chickadee
New Yorker
This chapter's a little longer! Hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 15
I don’t respond well to excessive stress. I do my best and all but I can always feel myself cracking, as if little bits of me are going to crumble away until what’s left is my brain with a big neon sign tacked on the front saying HELP. And so I try to avoid situations which are going to make me feel this way because as you can imagine it’s not fun.
But here I am, Friday morning and I sense the crumbling process beginning already. In a vain attempt to organise myself (shocking because normally I live my life in a jumbly, scatterbrained mess) I have made a list. Yes, you heard correctly, a list. Would you like to read it?
THINGS TO DO ON FRIDAY MORNING
1 Feed Molly (in case she starves to death and becomes a skeleton cat)
2 Clean kitchen/bathroom including the disgusting bits I hate, vacuum & dust living room, tidy up bedroom (ie throw clutter in wardrobe and pray it closes), change sheets on mum & dad’s bed (they don’t need to know I slept in it three times)
3 Have shower & wash hair (use that special citrus stuff cause it smells lovely), shave legs & other relevant areas (don’t even think about WHY)
4 Find something clean and nice to wear for tonight which will work in party & elsewhere (still don’t think about WHY)
5 Print off anniversary card from computer cause am cheap & poor & they’re not even married for God’s sake
6 Oh yeah, eat at some point, something not too filling but enough to line stomach before party & elsewhere (no, don’t think about WHY)
7 Order taxi to Adele’s
8 Go to Adele’s, taking address book & directions for afterwards (NO, not yet!)
9 Have fun at party ignoring smug couples & pretending six months is a big deal & trying out screechy-college-girl-mate laugh so I fit in better
10 Leave Adele’s
11 Okay, now think about WHY
12 Panic, flee country, etc etc
I think I’ve covered everything, don’t you?
*************************
I’m about half way down my list (printing off anniversary card and don’t look at me like that, Larry’s the rich one, I’ve barely a fiver to my name) and I’m keeping pretty much to the timescale in my head. I had lunch a couple of hours ago after I finished cleaning (yes, I did do it) and my hair’s done and my clothes are laid out on the bed. I decided on this pink top that looks quite plain but is rather low-cut to make up for it, and my jeans with those silver shoes Adele bought. See, I’m comfy in it without being too scruffy and it also looks alright, I think.
Yeah, only one problem with the list. I’ve thought about WHY all bloody day, ever since I woke up. It hasn’t left my head. Can you blame me? I’ve never been more nervous in all my life, not even when I had to stand up in front of the school when I was twelve and sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ by myself. Ugh.
It’s actually a relief when I finally get around to putting my nice clothes on and adding some make-up, nothing major but enough to look a bit more interesting. At least I hope so. Then I go downstairs and pick at the chips I’d stuck in the oven before ringing for the taxi and killing time by watching Neighbours. And I know I’m still going to be early but Adele won’t mind and it’s better than waiting here, the suspense is literally going to send me around the bend into cuckoo land. It’s so much better to be on the move and also in a place where there’s lots of alcohol.
Ah, alcohol. It can either be your closest friend or your worst enemy. I’m just hoping a couple of drinks in and I’ll have steadied my nerves so I can enjoy Larry’s company without freaking out completely.
When I arrive at Adele’s, she seems surprised to see me before seven, but she’s very welcoming and takes me through to the kitchen, where Dan is being forced to work for the sex they’re going to have later by uncorking a large bottle of white wine. Mmm, wine. He offers me some when he’s opened it and of course it’d be rude to say no, so I accept what I can only describe as a generously-filled glass and steal a sandwich (ham and cress triangular, crusts cut off).
“Steady on,” Dan says with a raised eyebrow as I down about half of the wine straight away. I glare at him (what a judgmental twat) and wait for him to sod off before I confess to Adele where I am going later. I kind of feel I have to because if I leave without telling her she’ll get upset and I’ll be in the bad friend books for ages. And that’s no good since you never know when you might need to borrow a top.
“You okay?” she asks me, eyeing me warily.
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll be heading off early. Going to Larry’s.”
She must see the look of terror in my eyes or hear the tremble in my voice because she’s suddenly open-mouthed and barely suppressing a squeal that a dolphin would reject as being too high-pitched.
“Oh God, you mean… you and him? Tonight?”
Yeah, yeah, spell it out why don’t you. Add some flashing lights and let’s tell the whole bloody world. I grit my teeth.
“Yes, tonight. I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.” Master of understatement, me.
Adele frowns. “Why? You fancy him, don’t you? I mean, if you don’t want to, I will and to hell with Dan.” She’s joking… I think.
“It’s not that,” I sigh, leaning against the counter. “Course I want to. It’s Larry! Even straight men want to. It’s just… me. Worried about how I’ll do and what he’ll think. Or whatever.” I mumble the last bit, getting too embarrassed, and Adele doesn’t help matters by laughing.
“Oh, don’t be stupid! It’s not as if you haven’t done it before, Rach. I remember you and that guy, what was his name? High school leaving party thing?”
I groan at the memory that I always try to keep buried. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never had a proper boyfriend but once I did have a big mistake and his name was Steven. And he wasn’t hot, and he wasn’t particularly kind – he made some remark to his mates about how frigid I was and, well, word got back to me and I cried for a week even though I was frigid because he was a horrible person – and I didn’t feel pretty when I was with him. Adele and I had made a pact to hurry up and lose our virginities before the end of school and when we got desperate we took whatever was offered to us, in her case some loser named Pete who I’m fairly sure I’ve spotted selling the Big Issue once or twice. In my case it was Steven. Scarred me for life, that did, as I’m sure you can tell.
So when Adele reminds me of it, I wince and drink more wine to ease the scar that’s been ripped open without warning, adding to my woes.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I mutter. “According to him I didn’t do much anyway so I don’t think that one time counts, do you?” I feel myself getting grumpy and stalk off to the living room, shove Dan out of the way and stick on some cheesy Kylie records so I can dance around like an idiot and forget about men for a little while.
This lasts until sometimes after seven when lots of Adele’s friends from college have turned up, some with boyfriends, some without, plus guys Dan knows from God knows where (I dread to think and if you saw Dan you’d understand). Obviously now there are men but even worse, there are girls talking to men, about men… It’s getting ridiculous and it’s not making me feel any better!
When Adele isn’t looking, I keep sneaking back into the kitchen and picking up more food and more drink, helping myself to a couple of bottles of what I hope is beer in the fridge and letting some blonde girl I’ve never met before pour me some more wine (a huge amount, I must say, so I like her!) and bend my ear about her course and her boyfriend. Strangely, I’m giving advice and I actually find her pretty amusing, and maybe this party’s not so bad after all.
Soon (I’m not sure what time) I’m dancing in the living room with the blonde girl and Adele, plus a few other girls who are all laughing at my attempts to sing along to some old Bananarama record. I didn’t realise I was so funny! And as well as that, I’m more relaxed and finding it easier to talk to people, almost as if I’m a different person myself. It’s weird but entertaining and I’m shocked to catch a glimpse of the clock and realise it’s time I was going to Larry’s.
Weird, but Larry’s slipped my mind in the last couple of hours…
…or something has caused it to slip. And as I say goodbye to Adele and her very loud mates (they seem to have suddenly turned up the volume) and try to walk down her path, I figure out why I’ve been dancing and laughing and not thinking about Larry.
I am very, very drunk.
Very, very drunk indeeeeeeed.
Oops, nearly fell into the hedge! Don’t wanna be doing that now.
I wonder vaguely why Adele didn’t tell me I’m pissed out of my brain, but then she’s probably worse and I never noticed. I must’ve drunk until all my anxieties blotted themselves from my mind and it was a good idea at the time, I’ll admit, but now I’m stumbling along the pavement and it’s fortunate that a black cab comes along Adele’s street, light on. I flag it down as best I can in my state and clamber into the back, giving the driver what I hope is a sober-looking smile.
“Um, I wanna go… go... Um, wait a second.” I hold up a hand (to symbolize waiting, y’know, in case the driver is unfamiliar with the concept and also because it seems such a cool thing to do right now) and fumble in my bag (which by the way someone has bloody spilled a drink on, the bastards, if I wasn’t so drunk I’d be angry!) for the sheet of paper on which I scribbled Larry’s address as he read it out over the phone to me. Hoping everything’s spelled correctly and it’s not a fake address to throw me off the trail (it’s a mark of how drunk I am that this idea doesn’t bother me) I hand it to the driver, who nods and starts the car moving before I’m ready, so I go flying off the seat and land hard on my hip.
“Ouch!” I yell, and he apologises while slowing the car so I can get back on my seat and do up my seatbelt (remember this every time, kids). I then stare out of the window at the blackened night as we pass houses and move into a much more upmarket area. I think it’s only then that the reality hits me properly since the last time it hit me and I feel like I might be sick, although to be fair this might be due to the alcohol swirling around in my system.
The driver slows and stops outside what I can only describe as a Very Big House, and after I’ve paid him, I stumble out of the taxi and up the gravelly drive to what I assume is Larry’s front door. I ring the bell and try to arrange myself on the doorstep so I look seductive or… something.
Larry opens the door within seconds and stares at me. “Hi, Rachel…”
“Hi,” I reply, smiling at him, just about resisting the urge to lick my lips. You know when you’ve had too much to drink and everything seems like a good idea, even (especially) things you’d never dream of doing normally? That’s how I’m feeling, and Larry’s such a temptation. I step closer and cup his face in my hands.
“Hi,” I repeat before planting a big kiss on his lips. “Mmm, you taste amaaaaazing.”
Larry’s got a funny look on his face, as if he’s never seen me before. Well, okay, he’s never seen me drunk before but there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?
“I think you should come in,” is what he says, taking my arm and holding off my attempts to kiss him again. I pout and say stuff about how gorgeous he is as he leads me into his living room, which by the way is also gorgeous, all tasteful and manly and yum. I stare around before staggering a little and falling onto a lovely comfy sofa.
“Mmm,” I say again, rubbing my hand along the seat, watching Larry even though my vision’s definitely blurry and my tongue feels a bit too dry. “C’mere, I wannakissyoooou.” I hold out my hand but even as Larry takes it I can feel something happening inside, something unpleasant, and I grab my stomach as it lurches.
“Oh God, gonna be sick,” I manage to blurt. Larry’s eyes widen and he actually picks me up and carries me to the bathroom, letting me kneel in front of the toilet as I throw up. He holds my hair back from my face and in the midst of my disgusting state, I realise how sweet he’s being and how terribly I’ve behaved in front of him. Before the physical sickness subsides, the emotional upset starts and I begin to cry, wiping my mouth as I sit back on the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I hear myself whimper as the tears drop down onto my nice pink low-cut top which, by the way, I am totally falling out of without noticing. I’m so ashamed I can barely look at Larry, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He gives me a warm hug as I continue to cry and when I finally stop, he strokes my face and kisses my nose.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You look shattered. I’ll let you have a sleep and we can talk later, when you’re feeling better.”
I try to protest because I don’t want to sleep and I certainly don’t want to have that talk later (or any time), but it’s no use. Larry’s got me on my feet and is practically sweeping me up the stairs and into a plush room with a double bed and lots of pillows. Despite myself, I let out a sigh of pleasure when I lie down, it’s so comfy, and I suppose a sleep would be quite nice.
The last thing I hear before I drift off is Larry pulling the door shut, and in the back of my mind I hope he doesn’t think too badly of me, because I really do like him very much…
TBC...
Chapter 15
I don’t respond well to excessive stress. I do my best and all but I can always feel myself cracking, as if little bits of me are going to crumble away until what’s left is my brain with a big neon sign tacked on the front saying HELP. And so I try to avoid situations which are going to make me feel this way because as you can imagine it’s not fun.
But here I am, Friday morning and I sense the crumbling process beginning already. In a vain attempt to organise myself (shocking because normally I live my life in a jumbly, scatterbrained mess) I have made a list. Yes, you heard correctly, a list. Would you like to read it?
THINGS TO DO ON FRIDAY MORNING
1 Feed Molly (in case she starves to death and becomes a skeleton cat)
2 Clean kitchen/bathroom including the disgusting bits I hate, vacuum & dust living room, tidy up bedroom (ie throw clutter in wardrobe and pray it closes), change sheets on mum & dad’s bed (they don’t need to know I slept in it three times)
3 Have shower & wash hair (use that special citrus stuff cause it smells lovely), shave legs & other relevant areas (don’t even think about WHY)
4 Find something clean and nice to wear for tonight which will work in party & elsewhere (still don’t think about WHY)
5 Print off anniversary card from computer cause am cheap & poor & they’re not even married for God’s sake
6 Oh yeah, eat at some point, something not too filling but enough to line stomach before party & elsewhere (no, don’t think about WHY)
7 Order taxi to Adele’s
8 Go to Adele’s, taking address book & directions for afterwards (NO, not yet!)
9 Have fun at party ignoring smug couples & pretending six months is a big deal & trying out screechy-college-girl-mate laugh so I fit in better
10 Leave Adele’s
11 Okay, now think about WHY
12 Panic, flee country, etc etc
I think I’ve covered everything, don’t you?
*************************
I’m about half way down my list (printing off anniversary card and don’t look at me like that, Larry’s the rich one, I’ve barely a fiver to my name) and I’m keeping pretty much to the timescale in my head. I had lunch a couple of hours ago after I finished cleaning (yes, I did do it) and my hair’s done and my clothes are laid out on the bed. I decided on this pink top that looks quite plain but is rather low-cut to make up for it, and my jeans with those silver shoes Adele bought. See, I’m comfy in it without being too scruffy and it also looks alright, I think.
Yeah, only one problem with the list. I’ve thought about WHY all bloody day, ever since I woke up. It hasn’t left my head. Can you blame me? I’ve never been more nervous in all my life, not even when I had to stand up in front of the school when I was twelve and sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ by myself. Ugh.
It’s actually a relief when I finally get around to putting my nice clothes on and adding some make-up, nothing major but enough to look a bit more interesting. At least I hope so. Then I go downstairs and pick at the chips I’d stuck in the oven before ringing for the taxi and killing time by watching Neighbours. And I know I’m still going to be early but Adele won’t mind and it’s better than waiting here, the suspense is literally going to send me around the bend into cuckoo land. It’s so much better to be on the move and also in a place where there’s lots of alcohol.
Ah, alcohol. It can either be your closest friend or your worst enemy. I’m just hoping a couple of drinks in and I’ll have steadied my nerves so I can enjoy Larry’s company without freaking out completely.
When I arrive at Adele’s, she seems surprised to see me before seven, but she’s very welcoming and takes me through to the kitchen, where Dan is being forced to work for the sex they’re going to have later by uncorking a large bottle of white wine. Mmm, wine. He offers me some when he’s opened it and of course it’d be rude to say no, so I accept what I can only describe as a generously-filled glass and steal a sandwich (ham and cress triangular, crusts cut off).
“Steady on,” Dan says with a raised eyebrow as I down about half of the wine straight away. I glare at him (what a judgmental twat) and wait for him to sod off before I confess to Adele where I am going later. I kind of feel I have to because if I leave without telling her she’ll get upset and I’ll be in the bad friend books for ages. And that’s no good since you never know when you might need to borrow a top.
“You okay?” she asks me, eyeing me warily.
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll be heading off early. Going to Larry’s.”
She must see the look of terror in my eyes or hear the tremble in my voice because she’s suddenly open-mouthed and barely suppressing a squeal that a dolphin would reject as being too high-pitched.
“Oh God, you mean… you and him? Tonight?”
Yeah, yeah, spell it out why don’t you. Add some flashing lights and let’s tell the whole bloody world. I grit my teeth.
“Yes, tonight. I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.” Master of understatement, me.
Adele frowns. “Why? You fancy him, don’t you? I mean, if you don’t want to, I will and to hell with Dan.” She’s joking… I think.
“It’s not that,” I sigh, leaning against the counter. “Course I want to. It’s Larry! Even straight men want to. It’s just… me. Worried about how I’ll do and what he’ll think. Or whatever.” I mumble the last bit, getting too embarrassed, and Adele doesn’t help matters by laughing.
“Oh, don’t be stupid! It’s not as if you haven’t done it before, Rach. I remember you and that guy, what was his name? High school leaving party thing?”
I groan at the memory that I always try to keep buried. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never had a proper boyfriend but once I did have a big mistake and his name was Steven. And he wasn’t hot, and he wasn’t particularly kind – he made some remark to his mates about how frigid I was and, well, word got back to me and I cried for a week even though I was frigid because he was a horrible person – and I didn’t feel pretty when I was with him. Adele and I had made a pact to hurry up and lose our virginities before the end of school and when we got desperate we took whatever was offered to us, in her case some loser named Pete who I’m fairly sure I’ve spotted selling the Big Issue once or twice. In my case it was Steven. Scarred me for life, that did, as I’m sure you can tell.
So when Adele reminds me of it, I wince and drink more wine to ease the scar that’s been ripped open without warning, adding to my woes.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I mutter. “According to him I didn’t do much anyway so I don’t think that one time counts, do you?” I feel myself getting grumpy and stalk off to the living room, shove Dan out of the way and stick on some cheesy Kylie records so I can dance around like an idiot and forget about men for a little while.
This lasts until sometimes after seven when lots of Adele’s friends from college have turned up, some with boyfriends, some without, plus guys Dan knows from God knows where (I dread to think and if you saw Dan you’d understand). Obviously now there are men but even worse, there are girls talking to men, about men… It’s getting ridiculous and it’s not making me feel any better!
When Adele isn’t looking, I keep sneaking back into the kitchen and picking up more food and more drink, helping myself to a couple of bottles of what I hope is beer in the fridge and letting some blonde girl I’ve never met before pour me some more wine (a huge amount, I must say, so I like her!) and bend my ear about her course and her boyfriend. Strangely, I’m giving advice and I actually find her pretty amusing, and maybe this party’s not so bad after all.
Soon (I’m not sure what time) I’m dancing in the living room with the blonde girl and Adele, plus a few other girls who are all laughing at my attempts to sing along to some old Bananarama record. I didn’t realise I was so funny! And as well as that, I’m more relaxed and finding it easier to talk to people, almost as if I’m a different person myself. It’s weird but entertaining and I’m shocked to catch a glimpse of the clock and realise it’s time I was going to Larry’s.
Weird, but Larry’s slipped my mind in the last couple of hours…
…or something has caused it to slip. And as I say goodbye to Adele and her very loud mates (they seem to have suddenly turned up the volume) and try to walk down her path, I figure out why I’ve been dancing and laughing and not thinking about Larry.
I am very, very drunk.
Very, very drunk indeeeeeeed.
Oops, nearly fell into the hedge! Don’t wanna be doing that now.
I wonder vaguely why Adele didn’t tell me I’m pissed out of my brain, but then she’s probably worse and I never noticed. I must’ve drunk until all my anxieties blotted themselves from my mind and it was a good idea at the time, I’ll admit, but now I’m stumbling along the pavement and it’s fortunate that a black cab comes along Adele’s street, light on. I flag it down as best I can in my state and clamber into the back, giving the driver what I hope is a sober-looking smile.
“Um, I wanna go… go... Um, wait a second.” I hold up a hand (to symbolize waiting, y’know, in case the driver is unfamiliar with the concept and also because it seems such a cool thing to do right now) and fumble in my bag (which by the way someone has bloody spilled a drink on, the bastards, if I wasn’t so drunk I’d be angry!) for the sheet of paper on which I scribbled Larry’s address as he read it out over the phone to me. Hoping everything’s spelled correctly and it’s not a fake address to throw me off the trail (it’s a mark of how drunk I am that this idea doesn’t bother me) I hand it to the driver, who nods and starts the car moving before I’m ready, so I go flying off the seat and land hard on my hip.
“Ouch!” I yell, and he apologises while slowing the car so I can get back on my seat and do up my seatbelt (remember this every time, kids). I then stare out of the window at the blackened night as we pass houses and move into a much more upmarket area. I think it’s only then that the reality hits me properly since the last time it hit me and I feel like I might be sick, although to be fair this might be due to the alcohol swirling around in my system.
The driver slows and stops outside what I can only describe as a Very Big House, and after I’ve paid him, I stumble out of the taxi and up the gravelly drive to what I assume is Larry’s front door. I ring the bell and try to arrange myself on the doorstep so I look seductive or… something.
Larry opens the door within seconds and stares at me. “Hi, Rachel…”
“Hi,” I reply, smiling at him, just about resisting the urge to lick my lips. You know when you’ve had too much to drink and everything seems like a good idea, even (especially) things you’d never dream of doing normally? That’s how I’m feeling, and Larry’s such a temptation. I step closer and cup his face in my hands.
“Hi,” I repeat before planting a big kiss on his lips. “Mmm, you taste amaaaaazing.”
Larry’s got a funny look on his face, as if he’s never seen me before. Well, okay, he’s never seen me drunk before but there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?
“I think you should come in,” is what he says, taking my arm and holding off my attempts to kiss him again. I pout and say stuff about how gorgeous he is as he leads me into his living room, which by the way is also gorgeous, all tasteful and manly and yum. I stare around before staggering a little and falling onto a lovely comfy sofa.
“Mmm,” I say again, rubbing my hand along the seat, watching Larry even though my vision’s definitely blurry and my tongue feels a bit too dry. “C’mere, I wannakissyoooou.” I hold out my hand but even as Larry takes it I can feel something happening inside, something unpleasant, and I grab my stomach as it lurches.
“Oh God, gonna be sick,” I manage to blurt. Larry’s eyes widen and he actually picks me up and carries me to the bathroom, letting me kneel in front of the toilet as I throw up. He holds my hair back from my face and in the midst of my disgusting state, I realise how sweet he’s being and how terribly I’ve behaved in front of him. Before the physical sickness subsides, the emotional upset starts and I begin to cry, wiping my mouth as I sit back on the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I hear myself whimper as the tears drop down onto my nice pink low-cut top which, by the way, I am totally falling out of without noticing. I’m so ashamed I can barely look at Larry, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He gives me a warm hug as I continue to cry and when I finally stop, he strokes my face and kisses my nose.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You look shattered. I’ll let you have a sleep and we can talk later, when you’re feeling better.”
I try to protest because I don’t want to sleep and I certainly don’t want to have that talk later (or any time), but it’s no use. Larry’s got me on my feet and is practically sweeping me up the stairs and into a plush room with a double bed and lots of pillows. Despite myself, I let out a sigh of pleasure when I lie down, it’s so comfy, and I suppose a sleep would be quite nice.
The last thing I hear before I drift off is Larry pulling the door shut, and in the back of my mind I hope he doesn’t think too badly of me, because I really do like him very much…
TBC...
Poor Rachel - although if I was in her shoes I'd probably get good and trashed too. 
