[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] This chapter is dedicated to my friend Leslie for making me a pretty banner to go with this fic.

Wine is how classy people get wasted

(Unknown)

Chapter 3

I wake up naked and with the worst headache of my life.

My throat feels like I swallowed razor blades. My nose is blocked. I sniff and reach for the box with tissues on my nightstand. It's not there. I open my eyes, realizing they are burning like fire. I rub them, sighing deeply.

When I look around I notice I am not home. My home would never look as messy as this.

I wrap the blanket around my body. Where are my clothes? I see that they are lying on the floor, next to a red top that doesn't belong to me. There are empty pizza boxes piled in a corner of the crowded apartment. There are piles of clothing all over the floor and dirty crusted dishes in the sink.

A weird smell makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. I sneeze loudly. Crap, now I really need a tissue. Where the hell am I?

The door opens and I jump up from the couch. The blanket falls down, exposing most of my upper body before I can pull it up again.

"Good Morning," Bambi Eyes greets me cheerfully. "Did you sleep well? You looked like a baby. I didn't want to wake you."

I am not a morning person, even on my good days. Today definitely doesn't count as a good day. I am tired. My skin feels yucky. No wonder, in all this dirt. God, I can't believe I slept here.

I can't believe I slept with her! Wait, did I sleep with her? I pinch my cheeks, trying hard to remember what happened. My memory is blurred. I remember dancing with Bambi Eyes. I remember her calling me Pumpkin. What a silly nickname.

"I should go." I mumble. The feeling of shame makes me feel small. Yes, I had one-night-stands before. But I've never been so drunk that I couldn't remember the act itself. Awkwardly, I reach for my shirt on the floor.

She places two Starbucks coffees and a paper bag on the table. It's then that I notice the books on it. Cynara Parker's entire collection is neatly piled next to an empty box of chocolate.

"I see you found my guilty pleasure." Bambi Eyes tells me, exposing her small teeth in a shy smile. It's this smile that warms my heart. It makes me forget that I am surrounded by filth. How can she live like this?

Bambi hands me one of the cups. "It has milk and sugar. I hope you like it like that."

"Milk and sugar is fine. Thank you."

I nip on the coffee. My head throbs. The awkward sourness in my throat and the burning in my eyes are worse though. I rub my eyelids again and sniff. Maybe I caught a cold. It serves me right for sitting outside without wearing a jacket. Sitting outside with Bambi Eyes is one of my last clear memories of last night. We talked about Italy, particularly about Italian food and wine. The two empty wine glasses with a dried remainder of red wine in them that are on the table, prove we didn't just talk about it. What the hell was I thinking?

"I have never done something like that before." She tells me, sitting down next to me on the couch. "I'm sorry for how it looks in here. I should have cleaned up, but I didn't expect any visitors."

"It's okay," I lie. "I really should get dressed and go home. Thank you for the coffee."

Bella picks up my clothing from the floor and points to a room on the left side. I stumble inside the little bathroom. After splashing cold water on my face and rinsing out my mouth, I get dressed as quickly as possible. My hair is tangled. I run my fingers through the curls to loosen them up a bit.

There's a scratching noise on the bathroom door. It's followed by a weird whining sound.

I finish my improvised bathroom routine by spraying a bit of deodorant under my arms. I am going to shower at home.

When I open the door again, something rubs against my ankle before it rushes inside. All I can see is a flash of ginger-colored fur.

"I bought you a blueberry muffin." Bella tells me, pushing a plate next to my coffee. "I would make you breakfast, but I don't have any clean cookware."

I nibble on the muffin. Blueberry is my favorite and yet I don't taste anything. My nose is completely blocked. I sneeze, grabbing the paper napkin from the plate to blow my nose.

My voice cracks when I speak up again. "Did we?" I stutter; feeling terribly embarrassed about my question. I need to know though. I need to know if we had sex.

Her cheeks turn crimson. The pink is lovely against her white skin. "You don't remember it?"

Now it's my turn to blush. My face feels like it's glowing. This is embarrassing. It's not like me to lose control like that. I rarely have more than two glasses of wine and I always make sure to eat something with that. I don't drink myself into a half-delirium. That's stupid and dangerous. I've seen with my own eyes what alcohol can do to a person. Fuck, I am so ashamed of myself right now.

"Nothing happened." Bella tells me, sipping on her coffee. "You wanted to. I couldn't stop you from taking off your clothes." Her face turns into an even brighter shade of pink. "Your figure is lovely by the way."

I hate that she has seen me naked and I can't say the same about her. Or at least I can't remember it. I would love to remember that.

"Why am I here?" I ask, realizing that my voice sounds raspy. I am really getting sick, and that would be bad timing with my next assignment coming up. I feel honored that my boss has chosen me to write the report about Volterra Dining. No way, will I let this job go to Jasper. It's too big of an opportunity for me. I sniff again. If anything goes wrong, I can still judge the food by the way it looks. Gosh, I hate being sick.

My eyes hurt. They are dry and burning like fire. Maybe I should have gotten the shot against the flu when Dad suggested it.

Bella gets up and starts an awkward attempt of cleaning up the mess around here. She grabs a black plastic bag and throws everything into it. After she opens the window, I feel like I can breathe a bit better for the first time since I woke up.

"I'm so sorry for how it looks in here." She apologizes again and again. "Please don't think this is how I usually am. I just went through a rough time."

I blow my nose again and cough. "It's fine. Can you tell me why I went home with you last night?"

She sits down again. Her hands grab a copy of "The Secret Princess" to place it carefully on top of the other books. "Your friends were suddenly gone and you needed a ride. So, we shared a taxi."

"I should have gone home." I tell her. "I am sorry you saw me drunk like that. I didn't have time to eat dinner, that's why the wine affected me like that."

Bella walks over to the sink with the dirty dishes and pulls a green glass bottle out. She holds it up, giving me time to read the label. Shit, I gulped down an Italian treasure of a wine while I was drunk. I need to make sure to get her another bottle as compensation.

"Why didn't you eat dinner?" Bella asks, filling the sink with hot steaming water and dishwashing liquid. "Are you on a diet?"

Someone with a lower self-esteem than mine would be highly offended by her question. I am not. I know my figure is lovely. I am curvy in all the right places. When I put on some extra weight, which rarely happens, it goes straight to my boobs.

"No, I'm not on a diet. Are you on one?" I ask back, noticing the way her collarbones are too sharp under her skin. "If yes, it's about time you stop it now, before you get too thin."

Crap, now I made her feel ashamed. She grabs a grey sweater and pulls it over her head to cover up her shoulders. "Jasper said I look anorexic. I didn't even realize how much weight I have lost."

Something in my chest cramps. I feel bad for her. A wave of love pity hits me. It's the same feeling I used to get as a kid whenever I saw a dirty stray dog that I wanted to take home with me.

"Were you sick?" I ask, clasping my hands together to avoid touching her. Yes, she has seen me naked, but still, touching her while I am sober would be something way too intimate.

"Does a broken heart count as being sick?" she says, her mouth twitching into a tortured looking half-smile. "A broken heart can make you sick. In "The Pirate's Island the heroine-,"

"She almost dies from grieving her lost lover," I state. "Love is not like it is described in those books. They are based on a fantasy."

Her brown eyes light up, like something set them on fire. She grabs the book on top of the pile and cradles it lovingly against her chest. "They are about real love."

"They are about fantasy love. Love is not about finding treasures on hidden islands."

Now she frowns. She kisses the cover of the book and places it back on the other books before she carries them over to a crowded bookshelf in the corner of the room.

"You are unromantic, like my ex. I really thought she was the one, you know? We were planning on having a commitment ceremony." She sighs and sits down next to me, grabbing a pillow to hug it tightly. "How can you be so wrong about a person? When she got me Pumpkin, I really thought that meant something."

Her girlfriend buys her vegetables and she interprets that as a hidden marriage proposal? Women are dumb sometimes.

The flash of ginger fur runs past me. It jumps on the couch and right on top of the pillow on Bella's lap. The ginger flash turns out to be the fattest, ugliest, orange tabby cat I have ever seen. His face is round with a white dot in the middle. He purrs when Bella starts to pet its big head.

"There you are Pumpkin. Say hi to Alice."

My nose tickles. I sneeze and stand up from the couch. I ended up with a crazy cat woman. Yeah Cullen, you sure can pick them.

"Thanks for the coffee," I mumble. "I really have to go now."

I almost run outside. It takes me a long fifteen minute walk to the bus station. I can't even remember the last time I had to ride a bus. My phone is dead though. So calling Tanya, a taxi, or even Dad to come and pick me up is out of the question.

By the time I reach my parents' home, my feet are burning. Stupid heels! I am going to spend the next hour in the tub, scrubbing my skin until its prickling.

When I enter the house, Dad is sitting in the kitchen. It smells like fresh coffee and bacon. I hug him from behind and steal a strip of bacon from his plate. It's crispy and deliciously salty in my mouth. It's the small things that are heaven on earth. Bacon definitely counts as one of them.

"How was your shift?" I ask my father, licking the rest of greasy bacon from my fingertips. "You look tired."

He looks me over, his green eyes getting a bit smaller. "You look like you just got home. Where have you been all this time?"

I consider telling him that I woke up at a stranger's house. A stranger who owns Cynara Parker's completed collection of passionate romance novels. He sure would like the second part.

"I was out," I mumble. "And I feel sick. My throat hurts." I tell him, reaching for the non-existent tissue in my pockets again. "Maybe I am getting this flu that's going around."

Dad examines me quickly. His fingers are cold when he presses them against my forehead. "Doesn't look like you have a fever," He mumbles. "Why are your eyes so red?"

I hate the tone he uses when he says the last part. Dad should know that I'm not Edward. I would never smoke, especially not that stuff.

"I don't know. They burn like fire. I woke up like that."

"Did you sleep at Tanya's place?" Dad asks, pulling some eye drops out of the cabinet above the sink. Our house is better stocked with medical supplies than any pharmacy.

"Lean back," he orders before he carefully drips the eye drops into my eyes. I blink and sigh in relief. Much better like this.

"Thanks," I whisper, reaching for the jug with orange juice on the table. It's freshly squeezed. That means Mom must have made it. She insists the stuff you can buy at the supermarket is inedible.

"Is Mom sleeping?" I ask, sipping on the refreshing juice. Dad places two small pills of ibuprofen on the table and tells me to swallow them. A few minutes later I start feeling much better. This is why it's great to have a doctor for a father.

He shakes his head. "She's at the retirement home with your aunt."

I smack my hand against the table with so much force that a sharp pain rushes through my palm. They can't do that. I won't let it happen.

"Mom said she would never put Nana into a retirement home. She promised." My eyes fill with tears. I always seem to cry when I get mad. It sucks.

Dad takes my hand and squeezes it gently. "Honey, I know you're angry."

"When you and Mom are old, I'll do that to you too." I snap at him. "Nana helped you raise me. How can you do that to her? This house is her home."

He nods and pushes his chair closer to mine. There's a notebook on the table. I read the word pirate and captured princess on it. The rest is smeared in Dad's messy handwriting.

"I know this is hard. It's hard for your mother too." He states, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Honey, we can't take care of her anymore here. She needs someone to watch her twenty-four hours a day. How is that supposed to work with your mother being at the restaurant all day now and me being at the hospital?"

I hate that he's right. I hate what this decision means. I can't imagine this house without her in it. But the woman who raised me is long gone. She's been stolen away from me by her horrible disease. I am angry at my parents for sending her away. Nana will die in that retirement place. I know she will.

"I'll be upstairs." I tell Dad, pouring some juice into another glass. Nana never remembers to drink enough. She never remembers anything. I hate this disease so very much.

The air in her room is sticky. It's always too warm in here. She freezes easily. I open the window and sit down on the edge of her bed. "Good Morning, Nana."

I hold the glass up for her and maneuver the straw between her lips. She sips carefully.

"You need to drink everything. Vitamin C is good for you."

She slurps, sighing deeply when she lets go of the straw after drinking about half of the glass's content.

"There was a white doctor in my room this morning." She tells me while I convince her to drink up the rest of the orange juice.

"What did he do?" I ask, pretending that it's possible to have a somewhat normal conversation with her. "Was he nice?"

"He brought me oatmeal for breakfast. What white doctor makes breakfast for an old black woman like me? I almost choked on the oatmeal. "

"That was just Dad." I tell her, placing the empty glass on her nightstand. "Was he being nice to you?"

Nana clicks her tongue, shaking her head. She presses one of her too-thin fingers against my mouth. "Be careful what you tell people about you, Sugar."

Her eyes gaze up at the ceiling before she grabs the top of her blanket to pull it higher over herself. I bend down to kiss her forehead before I get up to close the window again.

"Is it past seven now?" she asks me, starring down at her wrinkled hands like she's not sure if they truly belong to her body. "My husband knows he should call me when he's going to be late."

Maybe this is love. It means waiting for someone who never comes. It means forgetting that you are waiting for nothing. Love means being patient and impatient at the very same time.

"It's not seven yet." I whisper barely audible before I kiss Nana's forehead again. "Try to sleep some more, Nana."

I tiptoe out of her room and head to my own. There I grab a fresh set of underwear, a top, and a pair of green yoga pants. I grab the diary that's still lying on my pillow and take it with me.

Minutes later, I am sitting in a cloud of vanilla scented foam. The hot water makes me sleepy. I lean back and flip through the pages of the diary that I haven't read yet. There's a recipe for homemade bread with olives in it. I need to talk Mom into baking it some time. The itching on my skin is finally gone. It must have been the dirt in Bambi Eyes' apartment. I close my eyes and flashes of me dancing half-naked in her messy apartment rush through my head. Jeez, this is so not me. What the hell has gotten into me?

I turn the diary to the next page. The first sentence on it is smeared. I can't decipher it. The sentence below it is written in shaky letters. "Henry is dead." It says. "He killed himself."