And then I cried.
I cried until my pillow was damp and the burning in my chest had died down to a smolder. I cried until my eyes were swollen and my nose was red. And when I finally caught my breath and the tears ran dry, I slipped into a fitful sleep.
My muddled dreams ran in circles, waking intermittently to open my eyes to find my room spinning, tequila metabolizing out of my mouth and back into my nose. I hadn’t been smart enough to eat anything or take anything, and I felt that mistake too.
I reached for my phone to check the time, and a shot of adrenaline sent my tender stomach on a turn when I wondered if he’d called or texted.
He hadn’t.
And I was about to be late for work.
“Shit,” I hissed and sat up too fast, dimming my vision and sending me back into the spins, heart banging its warning as I pressed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets until it passed.
I expended a healthy amount of caution as I slipped out of bed and shuffled around my room, pulling on jeans and Chucks, taking my shirt off to put it on right side out. At that point, I stumbled back to my bed and sat, wondering if I was still drunk. But no. I was dehydrated and brokenhearted, but I wasn’t drunk. So I drank the glass of water on my nightstand, took four ibuprofen to guarantee success, and got out of bed, praying to the Mexican devil Agave that I would survive the day.
No makeup happened, and I pulled my hair up into a messy bun to match my messy life, tying a red rolled up bandana around my thumping skull, knotting it at the top. I didn’t even look in the mirror. That was how you know shit was real.
I put on my biggest, darkest shades and hurried as best I could out the door and into the humid, sticky summer day to head to Tonic. The walk felt forever long, and I felt beyond dead.
By the time I opened the door and stepped into the air conditioning, I was practically dragging myself. The shop was loud and buzzing, and I didn’t take my sunglasses off as I headed straight for my station with the singular goal to sit the fuck down.
If the music had been a record, it would have screeched to a halt at my entrance. The entire crew stared at me like I might bite them, and I might have if they’d stopped me from getting into my chair.
I dropped my bag and climbed into my tattoo chair, sighing as the cold leather touched my overheated skin, and I closed my eyes, leaning the chair back without a single fuck to give about anything but trying not to puke.
“Rough night?” Ramona said from my elbow.
I cracked my eyes to see the dark shape of her through my glasses.
“You could say that.” My voice was gravelly and deeper than usual from all the yelling and crying.
“Here’s some water.”
I smiled, lighting up as much as I could as I reached for the offered plastic bottle. “Bless you.”
“What happened, Pen?”
The bottle was to my lips, and I drank half of it before I could bring myself to stop. My stomach gurgled a warning as it prepped itself. “It was bad. Really bad.”
She frowned. “How bad?”
“Apocalyptic.” I sighed, mouth dry and heart wrung out. I took another drink to buy time and to attempt to mend my busted up body. “I drank about ten shots of tequila on an empty stomach, kissed Rodney, and fought with Bodie.”
Her eyes blew open like I’d electrocuted her. “You kissed Rodney?” she said way too loud.
I winced from the memory and the decibel. “Shhh! Fuck, you don’t have to yell. Jesus.”
Her face pinched in anger. “I cannot fucking believe you, Penny! How could you do that to Bodie? God, it’s like I don’t even fucking know you!”
My eyes squeezed shut as my head rang. “Seriously, you have to bring it down, or I’m gonna hurl. I didn’t kiss him like that. Just calm down and let me explain.”
She folded her arms across her chest, and I took a deep breath, taking another sip of water to fortify me, wishing it could bring my dried up soul back to life.
“We were at the show, and Bodie was acting all angry and weird and didn’t seem to even want to be there. And at the end of the show, Rodney spotted me and called me up onstage to sing to me.”
“He did not,” she breathed, mouth open.
“He fucking did, that cockgobbler. He sang to me, and then he kissed me. Onstage. In front of everyone. Including Bodie.”
She cupped her mouth with her hands.
“Yeah. So beyond fucked up. That stupid fucker with his stupid fucking hands on my ass, like he had any right to touch me. And what could I even do? A hundred phones were pointed at me, and frankly, I was stunned stupid. But the second I could get away, I chased Bodie out — because of course he’d left; I would have left me too — and we got into this huge fight. Then Rodney came out, and Bodie punched him in the nose.”