Emily
I wakeup on the couch. A blanket is wrapped around me in a warm embrace. My head is throbbing. How much did I drink? One of the many reasons I prefer pills to alcohol. I grab my phone and see a text from David.
David: Hey, sorry I had to leave last night. I couldn’t stay because if he came home, it would have gotten really ugly. We need to talk soon, though.
David was here last night? I vaguely remember him at the door. Then we talked on the couch, but I don’t remember what about. Probably Kevin. Fucking asshole.
I gasp as I remember kissing David last night. I don’t think we did anything else. I don’t think...
I stand and look out the window. Kevin’s car is still gone. I make myself a cup of coffee as my stomach twists from the combination of guilt and the sour acid of alcohol. I put my head in my hands. Parts of last night come back to me in hazy snippets.
I remember David telling me how much he cares about me. And—oh god—I remember sitting on his lap and kissing him. I remember him rejecting me. I swallow hard. My stomach flips, and it’s not from the hangover.
I don’t text David back. I can’t right now. I don’t know which part of last night hurt me worse.
A car door closes outside. Kevin must be home. Dread washes over me, followed by guilt for feeling this way about my boyfriend. He walks in and makes a beeline right for me. He kisses my head.
“Emily, I am so sorry for what I said.”
I look up at him but can’t bring myself to say anything in return. How nice it must be to forget the day before, as if it never happened. He smells of stale alcohol, but I’m sure I do as well.
“You were gone all night, so you obviously didn’t care about how I felt.”
“I love you, Emily. You make me a better person. I needed to leave before I said or did something that I would regret.”
Now it’s my turn to say something that will hurt.
“A better person? I'd hate to see you without me, then!”
He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge what I said as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Again, I wonder what we’re doing. We’re oil and vinegar—not quite oil and water. We’re able to blend sometimes, if only for a moment.
I walk out the door, slamming it behind me.