Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir,” I said, nodding.
I trundled off and hopped into the back of the ambulance that stayed in our bay at the fire station and was asleep before my head even hit the pillow, barely having set an alarm for three hours, just in case no one woke me up beforehand.
15
SOFIA
Thankfully, the bottle of wine that fell on the floor didn’t explode into a million tiny pieces on impact.
It did, however, wake me up.
I sat up suddenly, immediately regretting the decision, and pushed my hands down deep in the cushion of the couch, hoping, praying, for the room to stop spinning. At least to stop spinning so violently. Just a light, casual turn would be fine.
I clenched my eyes shut for a moment, and the events of the evening started coming back to me in a sickening wave of nausea and regret.
I had gotten made up and ready, irked a bit by Kieran not answering the text I sent him but not overly concerned. He was a fireman, and maybe he’d had a late call. Deciding to keep myself calm and in a jovial mood, I’d grabbed a bottle of wine and sat down on the couch, pouring a small glass and turning on a show I was binge-watching about sorcerers and witches.
After an hour, the small glass turned into a larger glass, and episode three of the evening stopped being terribly interesting while I, instead, focused on being sad and disappointed.
Another hour after that, and the larger glass turned into a very large glass and a box of chocolates that Papa had ordered from Sicily.
Then, when the chocolates were done, I ditched the glass and drank straight from the bottle, drowning my sorrows and ruining my lipstick as I waited on any form of communication from him. I got none and ended up passing out in the living room, curled up on my couch, the ancient, crocheted blanket my nana made before she passed over my shoulders and face to block out the light I was too drunk to stand up and turn off.
Now, I had a massive hangover. Was it a hangover if you were still drunk, though?
Sighing and blinking my eyes open experimentally, I was glad at least that my automatic timer had shut off most of the lights in the room. Only two lamps weren’t connected to smart plugs, and they were on the glass tables on either side of the couch. I reached over and shut one off, nearly knocking it onto the floor in the process, and decided the other could just stay on.
I waved the phone in front of my face, wincing at the bright bluish light that came from the screen, and saw it was six in the morning. I had to be in the kitchen at ten, and I needed to sober up before then. Grumbling, I forced myself to my feet, wavering and prepared to sit back on the couch if need be, and waited for the room to stop spinning again.
When I finally felt like I could maybe move a little without crashing into furniture, I took a few tentative steps toward the bathroom. It had been a long, long time since I had been drunk, so I wasn’t used to navigating my space in an inebriated state. As a matter of fact, I had never been drunk at home before.
I shuffled to the shower and sat on the closed lid of the toilet for a moment when I felt like my legs were going to give out on me.
Slowly, I reached up and turned the handle for the shower. It burst into life with one of the very satisfying aspects of this dwelling. The hot water heater was immediate, and the pressure was high, meaning the shower beat the tension out of your shoulders by force, and it didn’t take but a few seconds to heat to the temperature you wanted, even if it were River Styx hot.
Fumbling out of my clothes, I stepped into the shower before I realized I was still wearing my socks. It was almost enough to make me cry, and I peeled them off and tossed them away. Standing under the water brought a little bit of clarity to my mind but coupled it with an intense thirst. The pounding in my skull had gone from the still-drunk dull throb to the hangover-thump before I got the makeup off my face.
I could do this. I had to keep telling myself I could do this. I could get showered, get dressed, and head into the kitchen early so I could get my stuff done and then feign some form of sickness and go home at lunch. It might make Leo pissed, since it would mean he had dinner all to himself back there until Papa returned at seven, but he would live. Papa might ask some questions, but after what he said yesterday, I thought I might have a little leeway.