I fell asleep fairly quickly and when I woke up again, it was well past noon. I needed food so bad it felt like my stomach was going to eat itself if I didn’t get something in it soon. I staggered to the kitchen and all I could think about was Brent’s delicious spaghetti. I put some noodles in a pot of water and poured the last of the wine from the night before in my glass. It went a lot further towards alleviating my headache than the water and Advil did. I decided to get a quick shower while the spaghetti was cooking, but once I was under the water, I lost track of time completely. It felt so good on my scalp that I just stood there underneath the warmth until I smelled something foul. I leaned back from the water and remembered the spaghetti. My feet slid across the kitchen as I can to it, naked and dripping water everywhere. The water had completely boiled out of the pot and the kitchen was filled with smoke.
“Shit!” I ran to the pot and grabbed a potholder, tossing the smoky mess into the sink and turning off the stove. “Ugh. I guess I’m just going to have a sandwich.”
I made it to school the next day after another night of drinking wine, and the day was difficult to say the least. I was already exhausted by the time my classes were done. When I got back home, I realized just how bad the house looked. I had two more nights to deal with it, so I decided to enjoy the evening and figure it out the next day. I could skip school and spend the whole day cleaning everything up—I was doing well enough to miss a couple of classes without falling behind, even though I had already missed one day that week. I spent the evening drinking, smoking, and pleasuring myself on the couch when the mood struck me. The evening end
ed with another trip to my bed that was nothing more than my naked body landing on the sheets before I passed out.
Brent
Unfortunately, what I hoped to be a happy homecoming wasn’t meant to be. When I opened the door, I was immediately greeted by several wine glasses sitting in a circle on the counter around empty bottles. Lipstick adorned the glasses, and in a few of them were remnants of wine and cigarette butts. The kitchen was a complete mess, and it appeared someone had tried to cook spaghetti, but burned the ban and the contents. The pan was scorched and the whole failed endeavor had just been tossed in the sink to dry, without a drop of water in it. There were clothes all over the hallway, like someone just took a whole load of laundry and rolled the basket down the hallway.
I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things—my house looked like it had been taken over by a homeless family. The stench of smoke was noticeable in the air, even before Hannah walked through the door of the kitchen with a lit cigarette in her hand.
“Oh shit.” It was like slow motion as her eyes got wide and she realized exactly what I was staring at.
“Hannah? What the fuck?!” I screamed louder than I have ever screamed before.
Anger just flooded through me. It was pure, unadulterated rage that I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager overcome by strange emotions.
“Brent, oh my god! I’ll clean it up, I promise I will. Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow!” She tossed her cigarette into a wine glass and started furiously gathering things up. She practically moved in fast forward as she piled the glasses into the dishwasher.
I put my fingers to my temples and exhaled deeply. I needed a fucking drink. I walked out of the kitchen without saying a word and poured a glass of whiskey. My rage started to settle a little bit as I sat down on the couch, but it ignited again once I saw the multiple condensation rings left on the table. There was a coaster right next to them, but she just chose to put her drink on the wood. The coffee table was one I inherited from my grandmother and it was over a hundred years old. I had it appraised once for over two thousand dollars, and she had completely ruined it. The spots might buff out, but retreating the wood and having it polished down with a new coat of varnish would devalue what was a near flawless antique. Hannah appeared momentarily and scooped up the saucer she had been using as an ashtray. Once she picked it up, I noticed she had also burnt a spot on the wood with a careless ash.
“Hannah, sit down.” A huge sigh rumbled from my throat. I knew what I had to do, and I wasn’t happy about it, but there was no other choice.
She looked at me for a moment, and I didn’t even have to raise my eyes to see the look of realization on her face. She knew exactly what was coming, and there was no way she could make a case for her to to remain in my house as my roommate. Even if her father showed up with his magic checkbook and paid for everything, the trust had been broken. The fears I had about a roommate didn’t even extend into the realm of what I was laid out before me.
I couldn’t imagine someone being so disrespectful or untrustworthy. What she did reminded me of the kind of things I did when I was a teenager and my parents were out of town—of course I would have never went as far as she did. I would have feared the consequences, which apparently she didn’t give a shit about. I finally settled my angry eyes on her and she looked straight down at the floor.
“I don’t think this arrangement is going to work out.” I shook my head back and forth angrily. “I didn’t ask for much when you moved in, and I didn’t have many rules. I wanted this to be your home as much as it was mine. I’m not your father and I don’t have to put up with this.”
“I understand…” She continued staring at the floor.
“I really thought you were trustworthy, and I thought your father was just drunk when he said you could be a handful. This is something a child would do. You’re a grown woman, Hannah.” I shook my head with disappointment and another hit of whiskey found the back of my throat and burned down to my stomach.
“I am really sorry.” Tears started to form in the corner of her eyes. “I just haven’t had much freedom.”
“Hannah, I am so upset right now that I feel like doing exactly what your father told me I should do if you got out of hand.” I shook my head in disappointment and stood up.
My first glass of whiskey turned into two more, one of which went down with one gulp. I managed to beat the jet lag into submission with alcohol and spite. The churning in my stomach even seemed to go away as I continued to boil in my rage. I decided that I just needed a few minutes to calm down before I even considered talking to her again. Removing myself from the situation was the only way that I was going to stop myself from blowing a gasket.
I was never a mean or vengeful person, and just being trapped in that emotional turmoil was more than I could stand. I went to my room and sat down on the edge of the bed, furiously rubbing my eyebrows with my thumb and forefinger. I could hear the sounds of her cleaning up echoing through the house. Eventually, the sounds started to settle and I heard her footsteps in the hallway.
“Can we talk?” She peered into my bedroom.
“Sure…” I motioned for her to enter with a sigh. I was finally starting to release a little bit of my rage and frustration, but the sight of her still upset me. I didn’t really owe her a moment of my time, but I decided to try and oblige her request. What was once boiling had started to become lingering disappointment.
“I know you are angry with me right now, and I deserve that. I know I fucked up.” She pushed back tears as she spoke
“Yes, you most certainly did.” I responded calmly—my first calm words since I had gotten home.
“What exactly did my father say you should do if I got out of line?” She air quoted the last part.
“Well...” I couldn’t help but let a slight laugh escape my throat. “He said I should put you over my knee.”
Hannah
I felt sick to my stomach as the impact of what I did unfolded in my mind. I hadn’t just spent the time having fun, I had ruined the trust Brent had in me. The man I was growing more and more infatuated with was going to send me away. I had acted irresponsible and the weight of those decisions was heavier than I ever imagined. I was going to have to call my father, confess my sins, and have him help me find another place to stay. There was no way I could lie to him or come up with an alternative story for why I was no longer able to live with Brent. They had become friends in the time I lived there and even exchanged casual emails about football. Everything I did wrong would be laid out in vivid detail and all of my father’s worries would become truths. I had to salvage things with Brent. I cared about him and I didn’t want to lose whatever we had, even if it never manifested into what I wanted it to become.