by K. A. Berg
Twelve minutes later, simply because my sister is a bitch—in the best possible meaning of the word—I drag my sore body into the kitchen. Amelia is sitting at the little bistro table that serves as my eating table, sipping her own mug of coffee. There’s a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, complete with a steaming mug of coffee next to it.
“How are you feeling?” she asks before adding, “Physically, I mean. We’ll get to the mentally part in just a bit.”
I glare at her as I take the seat across from her. Some serious love-hate emotions for her are brewing in my mind. I love her for making me food and staying with me but hate that she’s going to talk to me about a bunch of shit I don’t want to talk about.
“My throat hurts a bit, and my stomach can’t make its mind up whether it wants to eat this or throw up some more. If there was something in it for it to throw up, I’m sure that option would win. And my head is pounding.”
She juts her chin toward the mug. “You should probably start with the coffee first.”
Its smooth richness soothes my sore throat. My stomach rumbles slightly as the coffee finally hits it, and after a minute, when it doesn’t make a reappearance, I figure it’s safe for another sip.
“Better?” Amelia asks after I drink half the cup.
“I think I’m good.”
“Great. I’d rather not have to deal with any more upchuck today. I think I finally got the smell off of me, and I’m not eager for it to return.”
Biting the bullet, I decide to just get right to it. “How bad was it?”
“Honestly, it was pretty bad.”
Groaning, I drop my head into my hands.
“The bar guy was cool about it though.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to think about him.” I push the eggs around the plate with my fork. “I can’t believe you guys let me do that. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?” she asks, placing her mug on the table, giving me her undivided attention. “Who cares?”
“Me!” I shout. “I care. Last night, I told an entire bar that man gave me chlamydia. It’s mortifying. What if someone recorded that and put it on the internet? What if a student’s parents had been there, huh? What if what happened somehow gets back to the school?”
“Whoa.” She holds up her hand. “No one was recording it, and I highly doubt this will get back to the school.”
“Still, it was horrible.”
She crosses her arms across her chest and leans forward, resting them on the colorful stone tabletop. “Who cares, Dani? It isn’t like you’re going to see any of those people again, or even if you did, other than the barman and Roxy, no one would even remember you. People do stupid things in bars all the time.”
She does have a point, but somehow, it would be easier to accept her thoughts on the situation if it were happening to someone else. “I can’t believe I threw up in his office.”
Amelia lets out a chuckle. “You did more than throw up in his office, babe. You threw up on him. Alcohol should definitely not be mixed with whatever antibiotic they gave you.”
I groan some more.
“Yes.” She laughs. “He took it like a champ though.”
“At least vomit washes off,” I add with an obvious bitterness in my voice. “He doesn’t need a prescription for that.”
The room is quiet as Amelia picks her coffee back up, and I contemplate whether or not I should chance more than the coffee.
“So …” Amelia drawls out. “Mercy and I were talking last night after we got back here, and we think the barman was telling the truth.”
“His name is Ryan,” I snap at her. “Don’t tell me you’re buying his crap about him not giving this to me? You were the one who said it was him from the beginning.”
The man is charismatic, I’ll give him that. His personality and smoking hotness charmed my pants right off me. But there’s no way he can convince me this isn’t his fault. I don’t care if Mercy and Amelia fell for his act. This is on him. It has to be.
“He seemed sincere last night when he told us he was positive he didn’t give it to you.”
“Of course he’s going to say it wasn’t him, Amelia. Did you think he would own up to it? The man probably takes a new girl home from that bar every night. He’s a total player.”
“I’m a player, Dani,” Amelia huffs. “That doesn’t mean shit. I’m not spreading STDs around the city. Don’t be so judgmental.”
“Two plus two equals four, Amelia,” I remind her. “I didn’t have chlamydia. I slept with him. I got chlamydia. Ergo, he gave me chlamydia”
Amelia sighs. “I know that the timeline adds up, Dani, but that doesn’t mean this didn’t come from Scott either. Let’s face it. He was cheating on you. You have no idea where Mandy’s been. Regardless, does it matter where you got it? You have it. You’re taking the medication, and it’ll be gone before you figure out whether it came from Ryan or Scott. You took yesterday to deal with it and try to drink it out of your system. Starting today, you need to move forward.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I point out. “Would you just move on if this was your life?”
“Yes. The damage is done, and it will be gone in a few days. Did you know that there are over a million cases of chlamydia each year? It isn’t the end of the world. Stop letting all this shit drive you mad. I think the more important thing we should be discussing is the bomb Mercy dropped on us yesterday. Can you believe she wants to settle down?”
She raises her brow, trying to get me to engage in her topic change. Even if I don’t love her suggestion for handling this, I do love her for giving me the easy out to change the subject. This is one great thing about my sister; she’ll give you her two cents and then move on.
I’m just not sure I know how to do that at this moment.
Chapter Twelve
Danielle
My feet are killing me, and I have sweat in places where it shouldn’t pool. It was nearly one hundred degrees by eleven a.m., and of course, today had to be the day that we were taking the kids to the new spray park that just opened in the city. It’s amazing how you can be surrounded by water but still feel like you’re on fire.
The kids are all different hues of pink from the sun. I tried my damnedest to get them to reapply their sunblock, but I would have had better luck herding the mosquitos. I’m going to get an earful from the parents—the last thing I need right now. My brain feels as fried as their skin. All I want to do is go home and pass out.
“I think my bathing suit has melted to me,” Mercy tells me as she leans her head against the bus window. A bus that doesn’t have air-conditioning.
“I was just hoping that all pick-ups are on time because the idea of going home and taking a cold shower sounds like the most amazing thing in the world at the moment.”
“At least the kids had a blast.”
The chatter on the bus is low. The sun wiped out the kids as well. Usually, we have to constantly yell for them to keep it down or sit down or stop throwing things. Today, there’s nothing but quiet conversation between the kids.
“Yeah, I think this is the quietest bus ride we’ve had in a long time.”
We pull up to the school at a few minutes past five o’clock. Somehow Mercy and I muster the strength to get off the bus and motivate the five other counselors and sixty kids to do the same. By the time we get everyone checked-in from the trip, parents have arrived for pick-ups. We hand every child off to their parents and guardians by quarter to six.
Pulling out my key, I check my mailbox before heading to my apartment.
Junk mail. Bills. A package from Amazon that I don’t remember ordering. A letter from an address I don’t recognize.
I shove them inside my bag next to the papers I need to fill out and dash up to my apartment, that cold shower calling my name.
Once inside my very cool apartment, I drop everything in a pile near the door and start pulling off my sweat-soaked clothing. I jump in the shower without waiting for th
e water to warm up. The cold water feels like heaven as it glides over my shoulders and down my back. I can feel the tension in my neck ebbing, and the headache already forming seems to be giving way a bit.
Nothing feels worse than being hot, sweaty, and stressed. I love my job, but sometimes, on days like today, it can be a bit much.
My big plans for the night include camp paperwork, ice cream, and Stranger Things. I pull out some pajamas—a cute little tank and short set, covered in cats with the phrase Check meow-t.
I pad out into the living room, grabbing the file of paperwork along with the mail. I toss the junk mail, set the bills aside, and open my package, trying to rack my brain for what I ordered. Reaching into the white envelope, I pull out a small, plush green thing.
What the hell is this?
I didn’t order a stuffed animal.
Pulling it from the clear plastic, I read the card inside and shake my head.
“Those fucking assholes.”
I grab my cell and dial Mercy.
“Hell—”
“Which one of you bitches sent this?” I ask before letting her finish.
Her intense laughter fills the other end of the line. “Come on,” she says between laughs. “That is hilarious. I saw it, and I couldn’t help myself.”
I look down at the plush green keychain shaped like a bacterium. The chlamydia strain, to be exact. “No, I don’t think it’s funny.”
Today was a great day when it came to not thinking about Ryan, Scott, and the events of this weekend. The burning had subsided, and I was moving past all this crap.
“How much longer are the two of you going to keep making jokes about this?”
Mercy sighs. “Come on, Dani. You have to laugh about it. I found that online when Amelia and I were looking shit up about chlamydia, trying to determine if we should believe Mr. Bartender. I couldn’t not order it.”
Dropping the stupid keychain on the counter, I grab the letter. “I’m so glad the two of you find my bad luck so entertaining.”
Mercy continues to ramble on about finding the humor in the bad things in life, while I open up the letter.
"That motherfucker!” I mumble.
“What?” Mercy asks. “Who’s a motherfucker?”
I stare at the piece of paper in my hand. “You’re never going to believe this,” I say before reading her the letter.
I just thought you should know that Scott gave me chlamydia in case he doesn’t tell you. I guess Karma got me. I’m sorry.
—Mandy
“That motherfucker,” she agrees.
“Holy shit, Merc,” I gasp as a flurry of questions whirl in my mind like a blizzard. “How many people do you think he was sleeping with? Am I stupid? How couldn’t I tell? What if chlamydia isn’t the only thing I wind up with? Oh, dear god! What is the incubation period for all the others?”
My head instinctively whips around looking for where I left my computer. I need to start looking stuff up. Gonorrhea. Syphilis. Herpes. Oh my god, anal warts. What if I come down with anal warts?
“Take a deep breath,” Mercy tells me.
“Screw a deep breath Mercy,” I shout as I head back to my bedroom for my laptop. “I’m like a walking petri dish! I could be an STD incubator. What a fucking asshole. He couldn’t even use a condom while banging any chick with a pulse. Shit, what if they were professionals, Mercy? He seems to like them slutty and skanky. What if he was doing prostitutes? I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Dani,” Mercy shouts, quieting the storm in my head momentarily.
“What?”
Her voice is stern as if she’s scolding one of her students. “Stop looking for your computer. Don’t go searching the web for useless shit. Call your doctor and go in to have a full panel. The damage is already done.”
Ugh! I hate that she’s right. The damage is already done.
“I wasn’t looking for my computer.”
She laughs. “Yes, you were. And then you were going to google as much shit as you could. In an hour, you’d have yourself convinced that you had every symptom for each disease you checked into.”
I sigh. “I cannot believe I actually thought that man was the one. Six years of my life that I’ll never get back.”
I wait for the anger to come, but it doesn’t. I would’ve thought knowing that he was cheating on me just for sex would hurt more than him falling for Mandy. I mean, yeah, it hurt to find out that he was having an affair with her. It was painful, but when I wouldn’t take him back and he wanted to go away with her, I thought he actually had feelings for her. Knowing that he was just out banging other chicks simply to get his rocks off should’ve hurt worse than this unresponsiveness in my chest.
“You want me to come over?” she asks. “We could do pedi’s and watch a movie . . . something to take your mind off everything . . . what about something scary? We haven’t seen the newest one of the Paranormal movies yet?”
“Sure, why not,” I agree. “Bring some red, please. I’m out.”
“Jesus Christ,” I screech. The angry ghost or spirit or whatever it is just grabbed the chick’s ankles and dragged her under the bed.
“How couldn’t you see that one coming?” Mercy asks with a laugh.
I squeeze the blanket around me tighter suddenly feeling a chill. Damn these movies screw with my head. “It doesn’t matter either way, it still gets me. I think it’s more the anticipation than anything else.”
Whether I know it’s coming or not, the wait is what makes it frightening. You don’t know when to expect it exactly.
“Are you sure you want to stay with that orange?” Mercy juts her chin out toward my feet perched on the coffee table. “Every time I glance down and see it, all I can think about are the puddles of vomit from Saturday.”
“Bite me. I like—” My words die on my lips as I stare at the nail polish and a horrible recognition hits me. “Oh my God, Mercy.”
“I know, it’s ugly right?”
“Forget the nail polish,” I chide her with a smack to the arm. “You know what that letter from Mandy means?”
“Ow,” she whines rubbing her upper arm. “Other than Scott is a filthy pig and you dodged a major bullet?”
“I publicly humiliated Ryan! I screamed at him for giving me chlamydia in front of the entire bar!”
She chuckles but then quickly scoots down the couch out of arm’s reach. “Yes. Yes, you did. Right before you puked all over him. Don’t forget about that part.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ryan
Monday nights are always slow. My bottom line would be happier if it had a little more action, but after the insanity of the weekend, it’s kind of nice to have a night to get my shit together. Tonight, I’m watching the baseball game and working on payroll. There are worse ways to spend a night. At least, I shouldn’t get puked on.
“Hey, boss.” Roxy nudges me. “I think you’ve got a visitor.”
I look up from my spreadsheets and realize I’ve spoken too soon. Danielle is walking across the bar. My spine immediately stiffens.
She stops a few feet away from me, as though she’s afraid to get too close. “Can we talk?”
She looks tired, worn out. As though she could use a stiff drink and a long nap.
I don’t know what to do with this woman. Our first encounter was hot and amazing. Our second one was embarrassing and not my preferred exchange of bodily fluids. My head tells me to steer clear of her, or at least out of projectile range, but . . . for some reason I want to move closer.
“Sure,” I say as I stand up. “Let’s go back to the office.” As we walk back, I pray I’m not going to regret this. I think all my nose hairs burned off from the amount of bleach I used in here. I can still faintly smell it.
I gesture for her to sit on the sofa. “Have a seat.”
She nibbles her lip. “I know I wasn’t in the best shape when I was in here last, but I could have sworn the sofa was tan.”
“It was. B
ut vomit is surprisingly difficult to get out and leaves a pretty gnarly stain, so a new one needed to be ordered. Black this time—it hides everything. Plus, leather is nicer and so much easier to clean”
“Oh God,” she moans as she drops her head into her hands. “Your boss had to replace the sofa?”
“Yeah, the other one wasn’t salvageable.”
She drops her hand and starts digging through her bag. “Please, let me pay for it.”
“Not a chance.” I say. “I doubt my boss would accept that. He said something about needing a few extra tax write-offs this year, anyway.”
“Could this get any worse?” she mumbles.
“That depends on why you’re here, Danielle,” I say as I close the door and turn back to her. “Are you going to accuse me of anything else? Did you catch a cold that I’m now somehow responsible for? Want to blame world hunger and war on me while we’re at it?”
Nibbling her lip, she looks up at me. “I guess I kind of deserve that, huh?”
I sit down at my desk. “What can I do for you, Danielle?”
She takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out of her nose. “I came here to apologize.”
“For which part: humiliating me in front of a full bar of customers, for puking all over me, or for the couch?”
Her cheeks and neck turn from pink to scarlet, probably from embarrassment. “All of the above,” she replies. “I was out of control and out of line. Obviously, I wasn’t in the best state of mind. I never should have come in here like that. I am so sorry if I got you into any kind of trouble with your boss.”
I can’t help but laugh. “The owner of this place can be a real prick, but I think I’m okay. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been getting shit from the bartenders. They’re never going to let me live this down. A few of the regulars who were here that night like to razz me about it. Overall, it could be worse.”