I am cursing under my breath, furiously trying to press my face back into the warmth of the covers. I toss and turn, my body is sweaty from all the nausea of the ridiculous hangover I am trying to fight off. I have sworn over and over again that I will never touch alcohol, but maybe even God knows I am bullshitting at this point.
I deserve the punishment. It was truly a poor decision to drink further than my tolerance. If I could vanish the memory of yesterday out of my mind, I would surely do. Now, however, I have yet to relieve every single stupid thing I have said, but this time, completely sober.
Shit, maybe this is why I am always drinking. Now that I am clear minded thinking back to the chaos I have made is just too embarrassing.
I try to force myself back to sleep for a good half an hour before I give up and sit on the bed. My stomach is furious with me and I deem standing up way too dangerous yet. I pull my telephone off the charger and I flip through the newsfeed of my favorite social media app.
A notification from Riley pops up at the top. She has texted me two times today so far and this is her third attempt.
My sleep hazed eyes are hardly focusing on the screen, the beginning of a headache is squeezing my head, making my vision blurry. I activate the screen lock and drop the phone right next to me. She will know where to find me if she wants to talk, at the moment even texting is annoying to me.
I turn on the television, switching between the numerous channels, until I find a reality show and decide to watch it. I definitely need nothing too brain stimulating and I guess the Kardashians will lull me back to sleep.
I make a mental note to cancel all the plans I have had in my schedule for today. Despite all the paperwork pilling up on my work desk, I choose to ignore them. I know I procrastinate more often than not, but I cannot force productivity today.
I am just not functioning. I officially give up on life. If I have any luck the ground opens up under me and swallows me whole.
I am most definitely never drinking again.
A soft knock disturbs my lazy Sunday and I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. The door opens and my best friend's pops in with a grin way too cheery for my taste. "Hey Buns, how was your date?"
I wrinkle my nose, remembering how that idiot set me up and the embarrassment which followed after. "He didn't show up."
"You're shitting me."
"Nope."
"Then he is a prick," she tells me confidently. "You deserve better than him anyway."
I nod, smiling half-heartedly. "Thanks Riles."
Riley does not press the subject which I am grateful for. The last thing I need right now is going through last night in details. My memories I have are through a blurred vision, but there are parts that are incredibly clear and they bother me. Why do I always make a fool out of myself in front of people?
My best friend is an extremely talented lawyer, she usually reads me like a book and this time she does not disappoint. She exhales a deep breath and hops on my bed. She takes my favorite teddy bear off the top of the bed, pulling it close to her chest. I roll my eyes at her, recognizing the attempt of getting a reaction out of me.
I raise an eyebrow at her questioningly, but I feel a half smile already forming on my lips.
She also seems to have a bit of hangover, but she is definitely more collected. Her long brown hair falls in perfect waves over her back, brown eyes twinkling with an almost childish spark. She is paler than usual, which is basically the only giveaway that she is not exactly well. To be honest, Riley looks more put together in any situation than I do on my best day. Perhaps it is a lawyer thing.
She must sense that I am not going to be talkative today because she pulls half of my blanket to her and decides to warm her feet under it. She fixes her eyes on the program I am watching, hiding her scowl behind my teddy bear. She does not like reality shows, but I am making her watch it anyway. My tv, my rules.
Riley gives me side eyes glances every now and then and when I catch her, she quickly turns her glaze back to the screen. I know there is something bothering her just by the vibe she is giving off, but since she does not voice it I do not pressure.
After a good hour and a half, she stretches and sits up. I suppress a yawn at the sight.
"Now, I don't want to sound rude, but you smell like a bar," she accuses with a smirk. "Get out of here, stinky."
I mimic offence. "This is my room."
"Let me rephrase that," she offers. "You go take a shower, I order takeout. You have had enough time to wallow in self-pity and I'm starving."
She is kind of right, but I refuse to admit. I should have expected that she will not allow me to stay in bed all day and despite it sounding difficult now I know it is what I need. Perhaps after a steamy shower I will not feel like throwing up.
I climb out of bed with a questionable balance, once again cursing the moment I took my first shot of whisky. I fondly remember the time when getting drunk did not automatically meant being dead the next day. Oh, when I used to be young and full of energy!
"I want pizza," I tell her as I am searching in the wardrobe for clothes. Would it be weird if I changed my pajamas for another one? Not that I am particularly thinking of going anywhere for the rest of the day, but changing back into sleeping clothes does not feel productive. "Pepperoni, lot of cheese. And a coke."
Riley pouts. "I want Chinese. Sweet and sour chicken."
I consider for a moment, but then I shake my head and give her my best pleading puppy eyes. "We had Chinese last week. I want pizza. New York style, cheese crust, pure fat and grease."
"Okay, but next time I choose!"
I send a kiss towards her direction. She mock swoons, her eyebrows moving suggestively. Riley is such a flirt.
She offers me my phone on my way out and I head towards the bathroom ready to wash off the dirt of yesterday.
I stare at the girl in the mirror, feeling suddenly way too de ja vu. Flashbacks are so vivid in my mind it weakens my legs. I remember Captain Steven Rogers, his thick Brooklyn accent and his out-of-this-world kindness. I still have no idea how he managed to keep his calm. I, in his place, certainly would not have appreciated such an introduction, but he almost seemed amused by it.
My cheeks flush and I cannot decide whether it is still the embarrassment I have been feeling or just the fact that he was as smoking hot as I have seen in television broadcasts. Since when do I have a thing for men in uniforms?
I shake the thoughts out of my head. I do not know the guy and despite him being a total eye candy I feel ashamed for objectifying him in my thoughts. He has been nothing but respectful and I feel like a total jerk that even for a second lusting over him came to my mind. I do not know him and just because he is in my history books he is still a stranger.
The girl in the mirror looks guilty and red cheeked, just like a kid who got caught with a hand in the cookie jar. I fix my expression, telling myself over and over again that after I manage to give back Natasha Romanoff's clothes, this will be over and I will probably never have to see him again. In the end, this should be a funny story I might one day share with my kids and nothing more.
I put her clothes into the washing machine and press the button.
I just hope one day this will indeed become more funny and less embarrassing.
It takes a while till I get the right temperature. I do like my shower steamy and warm, but it is hard to find the perfect middle ground between burning off my skin warm and ice cold. My muscles relax, the tension in my head lessens and for a moment I feel better.
I spend around twenty minutes under the shower, letting the dirt of yesterday soak off my skin. I hear my telephone is beeping in the background, but I ignore it, wanting to block the world out just for a few minutes of daydreaming. Whoever it is will have to wait.
I eventually step out, the cold air is chilly to my warmed up skin and I am shivering throughout the time I dress up. My hair now in a turban I again face my reflection. The girl in the mirror looks definitely less zombie-like and more me, but the dark circles under my eyes will take probably more than a few hours of sleep and a good shower to disappear.
I grab my electric toothbrush from the cabinet and as I brush my teeth I unlock my telephone and check my messages. I frown at the screen, wondering how I have become so popular in less than half an hour. I have received two messages and oh my gosh one is from my mother.
From: Mom
07/23/2012 4:58 PM
Will you be eating with us tomorrow?
I spit into the sink, anxiety hitting me in waves.
Damn. Truth be told I would rather skip. Nothing gets me more agitated than my mother—me and her cannot sit by the same table without having a fight. She always nitpicks everything I do and every time I visit my parents I come home with a tight chest and way too much anxiety. However, I know despite asking me she has already decided I am going to attend, otherwise she will pull out the 'you are so ungrateful for everything we have done for you' card and I am tired of running the same circles with her. I would rather take a few hours of feeling uncomfortable than a week-long drama.
From: Mom
07/23/2012 4:59 PM
Your brothers are also coming.
I let out a relieved sigh and I rinse my mouth with water.
At least Nate and Tristan are going to be there. Perhaps then I get the chance to dodge the bullets our mother is certainly going to throw at me—or the very least I can share them with my brothers.
Despite our family relationships always being a bit on the rocky side, me and my siblings get along well.
Tristan is a complete sweetheart and Nate and I are especially close since he moved back to Washington a few years ago to start a bakery. He lives just a few blocks away from workplace, we often have lunch together when it is convenient. As kids we were ice and fire, but now that we are both grown-up things have become smoother. He understands my soft and sensitive side and helps me become stronger at the same time. I guess it is good to have brothers—their minds are comfortingly simple and having fun with them comes naturally. I guess in this department I can consider myself lucky. I know Riley and her sister are no longer on speaking terms.
To: Mom
07/23/2012 5:15 PM
Yes. See you. xx
I am still trying to convince myself that I have chosen the less bad option when I take the laundry out of the wash machine and put them into the dryer. When I finally manage to get my thoughts back to last night I come to the conclusion that I have no idea what I am going to write to Steve Rogers.
Hey, it's me, Bunny, the drunkie from last night— nope.
Hi, I am the hot mess from yesterday— no!
Hi, I puked on you, you still know who—definitely not!.
I groan. I really, really do not want to do this.
To: Steve
07/23/2012 6:39 PM
Hi Steve. It's me, Bunny from last night. When can I return the clothes I borrowed?
My reply comes sooner than expected and to my greatest surprise I feel a smile forming on my face.
From: Steve
07/23/2012 6:43 PM
Hi Bunny. Tomorrow? How are you feeling?
Sounds about right. Even after a delicious warm meal I cannot say that I am a hundred percent alright and I have already humiliated myself in front of him bad enough that I do not want to risk it happen again.
Tomorrow is just fine.
To: Steve
07/23/2012 6:45 PM
I am never drinking again! :( Tomorrow is ok.
My cheeks flush at his reply, but at the same time it gets me laughing.
From: Steve
07/23/2012 6:47 PM
Too bad. You're funny drunk. :)
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the new chapter, if you could maybe help me with a review I would be really happy. :)