Chapter 35

I woke up with a splitting headache. You know the kind: It's where you spend the next three hours puking your guts out, all the while saying to yourself (repeat after me), "Dear God, I promise I will never drink that much again ... if You will only make the throbbing go away and the room stop spinning. Amen."

Thankfully, wherever I had ended up, someone had the good sense to draw the curtains closed and the neighbours were mercifully quiet. That could only mean I was no where near my apartment. After all, the kids on the other side of my bedroom wall were always up at 7 am and raising hell by 7:15. The superintendent liked to mow the lawn early in the morning, and I had (unfortunately) gotten a unit that was near the pool, which on a nice summer day was usually busy and crawling with urchin children from Hell.

Trying not to upset my internal equilibrium, I looked around the room for a clock. It was a little after noon. I moaned and rubbed my temples.

It took me a few minutes until I could bring myself to sit up. I let out a stream of unladylike curses under my breath and willed myself not to throw up on the very nice duvet.

Someone had changed me out of my clothes and into a long nightshirt. Underneath, my panties were on, but my bra was gone. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and then looked around (but not too quickly) to see where I was.

I didn't immediately recognise anything. There was a picture of two people about my uncle's age next to the clock radio. A couple of paintings hung from the walls. A solid oak dresser and nightstand matched the very nice (and probably expensive) headboard.

There were three doors in the room. I stumbled towards one of them and fumbled with the handle. It opened into a hallway. The sunlight coming from an open window hit me and I recoiled back into the bedroom. I tried door number two.

It was the one I was looking for: the bathroom.

I dropped my panties and plopped down on the toilet, as relieved to be off my feet as anything else.

The recent activity only made me feel worse. My head still throbbed.

"Paige?" I heard a voice call. McKayla. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Her footsteps came down the hall. I heard the door to the bedroom open and saw McKayla poke her head into the room. She turned and saw me in her bathroom.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said and quickly closed the door.

I finished my business and then stood, very slowly. I stumbled out of the bathroom and out into the bright hallway. McKayla was waiting for me. She was all dressed up in a nice pants suit and leaning against the doorframe.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was soft, probably knowing that loud noises weren't going to be good for me.

"Like shit," I replied feebly as my eyes adjusted. The taste in my mouth was stale, a mixture of tequila, beer and morning breath.

McKayla only smiled.

She walked me to the kitchen and led me to a table in front of a nice bay window. The bright sunlight stung my eyes, but the view of the water blew me away. Her house was right on the beach. Off the deck was a walkway going over the dunes right on to the sand.

I had never been to her place before. I knew she lived a little ways north and that she lived by herself, but I had no idea her home was this nice. She usually came over to one of our dumpy apartments because Allyson, Bretlynn and I lived closer to the clubs and the action.

For the next several moments, I only stared out her window dumbly. She pushed a bottle of Sprite into my hands which I drank reflexively.

"Feel like something to eat?" she asked.

I could only nod.

"I've got cereal, toast, bagels and waffles," McKayla said. "Take your pick."

"I'll have a bagel," I mumbled, turning away from the window.