I lay in the bed and suffered.
My mouth tasted like sour shit and my muscles ached. My head throbbed. I tried to breath, get oxygen into my blood. Patches of memory returned. The wastebasket being placed. Soft soothing words as a cool washcloth was placed on my eyes. I turned to the side to see a water bottle, half full, where I knew it would be. A flashing image of cool porcelain against my face, a welcome sensation as I knelt at the toilet. Moaning and babbling incoherently. The police. I winced against the memory of hurling my guts up as my aunt watched and listened and asked questions, holding my hair.
The police?
Oh, fuck, it was all over. I groaned and rolled over, setting off a new wave of nausea. My stomach's natural state seemed to be upheaval. Fuck, what had I done? I'd destroyed everything, ruined all my plans for one stupid, regrettable night out.
"I guess you're awake then?" I heard, and felt a tender finger brush my tangled hair from my eyes, followed by a cool dampness. I sensed weight settling on the side of the bed. Aunt Janie stroked my bare upper arm tenderly. I whimpered at her touch, foggy memories of her taking care of me last night intruding on my struggling conscious thought. So understanding, caring for me even after the police dropped me off. I remembered the pile of trouble I was in.
"I've ruined everything!" I blurted weakly and started to cry.
"There, there, shush, dear," she soothed, stroking my arm. "It's gonna be okay, you'll see. Everything will turn out fine." She was still rubbing my arm when I fell back to sleep.
It was dark when I awoke again, early evening by the shadows visible through the closed curtains. My stomach had stopped roiling and my head was heavy, but not screaming at me. I was weak and grungy, and felt dirty all over. And dying of thirst. I reached for the bottle, fumbled it, then picked it up off its side and screwed off the cap. The nightstand clock read six-thirty-seven. I gulped the water down desperately, mindful of the feel in my stomach as the liquid invaded. A little queasiness, but it was staying down.
I forced myself to sit up and turn and hung my legs off the side of the bed. Fuck, I stank. I needed a toothbrush and a hot shower. And then maybe some food. My stomach grumbled at the thought of sustenance. I staggered to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes. Fuck, I was still wearing most of what I went out in last night. I grimaced and grabbed the toothbrush, starting the shower as I scrubbed out the fetid swamp in my mouth. I rinsed and stepped into the shower.
Oh, fucking hot water! It was incredible! I thought for a moment that there was no trouble that couldn't be washed away in a hot spray until I remembered everything I had thrown away last night. Unbidden, the tears came in a rush, and I cried uncontrollably under the water, shaking and sobbing until the water began cooling. Gulping breaths and quelling my sobs unsuccessfully, I washed my hair and scrubbed my body. Finally recovering but still despondent over my epic fail, I got out and dried off, wrapping the towel over my breasts, and stumbling back to my room, wet hair wrapped in a second towel.
Dressed in sweats I wandered the darkened house, looking for Julie and some food, and wondering why I hadn't seen Uncle Frank this afternoon. I found her in the den, led by the glow of the television. I treaded tentatively towards her until she looked up at me. The television volume was low and she put her phone down, raised her eyebrows and gave me a wan smile. I tried to return it, but instead I burst into new tears.
She patted the couch cushion next to her and I threw myself there, crying into her shoulder as her arms held me. She whispered soothing empty words as I blubbered about what an idiot I was in between lurching sobs until I was cried out. I let her hold me for a few more minutes until I felt I could speak. I lifted my head slowly to look at Julie.
She wasn't really my Aunt, and she was only about ten years older than I. She'd married Uncle Frank about five years ago, and she was a few years younger than he was. He was my mom’s little brother by two decades, an "accident" baby. So when she came into the family I had latched on to her, more of a friend than relative. We'd been close from the beginning, and I’d always called her just Julie.
"Is Uncle Frank here?" I asked.
"No, honey, I sent him home yesterday, after you left. He was going fishing today, early, and has to work tomorrow." Mom had asked Uncle Frank and Aunt Julie to stay with me at our house while they were away. They often looked after me when my parents took their trips.
"He- he doesn't know?" I stammered, grasping at hope beyond all reason.
"Well, he wasn't here," she began. "I mean, I did have to tell him that you were out late," she continued, brushing a hair back from my face and tucking it behind an ear. "But he doesn't know the... uh... ugly details."
I buried my face in my hands, shook my head. Julie stroked my hair while I made desperate sounds. When I pulled my hands away she was watching me carefully.
"What am I going to do, Julie?" I asked plaintively. "Mom and Dad are going to kill me!"
She hugged me, stroking my back as though I were a little child. "Let’s not get hysterical, Claire," she said confidently. "Really, there's no need to exaggerate." I heard her chuckle but there was no humor in it. "Its serious enough without the wild hyperbole."
"But Julie!" I insisted, pulling away and kneeling on the couch. "They're gonna freak! They won't let me study in Italy next semester! They said so!" I sat back, crestfallen and defeated. "I ruined everything! I really fucked up!"
"Actually, Claire, to be honest, it's a little worse than that." She reached for my hair again, brushing the locks off my forehead. "I think what they said was that you wouldn't go abroad and they wouldn't pay for your college at all." She made a conciliatory face and took my hands, holding them. "That they wouldn't pay for your last two semesters, and that you'd have to pay them back for the first two." She studied my face as she wrinkled her nose and I looked back at her, feeling even lower and more lost than ever.
She stood, pulled me to my feet. "Come on, Claire, let’s get some food in you." I followed her numbly to the kitchen. "I made spaghetti, an empty stomach is no way to face your fuck-ups, hmm?" she stated matter-of-factly. "Let’s get you fed, and not talk about this now." She sat me at the table and I stared silently as she spooned out spaghetti, thick with sauce. The scent of it tantalized me, but I looked up with my best puppy-dog eyes.
"Do you have to tell them?"
She didn't answer right away, and hope sparked in my chest. "You don't, do you? It can be our secret? Please, Julie, please, please say you won't tell?"
She hushed me, handed me a fork. "Eat, sweetie, you'll feel better after." She sat across the table and watched me. "We can talk about all that tomorrow, okay? Eat."
After the first forkful burst over my taste buds I nearly forgot my troubles and devoured the meal ravenously. She stared at me as I ate. From time to time I actually lifted my eyes to look back at her. A couple of times she looked as hungry as I did.
We stayed up a while after and she and I watched some television. She went to bed before me. I stayed up another hour or so, ignoring the TV and wallowing in my regrets. If only I could convince Julie not to tell, everything would be fine, I just knew it. But in the back of my mind was the real truth, and images of my parents fury swirled through me. Getting a job. Community college, living at home. Taking away my car. No Italy. No returning to school with my roommates from last year.
I was ruined. One stupid night, and I was ruined. I flicked off the set and slumped off to bed, not to sleep, but to stare at the ceiling and decry my own stupidity.
The next morning, Julie was already awake when I stumbled into the kitchen resignedly. She gave me a silent smile and set breakfast down on the table for me, complete with coffee and juice. She sat next to me.
"I was thinking,” she began. “About your situation." I looked at her, curious at her tone. "After you finish, take a shower. I'll come get you when you're done and we'll talk." She reached across the table for the hand that wasn't shoveling eggs into my mouth. "Maybe there's a way out of this," she said with a squeeze of my fingers.
My mouth dropped open as my spirits soared. I swallowed the mouthful of food, forcing it down to speak. "Oh, shit, Julie!" I choked out. "Really?"
"Easy," she said, and stood and gave me a hug. "We'll talk after, okay? I'm gonna jump in the shower. She straightened and gave me a look that made me feel like she saw me the way I saw my breakfast. I blinked at her. Sudden hope was surging through me like a storm. I nodded, and she left.
I was turning off the shower when the bathroom door opened. Julie was there, wearing a tee shirt and cotton lounge shorts. She dropped a towel and a robe on the counter as I peeked around the curtain.
"Put this on," she stated dismissively, "meet me in my room." She exited and pulled the door shut behind her. My body was charged with excitement, eager to hear her plan for my salvation. She was going to help me! Cover for me! I towelled my hair damp, dried myself mostly and scampered into the big terry cloth robe, anxious to hear her solution.
She was seated on the bed, but stood as I entered and steered me to where she'd been sitting. I was practically leaping out of my skin, hoping beyond hope that she would agree to pull my sorry butt out of the fire I'd set. My fingers wrestled nervously in my lap as she began to pace while she spoke, not looking at me.
"I've thought about it, Claire," she began, her long legs striding nervously back and forth the length of the room. "Your uncle knows you went out, and I told him you came home late, but we can explain that away, I think. Get him on board. He'll have nothing to tell your mom, then," she prattled. "The neighbors could be a problem, for sure, one of them may have seen the police car. If we say nothing and your mom finds out later she’ll really go ballistic and think you're hiding something." She turned to look at me. "Which, of course, we are." She smiled, but the mirth never reached her eyes, and she continued pacing. She was holding her phone, shuffling it from one hand to another as she walked. She was making me more antsy than I already was.
"No, I think we'll have to make up a reasonable story as to why they were here. I don't know, maybe say that you called them, trying to stop your friends from driving drunk, whatever, something like that," she continued. "Contain as much as we can, explain what we can't contain. You with me so far?"
I nodded, shifting excitedly on the bed, allowing myself to dream that my future wouldn't disappear.
"Good. You know," she finally stopped, and stood before me, a grave expression on her face. "You're asking a lot of me. Asking me to lie to your mother. To lie to my husband. You know that, right?"
I nodded dumbly.
"So what are you going to do for me, huh, Claire?" she asked, her voice suddenly quieter. "I mean, yeah, I can keep this incident to myself, but what about you?" She stepped to me, standing about a foot from me, looking down. "How are you going to earn this? I mean, I'm putting myself at risk here, lying for you, covering up for you. Sure, you have a lot to lose if your mom and dad find out, but you've already lost that. If I lie," she said, a note of gravity entering her voice, "you only lose what you would have lost anyway. But then I lose too. You see what I mean?"
I had visions of cleaning her house, doing her grocery shopping, washing her car. "Whatever you want, Julie, anything, I swear, just name it."
She looked at her phone, poked the screen. She aimed it at me. "You asked me not to tell your mom?"
I looked at the phone. She was recording me! I couldn't blame her, I guess. She was just trying to cover her ass, in case it all blew up later.
"Yes, I asked you. Begged you."
"And you'll do whatever I want for me to lie for you?"
"Yes, I swear it."
She nodded, swiped the screen and turned it off. She heaved a nervous sigh, then straightened her shoulders. "Okay then," she said. "I guess we have a deal."
I started to leap to my feet but my squeal caught in my throat when she held out her hand to stop me. Her face was deadly serious. "The robe," she said.
I looked down at myself, thinking maybe I had nervously pulled it open or something. "The robe, Claire." Her voice took on an icy chill. "Take off the robe and stand up."
I blinked at her, not understanding.
"What, did you turn deaf? Up," she ordered, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
