Kris rolled out of bed, her stomach clenching. Her feet hit the floor of her room, and she stumbled—but managed to stay on her feet. Her hand slipped on the door handle once, twice, but on the third attempt, she wrenched it open, crossed the hall, and pushed open the bathroom door. She'd just dropped to her knees on the cold tiled floor when she threw up, barely making it into the toilet.
When she'd puked up the contents of her stomach—which wasn't much more than alcohol—she wiped her mouth and unsteadily made her way back to her room. Her head pounded.
Feels like a hammer. Someone hitting me with a hammer.
Her thoughts were still slow and groggy. Her hangover was in full effect—the punishment for her night of fun. She walked to her mini fridge, shuddering at the frigid blast of air, and grabbed a bottle of water. She took a tentative sip, fought to keep it down, but took another sip.
After a few more sips of water, Kris lay back down in bed, though it didn't bring much relief. The world started to spin, the sun was beating down on her mercilessly, and she felt horrible.
What did I do last night? She couldn't exactly remember. She started from leaving her room, going down to the bars with Maria, running into Zach, and going into their first bar.
Zach had bought her drinks, and then there had been…
That man. The man. The man I slept with.
It all came flooding back to her: the fight at Club Borealis, running from the bouncers, going up to the water tower, running from the police, hiding in the van…
And sex.
And I can't even remember his name. But it was worth it, right? It had to be worth it.
She thought he'd walked her home, but she couldn't be sure. The last thing she'd remembered saying was, "I probably won't even remember your name in the morning."
And wracking her pounding brain, she realized something.
I was right.
She had been drunk—more drunk than she had any right to be—and already, her hazy memories of him were fading away. She remembered he was tall, dark, and handsome, and that he had been wonderful in bed. Or what had amounted to bed in his old van. She remembered some of what he had told her about himself, but already that, too, was slipping away.
Maybe it's because I don't want to remember. Forget about me making crazy decisions, and go back to the old Kris. Or maybe it's because I know it'll never happen again.
She knew she would never see him again. And though she wanted to—of course she wanted to—that was alright, too. What they had had last night was good, it was wonderful, but it was for one night only. One night for Kris to let herself go, to be herself instead of what everyone else wanted her to be, and now it was over. But that was okay.
She groaned as she rolled over in bed. She had so much she needed to do. She had to write her paper, had to do some homework, and had to study for some exams she had coming up. It was a lot to do, and it was more than she could manage to do just on Sunday. She had to get started today.
But Kris couldn't bring herself to get out of bed. She grabbed the remote, flipped on the TV, and immediately turned it off when the noises coming from it made her feel like her head was about to explode. She dropped the remote on the floor, turning back over and wishing herself dead.
Being dead would be better than this. Almost anything would be better than this.
And then there were suddenly loud, pounding noises on her door. They were so loud it seemed like the whole building was going to come down on top of her, and Kris actually found herself smiling at that thought. That would be okay, too.
"Kris! Open up!"
It was Maria. She banged on the door again and again and again.
Kris just lay there, unable to will herself into getting up. She opened her mouth to say something like she would call her later, but her throat was still dry and raspy, and barely a whisper escaped her lips. After a few more moments of pounding, Maria yelled something about talking to her later, and then there was quiet.
Kris's pants were on the floor next to the bed. She'd taken them off after she'd closed the door this morning, she thought. Leaning precariously off the edge of her bed, she managed to get a few fingers around a pant leg and pull them closer to her inch by inch. She felt for the pockets, reaching for her phone—and it was gone. Thankfully, she could see her wallet sitting on her dresser, so she hadn't lost all of her money, cards, and ID.
"Great," she muttered. She didn't know where she would get another phone; hers was from her parents, over in the States.
But that's a problem for later today. When I feel better and get out of bed. And get some food in my system. And when the world stops spinning and my head stops pounding. When… When I feel better.
Kris drifted off uneasily, the world still spinning around her.
*
When she woke again, the sun was down and her windows were dark. She glanced at the clock: it was just after nine. Her headache had faded some, but she still didn't feel good. Her stomach rumbled and she felt dried out. With a moan, Kris reached out and grabbed the bottle of water, downing the rest of it in a few big gulps. Her stomach rumbled.
When was the last time I ate?
She slowly got up and went over to her little fridge, but nothing looked appetizing. After a few moments of searching, she gave up, collapsed at her computer desk, and booted up the school computer she'd been assigned.
The first thing she noticed was that there were messages from Maria. Reluctantly, wondering what she'd done to get so many messages, Kris started to open them. The first simply said: ANSWER YOUR PHONE.
She scrolled through the rest. The messages started off urgent, saying how Maria had come to her door, asking if she was okay. Eventually, they became less worried and more interested in Kris's night: ARE YOU WITH THAT HUNK?
A few messages mentioned Zach and how Maria had managed to talk him out of pressing any charges, though Kris knew there was nothing he could have done anyway. The man she was with was gone. Kris hadn't done anything that could be proven—she hoped—but she was glad that Zach was going to let things go all the same.
Kris turned off her computer and walked over to her dresser, grabbing a fresh set of clothes. She needed to shower. She knew she still smelled like the night before. But the best she could manage right then was to change into a fresh set of clothes, grab her keys, and head downstairs.
She needed food, and there were a few restaurants close that served greasy food. It wasn't what she usually ate, but she knew a burger and fries was exactly what she needed right then. All around her, people were walking to the bars, ready for a night out. Just thinking about it nearly made Kris heave on the sidewalk.
She made her way to the restaurant, sat down, and ordered. Her food was a long time coming, but despite how she was feeling, she didn't mind.
Her thoughts were still on that mysterious man from last night. What had it been about him? He was dangerous, different, unlike anyone else she'd ever met. But what had drawn her to him? Was it really just that he was different than her?
Or was it because they were similar?
And most importantly: What was his name? She guessed in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter. It sat there in her brain and on the tip of her tongue. She could almost spit it out, but every time she felt like it was about to come to her, it slipped back into her foggy memory of the night before.
He'd had been hesitant to talk much about himself, and she couldn't blame him. She was normally hesitant to talk about herself and her family, but for whatever reason, she'd opened up to him last night. Then again, she wasn't sure if he even remembered. She certainly didn't remember everything they'd talked about, so she didn't think he did, either.
I'm never drinking again, Kris thought. She was feeling better now, especially since her food had just gotten dropped off. She just hoped she hadn't made too much of an idiot of herself. And I need to get back and get to work on my schoolwork.
She knew she wouldn't do anything when she got back to her room, though. She'd just curl up on her bed, maybe put on a movie, and sleep until Sunday morning. Probably Sunday night, at this rate.
She devoured her food within minutes, paid, and decided to head back home to her dorm. Kris barely paid attention to what she was doing and where she was going. Her mind was still on the night before.
He was far from the perfect gentleman, but when they got back to his van—which was not very gentlemanly—he had treated her well.
The things he was able to do with his tongue… Kris! Don't think like that!
And it was true; she often didn't think like that. He had done something to her that she hadn't expected.
There was something about him, and he was gone.