Chapter 15

My stomach is kicking me. It’s the first thing I feel before my eyes open, before I have any idea where I am—there’s a twisting wrench of nausea and an awful searing pain beneath my ribs. For a moment I can’t breathe, and my eyes snap open. I gasp loudly, my lungs contract. And then it comes, a belch of air, a retching sound, and then a gush, a stinking volume of punch and puke. It pours from me like spit up from a baby, and the only thing I feel is relief that my stomach has stopped tearing itself to pieces.

When it’s over, I sit up weakly and look around me. I’m completely disoriented; the first thing I see is a steering wheel covered in reddish vomit and the glint of moonlight on the windshield. I have no idea how I’ve gotten there. There was a party, I remember. I was supposed to be at a party tonight. Liam was waiting for me. And Ethan—where was Ethan? I shift forward and my arm presses into something soft—someone soft that moves and groans beneath me. My breath catches as I glance down. Oh, God, I’ve been lying on top of Liam this whole time. I’d just elbowed him in the gut. He doesn’t wake, just mutters something under his breath and then turns over with a sigh.

Why am I here? And what is that awful smell? I scramble off the seat, push open the car door, and look around. The house at the end of the drive has gone quiet; the night around us is completely still. The lawn, which had been crowded with cars, now only has two remaining.

A gust of wind whips my damp hair back and makes me shiver; I realize suddenly that the front of my dress is soaked through with vomit. And Liam—he’s still stretched out sound asleep across the seat, his head resting against a soggy steering wheel. It’s hard to see clearly by the light of the moon, but I can tell his clothes are wet and rumpled. I’m disgusted at myself. There’s no way I can clean this up. When he wakes up he’ll realize I threw up all over him. I don’t remember much about our night; I can’t remember if it was fun or crazy or romantic. But none of that matters now. I puked all over him and his car. I don’t know how I’m going to face him.

And Ethan. What am I going to tell Ethan? Where did he go? Hope’s car is parked near the porch. Maybe they’re still here together.

I stumble across the lawn and toward the house. My head is swimming, my stomach is empty and churning, my throat is raw, my tongue like gritty sandpaper. I don’t remember eating anything at the party. I have no idea what could have made me so sick. I hadn’t drunk that much, had I? Could party punch make you this nauseated? There’s a weird soreness between my legs too, a twinge that makes me wince as I climb the stairs. It feels like a cross between a period and the beginnings of a UTI. Am I getting my period early? There’s no way I can blame the punch for that. I need to figure out what’s going on.

There’s a gust of wind from the porch as I open the door and the cold bites at my naked legs. I look down and groan. My dress, my sexy green dress, is completely ruined. I’m never going to get that stain out. I smooth it down; it had bunched up around my hips while I was sleeping. I have to clean myself up before anyone sees me.

I find an empty bathroom on the main level and close the door behind me. As the light comes on, I moan and put my hand up to cover my eyes. My entire body hurts, but that million-watt light bulb over the sink feels like it’s burning a hole into my brain. I squint at my ruined outfit and dab some water over the cloth. It’s hopeless. The best I can do is pat down my matted hair and wash the streaks of mascara off my face.

That burning feeling is worse now too; it feels like I haven’t peed in days. I hike up my skirt to take a look. My underwear is crumpled and stained, and my legs are all streaked with blood. I can’t believe this; my period’s not due for another two weeks! And I’m never early. There’s no way this night can get any worse.

Luckily there are a few pads beneath the sink, so I grab one while I clean myself up with some wet toilet paper and hand soap. Maybe the stress of vomiting made my period come prematurely. Is that even possible? But why am I so sore? That doesn’t make sense. My period never makes me feel like this.

Why can’t I remember how I got to the truck? How long was I asleep? I stick the pad into place and straighten my clothes. There’s something important I need to remember. A memory that feels like vinyl and smells like spice and sour whiskey. “Are you sure, Rain? Are you sure?” His glasses gone, his brown eyes large, confused. What had we been talking about? I need to wake Liam up and ask him.

“Rainey? Are you in there?” It’s Hope’s voice on the other side of the door.

“One minute!” I splash some cold water on my face, comb my wet fingers through my hair.

She’s blinking and rubbing her eyes when I step into the hall. “We fell asleep on the living room sofa,” she says with a weak smile. “I heard you come in. Were you waiting for us?”

I shake my head. “I fell asleep too. Where is everybody?”

“Marcus passed out next to the punch bowl. Kathy threw up in the sink and then went up to her room—”

“Where’s Ethan?”

“He’s asleep on the sofa,” she says softly. Her face is glowing. “He did really well tonight, Rain. You should be proud of him.”

“That’s great,” I say. “But I really need to get him home.” I don’t mean to be short with her; normally I’d want to know every detail about Ethan’s success, but right now every word hurts me. My head feels like a band of iron is wrapped around my temples. I’m praying I don’t vomit again.

“I can take you,” she says. “I only had one beer, and that was hours ago.”

“Thanks.”

“What happened to Liam? Did he go home already?”

“He’s still asleep in his truck.”

She hesitates and glances at my soiled dress. “Is everything okay with you two?”

“No, not really,” I tell her. “I just threw up all over him. He’s still asleep. I just need someone to take me home.” My voice breaks and I clutch my forehead. “Look, Hope, I know I’ll have to deal with this in the morning, but I just can’t right now—”

“Okay, okay,” she says, reaching out and patting my arm. “Relax. I’ll go get Ethan.”

He appears behind her as she says his name. “Hello, Rain. What happened to your dress?”

I have no energy to answer him or anyone else. “Let’s just go.”

The drive home is silent and tense. Hope keeps glancing at me and opening her mouth, then closing it again. Ethan busily messages someone on his phone. After a few minutes, the tick-tick-tick of his typing starts getting on my nerves. “It’s four in the morning,” I finally snap. “Who are you writing to?”

“It’s six a.m. in DC,” he responds. “Dad is up. He wanted to know how the party went.”

“Oh. What are you telling him?”

“It was noisy, and I didn’t like that. But other parts were good.”

Hope glances over her shoulder and throws him a beaming smile that he doesn’t see. I get the feeling I’m missing something.

“Did Dad ask about me?” I inquire, in spite of myself.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.