“Come on Ree, live a little.” Jackie waved the shot of tequila in front of me—my third—and smirked. “Mr. Dick would have hated it.”
“Jackie, I don’t think—,” Livvy said, stopping as I tossed the burning liquid down my throat. Her shoulders shifted, signaling the sigh of frustration I couldn’t hear over the 80’s one-hit-wonders blaring in the background. “How is puking her brains out going to make her feel better?”
Jackie waved to the bartender for another round. “She’ll be fine. I’ll give her my hangover remedy. You know without any liquid courage she’ll just hide in the corner all night.”
I swatted Jackie’s arm. “Hey bitch, I can hear you.” Was it my imagination or were my words slurring already? I repeated the phrase, taking special care to enunciate.
Far from being offended, Jackie threw back her head and laughed. “Now we’re getting somewhere! This last one should do it.”
A fourth shot appeared and Jackie raised her glass. “To Ree’s first night free from Mr. Dick. May it be the unforgettable night we can’t remember.”
“Whoohoo!” My voice rang through the silence between songs and several people turned our way. For the first time in years I didn’t care. “Fuck you, Mr. Dick, and the paralegal you rode in on!” I downed my drink with such zeal a good portion spilled down my cheeks and onto my new peekaboo cleavage shirt.
Jackie whooped in response and Livvy smiled. “You two are nuts, you know that?”
Jackie tucked us under each arm and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Then let’s get crazy.”
* * *
My shirt was missing. And my bra. A giant Devil’s jersey draped my body down to my thighs. My just-bought-yesterday black lace panties remained. Thanks to Jackie’s insistence on purchasing the thong version, my butt bore the imprint of the black leather couch.
And this was not Livvy’s apartment, though something struck a chord of familiarity. Connecting the dots proved to be impossible through the raging headache.
Hangover cure my ass.
I pulled on my pants, the act complicated by my sweat laden legs—thanks to sleeping on leather—my compromised balance, and the urge to pee.
I’ve seen this couch before. Where?
I needed the bathroom so I stumbled across the carpet, my bare feet sinking into the softness, instinctively knowing where to go.
How the hell—?
I finished crossing the living room and found a door ajar, the room dark. A snore echoed through the opening and I hesitated.
“Waking up my sister is dangerous,” a deep voice rumbled from behind. “Jackie isn’t a morning person.”
Sam’s apartment. I was at Sam’s.
I whirled and dizziness washed over me. I swayed and warm hands gripped me, holding me steady.
“Take it easy. You worshiped the porcelain goddess enough last night. Besides,” Sam added with a grin, “if you puke on my favorite jersey, I might have to turn down your intriguing proposal.”
~ *~ *~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*~
Write at the Merge will provide you with two… somethings… to spark your creativity. You have up to 500 words to write a creative writing piece inspired by the prompt. Some weeks both things might speak to you but some weeks your piece can be solely inspired by one of the offerings. It’s your prompt, so use it in a way that works for you.
This weeks prompt was based on the quote:
“When you’re in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will bein the cell next to saying, ‘Damn, that was fun’.” – Groucho Marx
I’m trying to dust off the writing cobwebs and would appreciate any concrit you can give me. What worked, what didn’t?