Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 10
IVORY
Waking up from a night of hard drinking is never a good experience, but I’ve never felt sicker in my life. Getting too crossfaded was a mistake, and I should have known to just go home instead of drinking myself half-braindead just so I could tolerate the rest of the party.
My head feels like it was slammed into the wall repeatedly by my hair. I can actually feel my heartbeat, which freaks me out. I must still be kind of high. My mouth is so dry that I can hardly taste the unmistakable flavor of strawberry rolling papers and Northern Lights.
I was so hammered last night that I forgot to plug in my dead phone before I passed out. Honestly, it might have been a conscious decision on my part. I feel like I can’t get anybody off my back, like my phone is constantly seizing with new information that I didn’t ask for and don’t care about.
When I do plug it in, it explodes with texts and notifications as I expected it to. I don’t have the energy for this yet.
I walk into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee while I wait for all of the erratic vibrations to stop. My friends have this formerly endearing habit where they would text me obsessively if I didn’t reply to them within fifteen minutes. I imagine today will be no different.
My laptop sits precariously on the edge of my bed, and I remember that I have tons of homework to accomplish today and tomorrow. I don’t remember leaving my laptop like that on my bed, though. I thought it was in my blankets …
No matter. I wander slowly into my living room, where my phone has quieted, and I steel myself to go through all of the messages. I’m sure most of them are unflattering candid photos of me on social media.
The first message I see changes my mind.
“Omg!!! Did you hear what happened?!?!??!!”is the first message I see, predictably from Courtney.
When I think back to the night before, I do remember police lights and sirens from multiple ambulances, but that guy who drove me home – Maxim, I think his name was – told me it was probably a drug bust. I’m just happy I wasn’t there.
Either way, Courtney needs the drama of being the prime storyteller, so I decide to down the rest of my coffee and call her.
“Holy shit! Where were you?” is the first thing I hear on the other end of the call.
I close my eyes tight at the sudden screeching in my left ear. “You guys left me at the bat caves, remember?” I reply, doing my best not to sound like a complete bitch. What they did was wrong, but I don’t need the drama of them all excommunicating me at once.
“Huh? I thought you went back with Chad,” she says.
Why would I have gone back with Chad? Couldn’t she see how he was treating me?
“No, everybody left me at the bat caves, and I had to get a ride home from a dude who looks like a secret agent,” I reply, holding back the venom in my tone that is creeping up through my throat.
“Oh, shit. Well, Chad apparently was harassing some girl at the after-after party, and a bunch of dudes beat the hell out of him! Can you imagine? Anyway, apparently he died, like he’s fucking dead. Really, actually dead. I’m so upset,” she rambles, as if there is a variety of kinds of dead in the world.
Chad is dead? I don’t even know how to feel.
Of course, I’m pissed off and heartbroken that my supposed best friend watched him harass me while laughing, and now she’s pouring out her heart for some stranger at a party who endured the same thing.
“Wow, that’s crazy,” I reply, defaulting to my least offensive canned response to Courtney and her storytelling. I know I should really feel more upset about his death; he was close to my friend group, and as much of an asshole as he was, he does have a family who will have to learn about how and why he died.
If anything, I feel for them—a lot.
Thinking about the way he treated this other girl and me settles me a little bit, indicating to me that maybe he was just supposed to die that way. Lots of predatory types never see justice. Should I feel safer now that I know that there are guys in the world who would defend me that way?
My brain betrays me as I instantly imagine what his body must have looked like after he was beaten to death. I’m sure the guys who did it took a couple of cheap shots, breaking his nose, kicking his teeth in, and crushing his ribs.
The mental image sends me reeling with nausea again, steadying myself against the wall as my skin grows clammy again.
“Ivory! Are you still listening?” Courtney shouts, melodramatic just for the sake of it, even in a situation that doesn’t require any more drama. I’m sure that despite the tragic circumstances all around, Courtney is practically frothing at the mouth at the opportunity to play a character in all this: mourning friend, former lover, whoever she feels will offer her the most sympathy.
Before I can answer her, I feel my mouth fill with saliva as the blood drains from my face.
I’m going to be sick.
I drop my phone and sprint to the bathroom, just barely making it before I projectile vomit straight into the wall. My second shot is more accurate, and by the third bout of retching, I’m practically a professional of dispensing my vomit into the designated locations.
Less for me to clean later.
I wipe my mouth with more toilet paper than I need and flush it all down. I might be a disgusting hungover mess, but I have things to do today. I haven’t even started my homework, and I know I have a ton of it left.
Just as I’ve started to ease my way up from the bathroom, carefully now that I know my stomach could betray me again, I hear a knock at the door. If I had the energy, I’d scream at them to fuck off, not even giving them the satisfaction of seeing my haggard, sleepless face.
But I don’t. Besides, it’s better to get all this crap over with before I start on the homework. I don’t need more distractions.
