Undream the Echoes
It's called getting ridiculously drunk
Elle
08.30.2003
It’s our three year wedding anniversary.
I left Liam two weeks ago. Since then I’ve moved in with my old friend Cheri back in the city. It’s actually very convenient since I’m just a few blocks from my café; I can walk there whenever I want. I’ve been spending more and more time there to keep my mind off of my asshole husband. Business has been booming, which is good.
I haven’t felt lonely. Well, not really. I keep busy with the café and partying with Cheri (she’s a big fan of the Boston Irish pubs). But today I wake up and I realize that three years ago had been my wedding day, the happiest day that I can ever remember. There’s a pang in my chest and I finally admit to myself that yes, okay, maybe I miss Liam a little bit. I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven him yet, or even if I can, but I definitely do miss him.
It’s a Saturday so the café is closed. I have nothing to do except brood, since Cheri is out on a date with one of her many boyfriends, though I’m not sure if it’s Greg or Pierson or Darren. I keep glancing at the telephone, hoping that Liam will call. I know I’ll probably just hang up on him or say something bitchy and then hang up, but still. It would be nice to know that he still cares, that he is at least trying to get me back.
But the phone remains silent.
I wonder if Liam is doing the same thing I am. He’s probably being as stubborn as usual and is waiting for me to call him. But then I wonder if he’s forgotten everything. If he’s forgotten me and our anniversary and our memories. My stomach twists. I can’t bear to be burdened by that thought.
Before I can convince myself otherwise, I pick up the phone. I hold it to my ear for a minute and listen to the dial tone, as if I’m waiting for it to tell me what I should do.
I begin to punch Liam’s cell phone number –
And then I slam on the receiver.
“No,” I say fiercely to my hands, as if they were about to commit a horrendous crime. “I can’t do that.”
Instead, I pick up the phone again and dial a new number.
“Cheri? Yeah, it’s me. I just thought of what we should do tonight. It’s called getting ridiculously drunk.”
The lights of the club are bright and dazzling. I’m drunk as shit. Everything is awesome.
Cheri and I have gone all out for tonight. We dressed in the sluttiest clothes we have, did our makeup the best we could, put on our heels and then walked out the door. I even let Cheri do my hair. When I walked into the streets I felt ridiculous and even a little nervous, as if people would laugh at how I dressed tonight. But the cat-calls and wolf-whistling that followed us as we walked down the streets made my worries flee. And now that I have a drink or two (or eight) in me, my confidence is soaring. I feel amazing. If only Liam could see me; he’d be so jealous. This thought makes me even happier.
I’m dancing with someone. I have my back to him so I don’t know what he looks like, but damn, his biceps feel really good. We dance together for one song, then two, then I’m not sure how many. It’s getting really hot in here and I’m sweating but I like it. I enjoy the way this stranger’s body feels against mine. It’s different, it’s new, and it’s sweet, just like revenge. I don’t really know how this happens, but suddenly I’m turned around, facing him. And then his hips are grinding into mine and his hands are in my hair and our lips are touching and his tongue is down my throat and –
“Oh fuck,” I blurt out, tearing my lips away from the stranger’s.
I only realize my mistake after it’s too late. Tonight was supposed to be a girl’s night out, to get attention from guys and to prove that I didn’t need Liam to feel good about myself. Tonight was not, however, the sort of night to cheat on my husband.
I twist myself out of the man’s grip and literally run off the dance floor, almost tripping over my heels and receiving several stares from people. I’m already pulling my hair back when I enter the bathroom; my knees greet the painfully cold tile floors and I kneel over and throw up into the toilet. Public restrooms don’t smell very good but my vomit smells worse, which results in another involuntary gag. I’m confused as to whether I got sick because I had way too many shots or because I’m disgusted with myself.
When I’m finished, I was my hands and rinse out my mouth, ignoring the sickened looks from the other girls in the bathroom and the whispers about “that sloppy drunk girl.” I go back onto the dance floor and miraculously find Cheri. She’s grinding viciously with a guy, and I don’t know if he’s someone she just met or one of her other boyfriends, but I don’t care. I pull her away from him and at first she’s upset that I’m ruining her fun, but then she sees my pale face and understands.
“Did you puke?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Time to go home, then.”
Cheri’s morals may be questionable, but at least she knows when to call it a night.
It’s three in the morning. I can’t go to sleep because I have the spins and every time I lay down, the room twirls so much that I think I’m going to get sick again. So now I’m sitting in the dark kitchen alone, still drunk, and forcing gallons of water down my throat in the hopes that I can at least avoid a hangover in the morning.
Suddenly my cell phone rings.
My vision is too blurred to read the name on the caller ID so I just pick it up and slur out some sort of a ‘hello.’
“Hey.”
Liam’s voice. My heart freezes.
“Elle? Are you there?”
He knows, he knows. He knows I cheated on him. How does he know? Maybe someone saw me and told him. He knows, he knows. I am a horrible person. I am a disgusting person. I am an indecent person. I hate myself.
“All right, fine. If you’re listening, I just wanted to say happy three year. I know I’m three hours late, but it took a lot of balls to pick up the phone to call you, but at least I finally did…”
A quiet sob escapes my lips. I immediately clamp a hand over my mouth and try to stifle my breathing. But who am I kidding? Am I really trying to hide on the other side of a phone call?
“Elle?” Liam asks. “Elle, please say something. Anything. I’m sorr – ”
I hang up the phone. I can’t do this anymore. I fold my arms over the table and put my head down, and then I begin to cry.
08.30.2003
It’s our three year wedding anniversary.
I left Liam two weeks ago. Since then I’ve moved in with my old friend Cheri back in the city. It’s actually very convenient since I’m just a few blocks from my café; I can walk there whenever I want. I’ve been spending more and more time there to keep my mind off of my asshole husband. Business has been booming, which is good.
I haven’t felt lonely. Well, not really. I keep busy with the café and partying with Cheri (she’s a big fan of the Boston Irish pubs). But today I wake up and I realize that three years ago had been my wedding day, the happiest day that I can ever remember. There’s a pang in my chest and I finally admit to myself that yes, okay, maybe I miss Liam a little bit. I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven him yet, or even if I can, but I definitely do miss him.
It’s a Saturday so the café is closed. I have nothing to do except brood, since Cheri is out on a date with one of her many boyfriends, though I’m not sure if it’s Greg or Pierson or Darren. I keep glancing at the telephone, hoping that Liam will call. I know I’ll probably just hang up on him or say something bitchy and then hang up, but still. It would be nice to know that he still cares, that he is at least trying to get me back.
But the phone remains silent.
I wonder if Liam is doing the same thing I am. He’s probably being as stubborn as usual and is waiting for me to call him. But then I wonder if he’s forgotten everything. If he’s forgotten me and our anniversary and our memories. My stomach twists. I can’t bear to be burdened by that thought.
Before I can convince myself otherwise, I pick up the phone. I hold it to my ear for a minute and listen to the dial tone, as if I’m waiting for it to tell me what I should do.
I begin to punch Liam’s cell phone number –
And then I slam on the receiver.
“No,” I say fiercely to my hands, as if they were about to commit a horrendous crime. “I can’t do that.”
Instead, I pick up the phone again and dial a new number.
“Cheri? Yeah, it’s me. I just thought of what we should do tonight. It’s called getting ridiculously drunk.”
The lights of the club are bright and dazzling. I’m drunk as shit. Everything is awesome.
Cheri and I have gone all out for tonight. We dressed in the sluttiest clothes we have, did our makeup the best we could, put on our heels and then walked out the door. I even let Cheri do my hair. When I walked into the streets I felt ridiculous and even a little nervous, as if people would laugh at how I dressed tonight. But the cat-calls and wolf-whistling that followed us as we walked down the streets made my worries flee. And now that I have a drink or two (or eight) in me, my confidence is soaring. I feel amazing. If only Liam could see me; he’d be so jealous. This thought makes me even happier.
I’m dancing with someone. I have my back to him so I don’t know what he looks like, but damn, his biceps feel really good. We dance together for one song, then two, then I’m not sure how many. It’s getting really hot in here and I’m sweating but I like it. I enjoy the way this stranger’s body feels against mine. It’s different, it’s new, and it’s sweet, just like revenge. I don’t really know how this happens, but suddenly I’m turned around, facing him. And then his hips are grinding into mine and his hands are in my hair and our lips are touching and his tongue is down my throat and –
“Oh fuck,” I blurt out, tearing my lips away from the stranger’s.
I only realize my mistake after it’s too late. Tonight was supposed to be a girl’s night out, to get attention from guys and to prove that I didn’t need Liam to feel good about myself. Tonight was not, however, the sort of night to cheat on my husband.
I twist myself out of the man’s grip and literally run off the dance floor, almost tripping over my heels and receiving several stares from people. I’m already pulling my hair back when I enter the bathroom; my knees greet the painfully cold tile floors and I kneel over and throw up into the toilet. Public restrooms don’t smell very good but my vomit smells worse, which results in another involuntary gag. I’m confused as to whether I got sick because I had way too many shots or because I’m disgusted with myself.
When I’m finished, I was my hands and rinse out my mouth, ignoring the sickened looks from the other girls in the bathroom and the whispers about “that sloppy drunk girl.” I go back onto the dance floor and miraculously find Cheri. She’s grinding viciously with a guy, and I don’t know if he’s someone she just met or one of her other boyfriends, but I don’t care. I pull her away from him and at first she’s upset that I’m ruining her fun, but then she sees my pale face and understands.
“Did you puke?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Time to go home, then.”
Cheri’s morals may be questionable, but at least she knows when to call it a night.
It’s three in the morning. I can’t go to sleep because I have the spins and every time I lay down, the room twirls so much that I think I’m going to get sick again. So now I’m sitting in the dark kitchen alone, still drunk, and forcing gallons of water down my throat in the hopes that I can at least avoid a hangover in the morning.
Suddenly my cell phone rings.
My vision is too blurred to read the name on the caller ID so I just pick it up and slur out some sort of a ‘hello.’
“Hey.”
Liam’s voice. My heart freezes.
“Elle? Are you there?”
He knows, he knows. He knows I cheated on him. How does he know? Maybe someone saw me and told him. He knows, he knows. I am a horrible person. I am a disgusting person. I am an indecent person. I hate myself.
“All right, fine. If you’re listening, I just wanted to say happy three year. I know I’m three hours late, but it took a lot of balls to pick up the phone to call you, but at least I finally did…”
A quiet sob escapes my lips. I immediately clamp a hand over my mouth and try to stifle my breathing. But who am I kidding? Am I really trying to hide on the other side of a phone call?
“Elle?” Liam asks. “Elle, please say something. Anything. I’m sorr – ”
I hang up the phone. I can’t do this anymore. I fold my arms over the table and put my head down, and then I begin to cry.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hello.I love you.
:)
I’m sorry if everything sounds rushed and choppy. I usually only have a 1 – 2 hour span of free time to write, and I usually like doing an entire chapter in one sitting, so yeah. That explains why this chapter is so short.
The story’s been pretty straightforward lately. I might jump around in time soon because I think the end is approaching sort of soon.
Also, I changed the layout. Again. I like it a lot though.
I promise a Brimstone & Saints update…soon? I’m thinking of deleting all the chapters and reposting them because I want to edit the characters. Sabrien’s perfect, but the others are meh. So I don’t know.
Aaand I have a story to tell you! Yes, a boy story. I’m not sure if you’ll find it particularly funny but basically I did something ridiculous because I like keeping my life interesting a.k.a. I am a very creepy person.
So a whiiiile ago I hooked up with a boy named, uh, we’ll go with Rob. We were both at a party and not very…sober…and we ended up hooking up. (Not telling you what we did, haha.) Anyway, it was a one night sort of thing. It was just a little hook up, not a big deal. We didn’t go very far so whatever.
Oh and this part is so creepy – in the middle of the night I went to go to the bathroom, and I guess someone saw me go back into his room…and I was getting back into bed (and I was NOT dressed appropriately; I went to the bathroom with a towel on), the guy literally opened the door and peeked in. I was like WHAT THE FUCK GET OUT NOW. How awkward/weird/not ok is that?!?!
Then I saw Rob at a party the very next night, and he was OBVIOUSLY talking about me to his friends. Apparently he said he blacked out that night and doesn’t remember anything so I was pretty pissed about that. Then I realized he was in my math class and things got really awkward. If we ever saw each other at the gym or at another party we would literally turn around and walk away from each other. It’s kind of like those things you see in the movies only it’s not funny at all and every time it happens you wish you would die.
Okay so here’s the actual story part. The other day I was at the gym and he was on a machine directly in front of me. So I texted my friend Sean, who has a few classes with him, and said, “Why is Robb alive. Not ok. Next time you see him in class tell him that the gym is mine and he’s not allowed here anymore.”
Sean decided it would be funny to forward that to Rob.
Yeah. It doesn’t sound too bad written down, but imagine that happening to you in real like. Not. Ok.
And Rob honestly does not remember me at all! At least not by name. Which I think is hilarious because in his texts to Sean he sounds confused as hell. I told Sean to tell Rob that I’m glad that he doesn’t remember and I want to keep it that way. So now Rob had no idea who I am, what happened, and why I am so not ok with him existing. He will be wondering about this for WEEKS. I hope it’s torturous for him. That stupid asshole.
Yeah this is what I do in my free time at college. The End.