by CoraLee June
“I’m sorry, Grandma. She was alone and the best option I could find. I glamoured my boss, but it’s only a matter of time before he comes looking for me. I’m still a fairly new fledgling, and you need to feed.”
Glamoured? Was he playing Fergie for everyone or some shit?
“I had a date tonight,” I answered, stalling. “He’s going to come looking for me. Joseph Sloth will murder you all!” Maybe if I screamed...would anyone hear me?
“Your date is somewhere massaging the poop out of his mother,” Lawrence drawled in a bored tone. “Hurry up. I’m done wasting time.”
“Fine,” Granny snapped. “Whatever. I’m too hungry to complain. Knock her out so I can get this over with. Don’t want to accidentally turn the bitch.”
“No!” I screamed, my voice blasting against my throat. She closed in on me. Lawrence grabbed my neck. I breathed in the smell of alleyway and old lady perfume. What a shitty way to die.
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for pain that never came. I slowly opened my eyes and saw the soft gray of my bedroom walls. I was in my bed, under my cozy down comforter.
What the fuck?
Drew
I wore my Coach sunglasses and eyed the full glass of champagne in front of me. Was this what getting old felt like? I hadn’t drunk that much last night. Had I? My head was pounding, and the morning sunshine made me want to hibernate. My bones ached. My neck was bruised and sore.
I had no idea what the hell happened to me the night before.
My friends, Yasmin and Ryan, were late for our weekly Saturday brunch, so I bitterly sat at the table while massaging my temples. What the fuck happened last night? Was I drugged? I spent all morning trying to piece together my night, but I couldn’t.
I wore soft yoga pants and a crop top, but the fabric was too hot, too itchy. I felt like that one time I tried running a marathon to impress the male model I was fucking. I puked up my dinner from the night before on the last mile, my nipples bled, and my poor body felt like it was thrown in a fucking blender. Running was for crazy people, and I’d stuck to walking ever since. But if I had to compare how I was feeling now, that would be it—like I just attempted a damn 5k. I didn’t understand why I felt like shit. If this was a hangover, then this was the hangover from hell. I started thinking about hangover cures.
“Girl. You either look thoroughly fucked or slightly fucked over,” Yasmin said while plopping into the chair across from me. Yasmin had beautiful brown skin, long black hair, and golden eyes that drew you in. She wore a designer summer dress—because every time she left the house was a fashion show—and was digging through her Louis Vuitton purse. “I know I have some ibuprofen in here somewhere…”
“I already took some,” I grumbled. “Just waiting for it to kick in.”
“I really wish you’d smoke pot instead of drinking so much. Fewer calories and no hangover, my dear,” Yasmin said with a haughty shake of her head.
“It’s only fewer calories until you get the munchies,” Ryan joked before sitting down next to Yasmin. Ryan wore his signature zero fucks outfit, which consisted of a retro Star Wars T-shirt and skinny jeans. His blond hair was combed over to the side, and the bags under his eyes made me wonder if he spent all night playing video games. Probably. He was a major gamer. Sometimes we had to force him to leave his apartment for some human interaction. If we didn’t, he’d hiss at us.
“True that,” I replied, fanning my face with my hand. When did it get so fucking hot out here? I looked around, and nobody else seemed to be as uncomfortable as I was. With every passing second, the sun breathed down it’s unholy hellfire onto my delicate skin. If we stayed out here much longer, I was going to melt, and that would not be cute. “Can we go inside? I’m going to spontaneously combust if we stay out here much longer.”
“It’s like sixty-eight degrees, Drew,” Ryan said, looking at me like I had three heads. “And you always want to sit on the patio for brunch. It’s, like, your thing. Remember the snowstorm last year? I almost froze my tits off,” he argued while looking at Yasmin for help.
“You like patios. Since when do you not like patios?” she asked. What the fuck was up with them fixating on this? “Oh my gosh, are you having a hot flash?” Yasmin asked.
“Is this a menopause thing? I thought that happened when you were like eighty,” Ryan interjected. Neither of them was helping my predicament. Oh God, I’m old. This was it. This was the steady decline of my youth. It started with hangovers and ended with hot flashes.
“Whatever, can we please just go inside?” I snapped. That came out a little harsher than I had meant it to, but my skin was practically on fire.
I stood up abruptly and didn’t wait for Yaz and Ryan to follow before walking inside. The moment I was in the shade, I let out a sigh of relief. My skin had stopped burning by the time I made it to the hostess stand, and my mood instantly brightened with the lack of pain. Hell hath no fury like an uncomfortable woman. I took off my sunglasses and perched them on top of my head as my two best friends made their way in.
“See? Isn’t this better?” I asked them, my voice overly chipper. The hostess led us to a cozy table off to the side of the restaurant, and I could see the mimosa bar from the booth. “And look, now we’re closer to the alcohol.”
“I suppose it’s good to try new things. And I do like their mimosas. They use quality ingredients, and it shows,” Yaz said as she looked over the selection.
Ryan and Yasmin slid into the rustic bench on the other side of the table, still looking a little confused, but fortunately, they decided to drop it. I picked up a menu with a rooster on the top and browsed through entrees that had organic ingredients and cutesy names. I ordered craft blackberry mimosas for the table and the only meal on the menu that was covered in cheese.
“I had the worst date last night. It was so bad it even made it into my dreams.”
“I thought you had a good date,” Ryan replied. “So good that you forgot to call and cancel our burger plans. I had to eat your mushroom swiss and my cheddar bacon double-stacked delight.”
“You poor thing,” Yaz said dryly, brow arched. “How ever did you survive stuffing your face like you do every night? One of these days, your metabolism is going to crap out.”
“Oh hush. You count calories like it’s your job,” Ryan replied in a haughty tone.
While popping my neck, I went into the long story about my terrible date with Joseph Sloth and his obsession with Momma Sloth. I’d checked Tinder this morning and saw that Mr. Sloth had disappeared from my message history. He must have blocked me, oh darn.
“You bailed on me for that? Maybe we need to discuss your standards, Drew.” Ryan crossed his arms over his chest. “You said he sent you an impressive dick pic Monday, but was it truly worth it?”
“We didn’t hook up,” I admitted. “I’m sorry I bailed on you though. If it makes you feel better, I think I hooked up with the waiter,” I offered.
“You think?” Ryan asked while setting down his drink. He quirked his brow and eyed me, his tone turning serious. He reached across the table to grab my hand. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Everything after Joseph stormed out is kind of a blur. I remember going into the alley, kissing this hot waiter dude, then bam! I had crazy dreams about the waiter wanting to introduce me to his grandmother.”
“You don’t think you were date raped, do you?” Yasmin asked. Her normally playful grin was twisted in horror. She was already digging through her purse for her keys, half ready to drive me to the hospital in her Mustang.
A sick feeling made my chest constrict. Every hair on my body stood at attention, and I swallowed the dread climbing up my throat. No, that wasn’t what happened. I knew that with complete certainty. I didn’t feel violated.
“That’s the thing. I must have taken an Uber home. I woke up in my pajamas. I just feel hungover. I don’t feel like I had sex.” I blushed at that last part. Not knowing was kind of embarrassing and
very terrifying. I was usually so incredibly careful. Maybe I had been drinking too much. But still, something deep within me could recall flashes of sitting in the back of a car in a daze, unlocking my door, changing clothes, and passing out on my bed. It just felt numb. Like a fragmented memory I couldn’t quite get a hold on.
Yasmin and Ryan exchanged wary looks. “I’m fine,” I promised. “Just weirded out. I’ve been working fourteen-hour days at the office, and I probably am just exhausted. Next time, I’ll make sure to share my location with you both.”
They relaxed some but didn’t seem convinced.
“No more Tinder dates alone,” Ryan said before picking up his drink and resuming his slurping of it.
“Agreed,” Yaz added. “Next time, we can go on a double date with Daddy. He can keep you safe,” Yasmin offered while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Yeah. I was certain Daddy wanted a double date.
“Please stop calling the old man you fuck for the benefits Daddy. It seriously grosses me out,” Ryan said before taking a large gulp of his drink.
“We don’t kink shame at lunch, Ryan. You know the rules. Besides, you’re just jealous,” Yasmin replied with a wink before turning to me. “Anyway, how is the job going? Are you ready for the new marketing launch?” she asked me. I let out a sigh of relief, ready for a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around the strange night I’d had.
“It’s going great. I really think we’ve nailed down the branding for this new product, and we’ve gotten a few porn stars to recommend it on their social media.”
I was the head of marketing for a sex toy company that specialized in female pleasure. I got to test products and find a way to normalize sex for the general public. I loved empowering women to chase after their orgasms and feel unashamed to buy the eleven-inch cock they’d been eyeing on their private browser.
“Is this the Verrrrronica?” Ryan asked.
“Nope! We scrapped that name last month,” I answered. “We’re trying to reach a Southern market, so we went with The Tumbleweed Tangle. Catchy, right?”
“When do I get to test it out?” Yasmin pouted.
I pulled out the discrete box from my Chanel tote and tossed it at her. “Let me know what you think. It’s got eleven speeds and is waterproof.”
“Hell yes. Daddy is going to love this!”
“Gross,” Ryan replied while pinching the bridge of his nose.
The food arrived, and I greedily grabbed a forkful and plopped it into my mouth, freezing when a rancid taste hit my tongue. Holy motherfucker. It tasted like ass. Like swamp ass on a sweaty day. I spit it out immediately and took a drink. “This tastes disgusting,” I murmured.
“Let me try,” Ryan said before grabbing a bite and plopping it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then shrugged. “Seems fine to me.” I eyed Ryan’s meal. He’d gotten a rare steak with eggs, and the blood was dripping over the sides of the plate.
“Trade with me?” I asked as I swapped our plates.
“Um. Okay, sure. Why would I want the steak I ordered?”
I ignored him as I cut off a bite and swirled it in the bloody juices. I put the meat in my mouth a little more gingerly this time, the rancid taste of my previous bite still lingering. The second the juices hit my tongue, a wave of pleasure swept over my entire body, and I had to suppress a moan. I had to have more and started hoovering it into my mouth, sucking the juices out of each bite.
“Darling, are you sure you’re feeling okay? I mean this in the nicest way possible, but what the fuck is going on?” Yaz asked. I paused mid-chew to look up and see my two best friends in the entire world looking at me like they didn’t even know me.
“What do you mean?”
“I have known you since we were thirteen years old, Drew. And I have never seen you eat a steak unless it was cooked to shoe leather consistency because of, and I quote, ‘the yucky bacteria,’” Ryan said, bewildered.
“Yeah, I’m totally fine.” My hand automatically went to my neck and started massaging the sore spot. “I just thought Ryan’s steak looked good,” I snarled. Oh yikes, where did that aggression come from? “And it was. Maybe I have come to see the error in my previous steak-eating ways,” I joked, trying to convince them that everything was fine. Based on the looks they were giving me, I don’t think it was working. Feeling defensive, I barked out, “Why are you ganging up on me?”
Hot tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I felt more hormonal than a high school locker room. Anxiety swarmed in my chest like angry bees. I needed to get out of here. Reaching into my bag, I dug out twenty dollars and threw it onto the table. Slamming my sunglasses down over my eyes, I stood up. “I’m going home,” I snapped before stalking out of the restaurant. Ryan and Yaz were so stunned by my outburst that they didn’t follow me.
Holy mood swings, Batman. What the hell was going on with me today?
Drew
The walk home was miserable. It felt like I had a massive sunburn, and I kept diving under the shaded spots to avoid direct sunlight. When I finally made it to my apartment, I stripped out of my clothes and jumped in the shower, blasting my burning skin with an arctic chill. It didn’t faze me one bit. I let the icy temperature run over my burning skin, and I welcomed the brief relief from the pain. What the hell was wrong with me? Maybe I was coming down with something? Or maybe I really was going through early menopause. Ugh. As if the row of eye creams lining my bathroom counter wasn’t enough of a reminder that I was getting old. Thirty was the new fifty in marketing. People liked young, sexy, fresh faces to represent their brand. I was still hot, right? I still had it.
When I got out of the shower, I closed all the blinds and sent a quick apology text to Ryan and Yasmin for being a bitch at brunch. They quickly responded, asking if I was okay, but I was too exhausted to continue with the conversation. I just knew that I needed to rest. I got under the covers and tossed and turned, but I couldn’t find a comfortable spot. The mattress was too soft. My bedroom was too bright, still. Even the glow from my alarm clock was making my head spin.
I pressed my pillow over my face and relaxed some. Then I pulled the blankets completely over me, creating a cocoon around my body. No light.
I was just about to doze off when a car driving on the street below made me open my eyes. It sounded like it was driving straight through my living room. Then I heard a bird chirping outside. A toddler playing with his mother on the floor below me. A fly buzzing around my kitchen.
I could hear everything. I found my soundproof headphones and set them over my sensitive ears before allowing my bedding to swallow me once more. But then my skin felt too tight. I could feel almost every thread of fabric on my pajamas. Every fiber of cotton in my sheets. It scratched my skin.
My jaw hurt. My neck was sore. My gums thudded in time to my pulse. Hot sweat dripped down my brow, and I shifted on my mattress once more. I finally felt myself drifting off to sleep. The middle of the day felt like midnight, and my body felt like it had been hit by a truck.
I woke up sideways with my head and shoulders dangling off the edge of the bed—another six inches and I would have been doing a headstand. Despite the weird position I was in, I felt amazing. Reaching my hands toward the floor, I flipped my body over, and landed on my feet. That was the best night’s sleep I had gotten in a long time. Yesterday’s intense pain felt like a distant memory. It must have been a migraine. I had never had one before, but that seemed right.
Grabbing my phone, I headed to the bathroom for a nice hot shower. I couldn’t help but smile. Fuck. I really felt great. I wanted to take a spin class. No, I wanted to dance. I was ready to get the party that was today started. I unlocked my phone to bring up my shower playlist and stared at the time for a couple of minutes before it registered that it was just a little bit before midnight. Did I really sleep through the whole next day too? I knew I was tired, but damn!
I opened my calendar to see what damage I did by sleeping through the whole day. Already mentall
y preparing my apologies, I realized that the big red dot was still on Saturday. I breathed out a sigh of relief and then laughed at myself for thinking that I had fallen into some kind of sleep coma like in the soap operas.
Remembering the earlier texts from Yaz and Ryan that I never answered, I pulled up our group chat. I could imagine what both of them were doing right now. Ryan was probably in his flannel jammies watching 90 Day Fiancé and wearing a face mask that promised to make his skin glow. Yasmin was most likely sipping wine and reading by the glow of the fireplace app on her smart TV. But I felt so damn good that I didn’t want to waste it.
Me: Hey guys! So sorry about earlier - feeling MUCH better now. Want to go clubbing?
Yasmin: I’m sorry, but *you* want to go clubbing? Have you ever even been clubbing before?
Ryan: Dude, it’s like midnight. My metaphorical bra is off for the night.
Me: Boohoo…...come on, we’re young and hot!
My phone started ringing, and I answered the video chat. Sure enough, Ryan had a green face mask on and was clutching his remote control. “Are you okay? Is this some midlife crisis thing?” he asked while taking one of the cucumbers off his eye and plopping it into his mouth. “I should have never said the word menopause. You’re not getting old, Drew. You still look twenty-four. Twenty-seven, tops.”
I rolled my eyes. “I feel great. I slept all day, and now I’m ready to do something!” I whined. “The night is young. I feel so alive!” I started spinning around like I was the star of a Hallmark Christmas movie.
“Are you on drugs? Yasmin didn’t offer you one of her happy pills, did she?” Ryan asked.
“Noooo,” I replied before going to my closet to find a dress. I was feeling sexy and wanted to be bold. “I just want to have fun. So, stop relaxing, get on some clubbing gear, and let’s go.”
“Please don’t make me put clothes on,” Ryan begged. “As the man in this relationship, I’ll feel obligated to be all protective and shit, and I am not in the mood to follow you around downtown.”