the bathroom, she headed slowly to the fridge, hissing in pain like a vampire when the fridge light burned her retinas. She squeezed her eyes shut and managed to find the milk and get the door closed without having to brave the light again. She gulped down half a glass of milk, popped some ibuprofen and trudged back to her room.
She sank into her mattress with a sigh. “I should take off this dress,” she muttered to no one, but it seemed like a Herculean task. She pulled the covers over her head and slept.
The next time she woke up, the room was much brighter, but her headache was gone. Her body still ached, and her stomach felt hollow, but that was the worst of it. She was bone-dry, though, and when she saw the water on her bedside table, she sat up and gulped the rest of it down.
“God, I’m an idiot,” she moaned. She couldn’t remember how many martinis she’d had, but there’d been at least two before the show, and two was really her limit. She remembered the nice waitress and she remembered sitting with Gabe, and then... Then she’d obviously stumbled home and fallen into bed without even taking off her dress.
Looking down at herself, she winced. There were deep creases all over the pretty blue knit. She’d have to hand wash it and hope it recovered.
Veronica climbed from bed and struggled out of her dress and bra, then dug out yoga pants and a big T-shirt. This time, when she got to the bathroom, she turned on the light and regretted it immediately. Not because of her hangover, but because of what she saw in the mirror.
“Oh, holy mother of God,” she wheezed, staring wide-eyed at the hot mess that looked back at her. Her hair stood up in crazed tufts, as if she’d twisted her head into her pillow for half the night. Her skin was sallow and sickly looking, as befitted a woman with a hell of a hangover. But worst of all were her eyes, which were bloodshot and ringed with layers of purple and gray and black makeup that looked like a bruised rainbow.
Veronica dove for her bathroom drawer and frantically pulled out her makeup wipes. It took five minutes to get the eye makeup off, but the slight purplish tinge beneath her eyes wouldn’t budge. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Her skin felt invigorated, at least, though after all the scrubbing, she now looked as if she had pinkeye.
“Never again,” she promised herself. “No martinis next week.”
She was craving a hot breakfast, but no way was she leaving her house to grab anything. Even a hoodie and big sunglasses couldn’t cure her self-consciousness, so she ventured into her kitchen to see what she had. The inside of her fridge didn’t present the best options, but she did find cheese and some egg substitute. A bad omelet, then.
She set her finds on the counter, closed the fridge, then turned to flip the light switch, wincing instinctively at the shock of brightness.
But it was fine. She was fine. Because she’d been smart enough to get up and take ibuprofen hours before. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe she could handle a party lifestyle, after all.
She turned back to face the fridge, paused to feel her heart skip in her chest and then she screamed.
The white notebook paper stood out against the black door. Hand pressed to her mouth in horror, Veronica backed up until her ass hit the other counter. “No,” she whispered against her fingers. “No, no, no, no, no.”
#1—Let people see the real you.
“No!” she yelled at the paper.
Those bold black words were all it took for the whole evening to rush back at her. The way she’d flirted with Gabe, the way she’d told him she was flirting with him, the drunk, stumbling walk back to her apartment and then...
“Noooo,” she moaned, pressing her hand hard to her mouth as if she could somehow stop the words that had passed her lips the night before.
She’d told him her deepest secret. Confessed what no one could ever know. And then she’d asked if he’d help her take care of it.
Her stomach, which had felt merely hollow before, now churned with acid and sickness. It rose up and pushed at her throat. Veronica shook her head. She pressed her whole hand to her mouth, but there was no defeating it. She gave in and rushed to the bathroom.
She didn’t feel any better after she was sick. She only felt more pitiful, more wrung out. She’d told Gabe MacKenzie, the new hot guy in town, that she had no experience with fucking. And then she’d practically begged him to apply his penis to her charitable enterprise.
He’d somehow managed to resist her siren song, even after she’d started crying.
Oh, my God, she’d started crying while she asked him to come to bed with her.
He hadn’t come to bed. Thank God. What if he’d stayed? What if he’d spent the night and then woken up to find her goggling at him with her zombie raccoon eyes just before she vomited all over his naked body?
“Oh, God.” Yes, that was one way to look at the bright side of things. She hadn’t talked him into taking her virginity and then thrown up on his penis.
Veronica rinsed out her mouth, splashed cold water on her face and then tipped her head up to stare herself down in the mirror. Water dripped slowly from the pink tip of her nose. “I’ll have to move,” she said, watching the way her chin trembled. “I’ll have to start over in a new place where no one knows my shame.”
It was really the only solution. It was exactly what she’d tell anyone who wrote in to her. Leave immediately. Take only what you can carry. Slip out of town under cover of night. Start somewhere new and this time try not to be a pitiful disaster.
Except that wasn’t what she would say. She was overreacting. A little.
So what would she tell herself?
She felt dizzy at the thought. Or maybe she was dizzy from having consumed nothing but martinis and milk in the past twelve hours.
Feet dragging, she headed back to the kitchen to make her sad omelet. She might be having the same thing for lunch and dinner. She obviously couldn’t leave the house today.
She accidentally caught sight of the fridge as she poured the egg mixture into a pan. The black letters of the note glared at her. Let people see the real you? What a shitty idea that had been. She snatched the paper off the fridge and threw it into the trash. At least she could say she’d really tried it. The real her had been on full display last night. She’d given it her all. She’d practically shown him her real crotch.
She seasoned the omelet, flipped it over and added cheese. Then extra cheese.
Overreaction or not, she couldn’t leave town. She had nowhere to go. Jackson was the place she’d already retreated to. Her safe zone. Not that it had ever felt safe.
She could flee to her dad’s latest house. Abandon her pretense of independence and go live in one of his professionally decorated guest rooms. That wouldn’t feel exactly safe, either, but she’d still have a lot of privacy. His “cabin” was in the mountains and the closest neighbors were almost a mile away. Granted, that closest neighbor was Isabelle, one of Veronica’s best friends, but she was too much of a hermit to cause problems. And Veronica’s dad wouldn’t bother her. She’d hardly seen him at all the last time she’d stayed there.
Still...maybe
