I woke up with my face pressed against the seat of a toilet.
My body was stiff as I sat up, leaning my arm on the wall of the dirty bathroom stall for support as the rhythmic pounding of my head matched that of the music in the background. I gagged at the smell of vomit and alcohol which mixed with the already horrid smell of the restroom. I let out a groan and rested my head on the porcelain seat.
Maggie had always joked that when you were drunk it was ’driving the porcelain bus’ from the way you gripped the seat as the contents of your stomach were ejected.
Then again, Maggie never threw up much anymore.

My eyes remained half-hooded as I looked around the tiny red stall, graffiti and phone numbers covering almost every inch of it.
Jennas a whore
Wheres fluffy?
For a nice girl call 555-****

I let out a long breath and brought a hand to my head, getting a recollection of where I was. And the fact that I was missing a shoe.
At least my pants were on this time.

I reached into the back pocket of my torn, stained, demolished jeans and pulled out my old cell phone. I didn’t bring my normal one whenever I went out at night. If it got stolen or something spilled on it, I wouldn’t have a care in the world.
Not like I cared now, anyway.
I had given up on that sort of thing a long time ago. Caring was for people who had hope, and hope is for people who were looking ahead in life.
Me? I was living every day as it came, usually hung over for most of it.

I fumbled with my phone for a moment, scrolling through the numbers and thinking of who owed me favors, who kept their phone on, and who wasn’t out themselves.
I shifted so my back was to the wall, my knees limply pulled to my chest, but spread out in opposite directions.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Hey, this is Zach. I’m not here right now-
“My ass your not.” I hung up and dialed again.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Hey, this is Zach-
“No, it isn‘t.”
Ring. Ring. Rin- H-Hello?
“Zaaach. You owe me.”
“Zoe? D-Dude, it’s like four in the morning...”
“Which is why I’m calling. I need a favor.”
“Of course you do.” He meant it to sound rude, but it didn’t work well. He was too nice to be a dick.
“Car. You. Club. Me. Bathroom. Vomit. Headache. Yes.”
“You got all your clothes on this time?”
“Err... Yeah.”
“Your clothes?”
“Yes, my clothes.”
“Good.” I think it was only fair for him to ask me; last time I was braless and was wearing someone else’s shirt. Never did find out who’s it was.
“I’ll be there soon. Where are you?”
“My favorite.”
“...Gimme fifteen minutes.”
“Mkay.”
I hung up and pressed the back of my head to the stall, feeling the pulsating beat pound into my skull.
I had cut my white tank top into a belly shirt, revealing the trail of stars I had from my hip into the waistband below my bellybutton and the rose I had on my lower back. My jeans were torn at the knees and in several places on the thighs, And one of my shoes were missing.
Standard weekend attire, if I say so myself.

But then the room started spinning and with an ‘oh, fuck it,’ attitude, I laid myself down on the cool, filthy, tile floor with my head next to my puke-catcher.
Maggie always used to come out with me on weekends and weekstarts and all the days in between. She’s the one that introduced me to this life of sleeping through the morning so you can party all night and need all morning to recover so you can go out and party again and then do it all over again for the next nine years.
I used to be the one always driving Maggie home, but after a while, it leveled out when we both needed a ride, and then when she was driving me home.
And then one night, Maggie yelled at me.
I don’t remember what she said. (I think I was bowing to the toilet at the time.)
All I remember is that Maggie was really angry and then she didn’t go out with me anymore.


I stared up at the ceiling, watching it go in and out of focus and tracing the shapes of the graffiti with my eyes.
I heard the bathroom door get shoved open and the no longer dulled music came pounding into my brain at full force.
“Zoe?”
“Eh.”
I heard a sigh and him fumbling with the door.
“It‘s locked.”
I numbly lifted my arm and smacked at the latch a few times before it moved far enough to open the door. It whacked me in the leg as it did.
Zach looked down at me with a disapproving look as he ran a hand through his blond hair. “How long have you been here?”
“Eh. A few hours.”
He let out a sigh as he leaned down to pick me up. “Jesus...”
Once I was upright, he turned and latched my arms around his neck and lifted my legs so my hips here on his in a piggy-back sort of position. I snuggled my face in the crook of his neck, even his faint smell of body spray making me feel light headed.

The next thing I knew, he was laying me down in the back seat of his pickup truck. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.
“The best of friends hold your hair back as you puke,” I mumbled distantly and I heard him chuckle. I felt the truck start and I few minutes later I heard him say softly, “I swear, you’re bound to that toilet as if chains held you to it every night after two A.M.”