My goodness, what is that smell? I think to myself as I try to lift my overly heavy eyelids while my nose stings with the assault of something burning. My head throbs, my body aches, and I am not quite sure where I am as my eyes struggle to open and face the blaring lights around me.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I hear Tabby shriek from another room.
I pat the space around me, realizing I am on a couch. I blink, my eyes tearing up in the light. Closing one eye, I try to give my mind a reprieve as I look around me.
Tabby’s apartment. I am on her couch.
Taking a glance at my body, I see I am still wearing the black dress from last night.
Last night…
What did I do? We went to the charity masquerade ball. We had a few drinks to help me relax. Tabby said I needed to let loose for just once. We danced.
Oh. My. God.
I was dancing with the man, the one from the bar. We kissed—okay, we mauled each other. Slowly, the memories invade my pounding head.
The closet.
The janitor’s closet. What the hell have I done? What was his name? Coggsworth? Codwell?
Sitting up, I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my head in my heads as I rack my hungover brain to remember his name. I have never done anything like this before in my life. I can’t believe I let him do things to me … those kinds of things … in a closet at a fundraiser. Alcohol is a true inhibitor. I didn’t even think to react. I didn’t even think to stop him.
The smells of burning eggs—yes, definitely burnt eggs—and something else assaults my nose, causing me to lurch. Jumping up, I rush to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time for my stomach to revolt and empty itself.
When I finish and am left dry heaving, I look over to the doorway to see Tabby, a disheveled mess herself, smiling down at me. Tears have filled my eyes from puking, and she is standing there smiling at me like the cat who caught the canary.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Ugh,” is my simple reply as I fight to keep from heaving again.
“You look like hell, buttercup.” She smiles even bigger at me, causing the mascara streaks under her eyes to mock me further.
“You are far too perky this morning for looking just as bad as I do,” I groan at her.
“You should be perky after your midnight rendezvous in the closet.”
Involuntarily, my hand comes up to cover my mouth in embarrassment. Tabby was the one who opened the door. I bolted past her to the bathroom to clean up and make my escape.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember. That guy was smokin’, not someone I would expect to be easily forgotten.” She moves over to the sink, wetting a washcloth before handing it to me.
“I didn’t forget him. I just … I don’t do that sort of thing. One night stands, that’s not me, Tabby.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Livi. I know what you went through. I know how far you’ve come. This is a win for you. This is your year of empowerment and letting go.”
“This isn’t me. I don’t go off with strangers.” The more I think on it, the more my mind swirls. I hunch over the toilet again, releasing the last of my meager contents.
“Come on, I’ll get you some coffee. I tried to make breakfast, but I’m too hungover myself. I burned the hashbrowns and the eggs. For a minute, I thought I was going to set off the smoke alarm.”
The thought of food makes my stomach churn. Seeing the change in my face, Tabby looks at me sympathetically before she walks away. I get up, slowly making my way back to her living room.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how bad you might be feeling this morning. You were tossin’ them back last night, girlie.” She laughs lightly at herself.
The room spins around me as dread fills me. I really let loose last night. Just call me loosey-goosey.
What the hell was his name?
While Tabby continues chatting, her words bounce around my head like a ping pong ball with me only catching every few words.
“Totally can dance, girl.” I manage to comprehend that small fragment of whatever she is going on and on about. Why must she talk so much right now?
Dancing? No, I wasn’t dancing. I was grinding. Heck, I was practically dry humping the mystery man’s leg. I acted like such a slut. No wonder he just took me freely in a closet.
In a closet. A janitor’s closet.
And what the heck was his name?
“Hello, where are you at, Liv?”
“Huh? What?” I reply, realizing I have no idea what she has been rambling about.
“His name, what was his name?” She gasps, looking at my face. “You don’t know.”
“Holdwell, no. Coldwell, Coldwall, Caldwell. He said, ‘Call me Caldwell.’ I think,” I stammer out as my friend bursts into a fit of giggles.
I toss a throw pillow at her. “Not funny, Tabby.”
“Oh, it’s funny. It’s hilarious. Always so reserved, Livi. It’s okay to let loose and have fun, and he was most certainly fun. The way you blushed coming out, you were thoroughly satisfied.”
I shake my head, trying to shake off the thoughts of how my body reacted to him. I am such a slut.
Mortification washes over me. Last night wasn’t the first night my body reacted to physical touch. Only in my inebriated state, last night, I wanted it for myself. Consent was fucking given.
Tabby says this is empowering. Why can’t I accept that and let this help me let go of my past? Will the hold of my youth forever keep me on the outside in my future?
Damaged goods. No man wants damaged goods.
“Stop it, Liv. Don’t you be part of the double standard! Why is it okay for men to have sex for the sheer purpose of getting off, but a woman does it, and she’s a whore? No, ma’am, you are not allowed to feel guilty for last night. So what if you don’t exactly remember his name? You had a good time, had an orgasm, now move on. Call it a bucket list item; check it off, and on to the next.”
“It’s more than that and you know it, Tabby,” I say on a whisper. She knows my past. She knows not only what happened, but the mixed emotions I go through. Every time I allow myself to think back on it, I don’t know if I’m up or I am down. I need to let go and I can’t.
Maybe I have. Maybe last night was my first step in becoming whole again. It has been so long I don’t know what it feels like anymore.
Last night, though, I went out like a normal twenty-four-year-old. I had drinks with a friend. I found a guy I was attracted to and went for it. Tossing all my cares, insecurities, and past transgressions aside, I went for it. That is empowering. That is becoming.
Having nothing more to say to her, my mind races with memories of the night before.
I move to straighten up the couch and gather my things. After a quick goodbye, I am in a cab and then back to my apartment. No way could I walk today, and Tabby is too hungover to drive safely both ways.
Scraping the last bit of change from the bottom of my borrowed clutch from last night to tip the cabbie, my fingers trace over the delicate fabric of my mask. A mask I was able to hide behind so easily last night.
Carefully, I get out of the car, hyperaware of my lack of undergarments. I am, yet again, mortified at remembering my behavior last night. Hot as he may be, he was a stranger, and now he has my panties. Like a souvenir or something, I don’t know.
At my door, I notice an envelope taped to the door. Tearing it off, I then pick up the newspaper on my doorstep before entering my apartment. The newspaper that I let the salesmen rope me into prepaying for a year subscription to. The newspaper that I shouldn’t have gotten, but in a few more months that will be a bill I can cut loose. For now, it is my only source of current and up-to-date entertainment. The comics are just as funny now as when I was a kid. At least some things never change.
Walking inside, I set down my purse and paper. Opening the envelope from my door, my heart sinks.
Utility Disconnect Notice
Your account with us is seriously past due. Your water is scheduled for disconnect in five business days. Please pay your balance in full to avoid interruption of service. If service is disconnected, customer is responsible for reconnect fees and security deposit before services will be restored.
Feeling defeated, I toss the notice and the newspaper on the bar then make my way to my bedroom. Slipping out of my borrowed dress, I make my way to my bathroom and take a scalding hot shower, wishing I could wash away all my problems as easily as I can wash off the dirt of my previous day.
Once out of the shower, I dress in yoga pants, and a T-shirt, skipping the bra, then head into my tiny kitchen space. Grabbing a bottle of over-the-counter pain killers, I quickly pop two as I stare at the cut-off notice, a glaring reminder that I am slowly losing everything.
I can’t call my mom. She has no extra money to help me. What’s more, nothing would convince me to call my dad. My step-monster would love nothing more than for me to need something, anything, from them.
Therefore, picking up the newspaper, I do the only thing I know to do. It is time to look for a second job. The hospital has great benefits, but the pay for a bottom grade social worker isn’t enough with my college student loans breathing down my neck. The monkey on my back that no one prepared me for when I left for school is always hanging around.
Scanning the classifieds, my heart sinks. There aren’t many options to work with my schedule. What am I going to do?
Then I see a few positions for waitresses and two for barmaids, all saying to apply in person. I could do that.
Circling the ones that seem promising, I look at the clock. It’s mid-afternoon, no time like the present to face my new reality.
I apply at four places before my hangover wins, and I go home. Tomorrow, after work, I will hit up the last spot.
