like such a good idea last night, but now I just felt foolish and cold.

I rubbed my arms and began to walk. The streets were nearly empty at this hour. I walked briskly, eager to get home, desperate to put as much distance between myself and Lee as possible.

I passed subway stations, and vacant taxis passed me. I had money in my purse—I could have taken any of them. But I welcomed the discomfort that came with walking. The frigid air, the way my stomach lurched with each step I took, the fuzziness of my teeth, the blisters my boots were rubbing into my feet…I deserved all of it and more.

I was filled with shame. Lee was only the second person I’d ever done it with, and I didn’t even remember it. I knew nothing about him. What was his last name? How old was he? What color were his eyes? Did he treat me nicely?

Soon, Grand Central loomed ahead. I took the first train out of there.

Courtney answered the door in her pajamas. Her lips were dry, her long black hair was tangled, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked as bad as I felt. “Lucy, thank god! We were so worried!” She pushed me in the direction of the bathroom. “Hurry up and wash your face and put on your pajamas—my mom is gonna be home any minute.”

I did as she said and crawled into her enormous bed beside a conked-out Max.

“What happened last night?” Courtney asked, getting back in bed too. “I called and texted you a million times. We didn’t want to leave without you but the last train was at two a.m.”

My eyes were already closed. “Tell you about it later,” I mumbled, before drifting away into sleep.