On the floor

Something soft and wet squelched under my hands.

I’m on all fours.

The music blared, but no one spoke.

I should open my eyes.

I couldn’t. The liquor in my system had sealed them shut.

A voice in my ear: “Hey buddy, how ya doing?” Jack.

“Mmm,” the only sound I could muster. “Not sure.”

“You’re okay,” his voice was warm and assuring. “Listen, you need some rest. Can I take you downstairs and get you cleaned up?”

I nodded. He brought me to my feet. The wetness was on my shirt and pants. He shouldered my weight, and I realized I was getting it on him too. My eyes shot open.

A landscape of devastation laid before me. Regurgitated curry all over the rug. A ring of concerned onlookers. Frank with multiple rolls of paper towels in hand.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” I said, slurring my words. Humiliation spread through every inch of my body.

I’m a fuckup.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you out of here.”

He picked me up like I weighed nothing. Someone opened the door from him, and he carried me down the steps.

“You have your key?”

“Back pocket.”

He set me on my feet, using one hand to make sure I didn’t fall, and slipped my key into the lock. I stumbled inside. In the comfort of my home, the stink coming off me felt oppressive. Jack followed me into the bathroom. With his help, I peeled off my shirt, kicked off my slippers, and shimmied out of my pants.

“Poor bunnies,” Jack said.

“I don’t know how I’ll clean them.”

I kept my underwear on as Jack helped me into the shower. He stayed to make sure I didn't slip or hit my head. I lathered soap all over myself until the acidic smell of vomit disappeared.

I stepped out, and he started toweling me off. His touch was firm and vigorous like a deep tissue massage. He kneaded my scalp, and a moan escaped my lips.

Jack laughed, “That good, huh? I think you’re dry enough.”

I wrapped an arm around his as he led me into my room. It felt nice to let him take care of me. I couldn’t wait to get under the covers and forget this nightmare.

“Hey, don’t forget to take off your underwear. I’ll cover my eyes.”

I’d probably soak the sheets if I didn’t. I looked behind me to make sure he kept his promise, then tossed them into my hamper. With nothing else stopping me, I dove into bed.

Jack pulled my wastebasket from the corner and set it beside my bed. “If you can’t make it to the bathroom, just puke in here. And don’t forget to sleep on your side.”

I nodded. “Jack, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he cracked a smile. “But still. I shouldn’t have left you so fast; someone should have noticed you weren’t feeling well; we should have gotten you to the bathroom. A million things could have gone differently. You just got unlucky.”

“Thanks.” Above me, the music grew louder, and peals of laughter buzzed through the air. “At least I didn’t ruin the party.”

“Nah, there was no chance of that. We’re a bunch of degenerates. The party doesn’t stop unless someone dies.”

I smiled. He stood there for a moment, smiling back. Even with a patch of vomit on his shirt, his cool, breezy confidence made him look incredibly attractive.

Hot and nice? Some guys have all the luck.

“I’m gonna leave my number.” He scribbled on a post-it by my desk. “Text me when you wake up so I know you’re okay.”

“I will.”

“And I’ll text you the next time we have a party, so I can make this whole thing up to you.”

He leaned on the side of my doorway, getting ready to go, then glanced up, a quizzical look on his face.

“What?”

“Your room is, like, exactly the same shape as mine. You must live right below me.”