don’t usually do shots, but it
seemed like a fantastic idea when viewed through my beer goggles. But I’d been
up since early that morning and I had to be up again at seven to get ready for
work, so eventually I decided to hit the sack.
I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the
guys outside and how Horse should be with them. Then I thought about how it
felt when he held me in those strong arms of his and we slept together, all
warm and safe. That made me sad, and this was where things got ugly.
“They” always say you shouldn’t drink and
text, whoever they are.
I should have listened to them. They’re
pretty smart.
Me: Horse, muss yu
Me: Why dont anser?
Me: Horse like yur name. Horsey. I’d
like to rid u horsey, LOL. You sleeping? Or busy with someone?
Me: I know yur there. I bet you got a
new gurl alredy. Screw you.
Me: Screw you and your slut. I hate you.
Take yur club and shove it up yur ass I wudn’t be yoor old lady for ten milion
dollrs.
To say I was hung over when my alarm went
off at seven that morning would be a bit of an understatement. I discovered the
messages I’d sent between barf two and barf three, and then that particularly
nasty one after barf three. I wanted to crawl under the trailer and die, I was
so embarrassed. Through the force of extreme will, I managed to get myself to
work on time. Fortunately the head count was low for the day, so the kids
weren’t too loud and crazy. I kept thinking about those messages, trying to
decide whether to call Horse and apologize, text again or what.
I finally decided to text. He probably
wouldn’t take a call from me anyway, and I couldn’t blame him for that. But I
couldn’t just leave it like that—I wasn’t that kind of person. I drove home
after work, grabbed a big glass of water and crafted my text carefully.
Me: I’m really sorry about my messages
last night. It’s no excuse, but I was drunk and wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry I
bothered you and I’m sorry for the things I said. I was a bitch, it wasn’t
called for and I feel like shit. I promise, I won’t bother you again.
I sat, holding my phone, not sure if I
wanted him to reply or not. Shit, my head was killing me. Why did I drink the
tequila? I couldn’t handle tequila, I knew that. The last time I’d done tequila
shots I’d stripped off my shirt and danced on the coffee table at a party that
had thankfully been very small. Gary’d stuffed dollar bills in my jeans and
told me to drink more tequila. His friends had cheered me on and waved around
their own money. Gary thought that kicked ass.
Guess I couldn’t claim there hadn’t been
warning signs that the man was a douche…
The door slammed open and I winced.
“Marie, I gotta talk to you,” Jeff said,
sitting down heavily on the stool next to mine.
“I’m pretty hung over. I don’t want to
talk,” I muttered, closing my eyes.
“It’s important. I need money.”
“Um, I’ve got a little in my purse,” I
replied. “How much do you want?”
“A lot,” he replied, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m kind of in a bind.”
That caught my attention, and I looked at
him. Really looked at him. What I saw shocked me. He’d lost at least ten pounds
in the past couple weeks, and his hair clearly hadn’t been washed in a couple
of days. His face was sallow and his eyes dull—not just hangover dull.
“Jeff, are you sick? You don’t look good. I
want to take your temperature.”
“Jesus, Marie!” he burst out, slamming his
hand down on the counter so hard I felt the trailer shake. I jumped, startled.
“Why are you so damn pushy? I’m not your kid, I’m a grown man.”
I froze. Jeff never yelled at me. In fact,
Jeff never yelled, period. He’d always been mellow and the pot didn’t exactly
work to change that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching up and
rubbing his shoulder, as if he’d been carrying something heavy and his back
ached. “I shouldn’t yell at you. But I really need
seemed like a fantastic idea when viewed through my beer goggles. But I’d been
up since early that morning and I had to be up again at seven to get ready for
work, so eventually I decided to hit the sack.
I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the
guys outside and how Horse should be with them. Then I thought about how it
felt when he held me in those strong arms of his and we slept together, all
warm and safe. That made me sad, and this was where things got ugly.
“They” always say you shouldn’t drink and
text, whoever they are.
I should have listened to them. They’re
pretty smart.
Me: Horse, muss yu
Me: Why dont anser?
Me: Horse like yur name. Horsey. I’d
like to rid u horsey, LOL. You sleeping? Or busy with someone?
Me: I know yur there. I bet you got a
new gurl alredy. Screw you.
Me: Screw you and your slut. I hate you.
Take yur club and shove it up yur ass I wudn’t be yoor old lady for ten milion
dollrs.
To say I was hung over when my alarm went
off at seven that morning would be a bit of an understatement. I discovered the
messages I’d sent between barf two and barf three, and then that particularly
nasty one after barf three. I wanted to crawl under the trailer and die, I was
so embarrassed. Through the force of extreme will, I managed to get myself to
work on time. Fortunately the head count was low for the day, so the kids
weren’t too loud and crazy. I kept thinking about those messages, trying to
decide whether to call Horse and apologize, text again or what.
I finally decided to text. He probably
wouldn’t take a call from me anyway, and I couldn’t blame him for that. But I
couldn’t just leave it like that—I wasn’t that kind of person. I drove home
after work, grabbed a big glass of water and crafted my text carefully.
Me: I’m really sorry about my messages
last night. It’s no excuse, but I was drunk and wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry I
bothered you and I’m sorry for the things I said. I was a bitch, it wasn’t
called for and I feel like shit. I promise, I won’t bother you again.
I sat, holding my phone, not sure if I
wanted him to reply or not. Shit, my head was killing me. Why did I drink the
tequila? I couldn’t handle tequila, I knew that. The last time I’d done tequila
shots I’d stripped off my shirt and danced on the coffee table at a party that
had thankfully been very small. Gary’d stuffed dollar bills in my jeans and
told me to drink more tequila. His friends had cheered me on and waved around
their own money. Gary thought that kicked ass.
Guess I couldn’t claim there hadn’t been
warning signs that the man was a douche…
The door slammed open and I winced.
“Marie, I gotta talk to you,” Jeff said,
sitting down heavily on the stool next to mine.
“I’m pretty hung over. I don’t want to
talk,” I muttered, closing my eyes.
“It’s important. I need money.”
“Um, I’ve got a little in my purse,” I
replied. “How much do you want?”
“A lot,” he replied, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m kind of in a bind.”
That caught my attention, and I looked at
him. Really looked at him. What I saw shocked me. He’d lost at least ten pounds
in the past couple weeks, and his hair clearly hadn’t been washed in a couple
of days. His face was sallow and his eyes dull—not just hangover dull.
“Jeff, are you sick? You don’t look good. I
want to take your temperature.”
“Jesus, Marie!” he burst out, slamming his
hand down on the counter so hard I felt the trailer shake. I jumped, startled.
“Why are you so damn pushy? I’m not your kid, I’m a grown man.”
I froze. Jeff never yelled at me. In fact,
Jeff never yelled, period. He’d always been mellow and the pot didn’t exactly
work to change that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching up and
rubbing his shoulder, as if he’d been carrying something heavy and his back
ached. “I shouldn’t yell at you. But I really need
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