Page 17 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Skipper comes back over to us and they both wrap me in a group hug. “I’ll make the call,” he says. “It’s my fault Sam was here, anyway.”

I just nod, letting my friends, my family, my people guide me through the next few hours. They both call into work and class.

I never made it to school, either.

I never left the apartment.

I’ve scrubbed my body multiple times in the shower, but no amount of scalding water or soap can erase the feeling of filth clinging to me.

Each time I step out, I feel the same shame settling back over my skin, heavier than before.

I’ve thrown up until there’s nothing left but the hollow ache in my stomach, and even that seems to echo the emptiness inside me.

My thoughts spiral, bouncing between disgust at him and disgust at myself.

How did I let it come to this? Why can’t I find the strength to stop it?

After talking to an officer, and filing a police report, Rhea and Skipper stayed by my side.

Rhea even called and scheduled me an appointment at the student health clinic for the next day.

She wanted to take me today, but they didn’t have any availability.

We also called and left a message for my lawyer, but she hasn’t responded, yet.

Thankfully it’s also one of my few nights I don’t have chemistry lab and I’m off work from Pianissimo .

I tried playing my keyboard earlier, but the mood was no longer there.

Now, I’m sitting on my bed curled up between Rhea and Skipper watching Twilight and wishing I had my own sparkling vampire mate when my phone dings.

My immediate reaction is to cringe and curl up. Please don’t be Sam texting me.

But it’s not, it’s Val, finally replying to me from our morning conversation.

Val: Because I don’t have a calculator and even though the math is supposed to be easy, I’d really like the help.

I start to type out my reply, stating that I cannot meet up with him tomorrow, especially when I feel so dirty inside and out when I get another message.

“Who is texting you?” I look over to see Skipper trying to read the screen.

“No one.”

“No one?” Rhea asks. “Then why are you red? Please don’t say it’s Sam. Give me your phone.”

She reads out the second message. “Oooo, from Val, ‘Meet me at the Starbucks near the science center. I’ll buy you a latte.’”

Rhea sits my phone down and pauses for a moment before saying, “You should do it.”

“Huh?”

“Go have coffee with Val.”

“Okay…why?” I ask.

I flip my phone over and stare at the message, my mind torn. A part of me wants to delete it, to stay buried in my bed and avoid the world. But another part of me—a quieter, hopeful voice I can barely hear—tells me to say yes. To agree with Rhea and just do it.

I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the screen.

The thought of facing Val feels impossible after everything, but the idea of a warm coffee and a friendly face, one that doesn’t judge me or know the depths of my shame, is tempting.

Maybe it’s selfish, or maybe it’s survival, but I let that small hope win.

Val: Please, Laura.

I really shouldn’t. This is such a bad idea. Especially after…

But coffee, a fresh latte and not my kitchen of horrors, would be a small escape from the suffocating weight of this apartment.

A handsome bartender who also studies science like me, someone who doesn’t see the wreckage I’ve become…

Maybe, just maybe, it’s a chance to feel human again, even if it’s just for the length of a latte.

“I mean, why not. If having coffee cheers you up and gets you out of the Sam funk, then go. We can always go with you,” Skipper adds.

“No, Skip. You have to go back to work tomorrow. You can’t afford another day off. And I don’t know. I’m not sure I really want to see Val right now.”

“But you do want to see him.” Rhea bumps me with her shoulder.

“Maybe,” I reply.

Minutes pass by as I weigh my options, the war inside me raging louder with each passing second.

Part of me screams to stay put, to avoid the risk of being seen, of being judged for the mess I’ve become.

But another part—the part that’s desperate for something, anything, to break through this numbness—pushes me toward saying yes.

The idea of sitting across from Val, of seeing his easy smile and feeling a momentary reprieve from the heaviness in my chest, feels like a lifeline. Finally, I take a deep breath. “Are you two sure. I mean after what happened this morning.”

“Yes,” they say in unison.

Skipper continues, ”Go, it's just coffee. And besides, you never know, you might have fun.”

“And I’ll meet you directly after to go to the clinic with you, okay?” Rhea adds.

Finding courage, I reply to Val.

Me: Okay. 7:30 a.m. Don’t be late.

Skipper keeps talking, reminding me that I am amazing and that he and Rhea will always be here for me, I drift away, my mind searching for any distraction.

My thoughts wander to brighter places—the warm sunlight in Central Park, the piano keys beneath my fingers, a future where this moment doesn’t define me.

But even those thoughts feel like lies, distant and unattainable, just like the version of me I used to believe in.

I close my eyes and a brief, fleeting glimpse of dark brown eyes fill my vision.

How different would life be with Val instead?