I tried to ignore the burn of the alcohol as I tossed back a quick shot. I couldn't think about the taste because my stomach was already on the rocks for losing the game. How could I blow it for my team? I made such an ass out of myself, and to top it off, the vodka was not nearly getting me drunk enough. I guess I've built up a tolerance pretty quickly.
Tossing the shot glass aside, I grabbed the bottle by the neck and took a couple of swings, pretending that it's water. But after the fourth swing, I choke, my gag reflex threatening to upchuck everything in my stomach which coincidently had nothing but vodka and a couple of chips in it. I coughed and swallowed hard. The last thing I needed was to throw up. I ran to the sink and filled up the tiny hotel glass with water and chugged it. Maybe that would clear the burning from my throat.
I needed to catch my breath as I was starting to feel waterlogged, so I drug myself over to the bed and plopped down. I reached for the remote on the nightstand, when I noticed my body started to feel heavy. Not heavy in a drunk sort of way, but heavy in the depressed sort of way. Like every movement was a struggle. I just wanted to lie down and sleep for three days, escape the world for a little while. Everything was going wrong. I used to have Bay, someone who I thought understood me, someone who was always there for me. Then I met Daphne, and I thought I was given a second chance. After all, Daphne was really supposed to be Bay in an alternate universe where the switch never happened. And then there's Toby...
If you were to ask me if I loved Toby, I wouldn't know what to say. I don't know if I even know what love feels like, but what I do know is having Toby is the closest thing I've ever come to love. He makes me happy and he makes me feel special, like he really cares. But for some reason he didn't even want to visit me at my own championship game. He should be here now, comforting me cause that's what boyfriends do. But instead, he's been acting really distant lately. I can only imagine what Bay or Daphne might have said to him. But I can't even be mad at them. Everything they say about me is, in one way or the other, true. And to top it all off, I blew the big championship game. It made my blood boil just thinking about it.
I look at the remote in my hand and flick on the TV. Maybe some Pay-per-view will help me take my mind off things, but before I get that started, I need to make myself another drink. When I stand up from the bed, the dizziness hits. Good. I love this feeling.
I walked over to the sink where my vodka was sitting and poured some in a glass, and mixed in a splash of the I was drinking earlier. I took a sip and cringed. It needed a tad more Dr. Pepper and some ice. I poured in just a bit more Dr. Pepper and realized that I was completely out of ice. Luckily I was just a little more than tipsy, and I knew how to handle myself while intoxicated, otherwise going out to get some ice would be unnerving.
I grabbed the ice bucket and left my room. The carpet in the hall was blurring and making funny colors, and as fun as it was to watch the ground move beneath my feet, it felt like the world was swaying, so I had to keep myself from looking at the ground. I needed to be as sober as possible, but it was getting harder to walk with one foot in front of the other. I think I drank more than I thought. I was beginning to walk along the wall, running my had along it to keep me steady and walking in a straight line. I took a right and then a left, still making a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other gracefully when I looked up and saw someone else at the ice machine. At first, a flicker of panic started in my heart when I realized I recognized him.
He was a friend of Daphne's, here for the game too, I think.
"Hey, you need a hand?" I asked, pointing at the ice bucket in his arm. Looking at the awkward way he was hold the ice bucket I realized how swollen and bruised his hand looked."What happened? Did you hurt yourself?" Emmett took his free hand and made a fist, swinging it in the air like he was punching something. He punched something in anger."I know the feeling. I wanted to punch a wall myself today." I explained, feeling the anger building up again. "Did you see the game?" I asked, knowing the answer. He had to be here for the game. He shrugged and nodded apologetically. "Yeah. I have a bottle of Vodka in my room. I was planning on having a few shots and watching Pay-per-view." Half-way there.
I scooped a couple of ice cubes into my bucket before I noticed him looking at me. No, not looking. Searching. He was searching for something, and even though he might not have been looking for me, he sure has found me. And I started to see what I didn't see before. And it wasn't just his troubled green eyes that entranced me. There was something there that I just couldn't put my finger on. Maybe it was the way his anger and sadness matched mine or maybe it was just the way he was looking at me. Like I wasn't the answer, but the question. And then again, maybe it was just the vodka telling me to lose myself in him. He was the escape from reality I needed.
He tried to distract from the obvious tension building by mouthing that he was going to go wrap his arm.
"Yeah, you should probably go wrap that," I said, trying to clear my head. But I just couldn't get the thought of escaping with him off my mind. And clearly he couldn't either, because even though he didn't say anything, his eyes spoke volumes. I couldn't just let him leave. "I could help."
And before I knew it, we were in my bedroom. As soon as the door closed, Emmett grabbed my hair and pulled me into a passionate, angry kiss. Together, we were both fire; we were both fueling each other's anger and passion. Our kisses were angry and fast. We were quick to explore each other's body. He ran his hand from my neck, to my lower back, to my butt. My hands clawed under his shirt at his back. We fell onto my bed in a frenzy, him on top of me, the kissing never ending. Our bodies meshed well together. Our movements couldn't have been choreographed better. He only broke away to take off his shirt. I couldn't stop myself from running my hand down his body. I wanted his body pressed against mine. He was what I needed, and I needed all of him. I knew where this was leading, but I didn't care. Vodka always makes me a better lover anyway.
A/N: This is mostly just for fun. I need to exercise my writing skills, so I thought I might as well do it here. Plus, Simone's story is so interesting to me.