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“If you do not get off of that computer in the next five seconds, I’m unplugging it,” Meg intoned from her bedroom.

“Meg,” she whined.

“I don’t care if you’re talking to Joe. You talk to Joe all the time. You spend so much time talking to Joe, you don’t leave the house anymore.” She poked her head around the door frame, pinning her hair up in curlers. “He can spare you for the night. WE are going out.”

Meg gestured between the two of them with her pointer finger. She really did not appreciate Meg’s pushy attitude, especially in that very moment. She was in no mood to get all gussied up and go out. It would take so much effort. Besides, she was in the middle of an important conversation on gchat. And she was far too comfortable to even consider moving. It seemed like the perfect way to pass a Wednesday evening, curled up in the corner of the couch in her oversized tube dress, laptop perched on her knees and Spring Awakening driving through the speakers of her iPod dock. A glass of wine would make the scene heavenly, but honestly, she was too lazy to get up and pour one.

“But—“

“Don’t even, Ash, this is getting out of hand. You need to go make out with a strange boy. I can hear your frustrated sex drive from over here, and let me tell you…it is not cute.”

“My sex drive is not frustrated.”

“When is the last time you even so much as kissed a boy?”

“End of July. See, it’s not that long. Barely a month.” She smiled smugly, feeling triumphant. Meg would have to leave her alone now.

“Look, I’m just saying you spend so much time talking to this kid that you might as well be in a relationship with him.”

“Oh please.” She looked up from her computer screen, “Look, he’s just having a rough time right now. I remember what that was like when I was his age, and I needed people to talk to, adults who could help me sort stuff out. He doesn’t have a guidance counselor or whatever like I did…so I just feel like I should help.”

“Remember back when I was just talking to Mo? And he was the first person I talked to in the morning and the last person I talked to at night, and you said to me, AND I QUOTE, ‘Call him whatever you want, Meg, but that is a boyfriend…’”

“Oh come on, Meg, that was a totally different situation. You actually WANTED to be dating him.”

“I’m just saying, you’re edging miiiiighty close to that. If you don’t make out with someone in the next four hours, I might have to start calling Joe your boyfriend.”

“UGH. FINE. I’M GETTING UP.”

She slammed her laptop closed and pushed it aside. Rising from the couch, her long black dress hit the floor then swept along behind her as she stalked the five steps to her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed dramatically, even though Meg couldn’t see her. In her head, she began running outfits, pushing around images of jeans and tops and heels, trying to decide who she felt like playing.

Meg did have a point. She hadn’t been out in weeks. It was a little sad. Working from home meant some days, if there weren’t any meetings, she might not leave her house at all. And a lot of her social plans had been falling through lately as well. A rash of double-bookings between friends and she ended up without much to do over the past few weeks. Sadly enough, in the past two days she hadn’t left the confines of the apartment at all, not even to walk down the two flights of stairs to the mail box.

An hour later she was ready to go: skinny jeans and a balloon hem tank top, both in black, layered over a slate grey tank top that barely contained her breasts, which a powerful bra was heaving upward even more than usual. She left her hair down and layered chain necklaces around her neck, opting for smudged black eyeliner and dramatic, blood red lips. She looked every inch the femme fatale she had been aiming for. Like if you let her, she might tear your clothes off with her teeth.

She figured that at the very least, if she looked like she was trying, Meg would stay off her back. At best? Maybe she’d end up with a cute boy attached to her lips by the end of the night. She maintained that her sex drive was not frustrated—honestly, she’d be the first to admit it—but that wouldn’t stop her from sharing a few sloppy kisses with a stranger if the moment (or the gin) struck her.

***

She was too tired to even groan when she heard her phone ring. She could barely reach her arm far enough to retrieve the device, but even through the haze of early morning and alcohol she knew the only way to silence the sleep-killing noise was to get a hold of it.

“Herrow,” she said, mouth half filled with pillowcase.

“I’m in New York.”

She’d recognize that voice anywhere. It cut clear through the haze. Joe.

“I’m sleeping,” she’d managed to roll over enough to get the pillow out of her face.

She was impressed with herself when she realized she couldn’t read her alarm clock. That meant she’d been coherent enough to remove her contact lenses the night before. Of course, she had no idea where her glasses were at the moment, but in the scheme of things, that was a minor detail.

“Well, you better wake up, because I am on my way over!” he exclaimed, far too excited for her taste.

“Joe, you can’t…”

“Don’t worry. No one knows I’m coming. It’s like, six am, no one is even awake. I’ll slip out, we have the day off, no one will even miss me.”

Six am. God, no wonder it was so hard to process thought and/or operate her limbs. She’d been in bed for about an hour and a half. Up until about two hours ago she had still been consuming alcohol.

“Joe…”

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m on my way. I’m in a taxi already, actually.”

“If I can move by the time you get here, I’m going to hit you so hard.”

“You mean I might get to meet that right fist I’ve heard so much about?”

“Fuck you.”

“Promises, promises.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. She hung up the phone.

***

About twenty minutes later she was wearing cut-off sweat pants stolen from her brother’s college lacrosse team and a ratty wife beater sprinkled with holes. It had taken a lot of effort to get out of bed. It had consumed all the energy she had. Dressing was full on not an option (though that was also due in part to the fact that standing up straight in front of her closet was impossible). At least the sweats and tank top were better than the skimpy underwear she’d been sleeping in.

As a vaguely pleasant ringing tone sounded across the apartment, Joe’s image appeared in her video intercom and she picked up the phone, holding down the first button.

“It’s open,” she said, not bothering with a greeting, “push.”

“Good morning to you too.” She could see him roll his eyes as he pushed through the front door.

She held the door to her apartment open and when Joe crested the second flight of stairs the look on his face was priceless. He was shocked. She couldn’t blame him. He’d never seen her anything less than 100% put together. This was a big down-shift. Smudged eyeliner, pillow creases in her cheeks, pants three sizes too big.

“Wow, glad I brought these…” he trailed off holding out a venti Starbucks cup. “It looks like you need it…hung over much?”

“No,” she intoned flatly, “I’m actually still drunk.”

“You’re what?”

“Joe, it’s six thirty in the morning. I was at the bar until four am drinking. I won’t even recount what I ingested, but let’s just say I haven’t passed the requisite hour per drink required to sober up quite yet.” That was the most words she’d managed to string together so far that morning.

She took the cup and without waiting for Joe to enter she shuffled over to the couch, curling up in the far corner and gulping the hot liquid as fast as she could stand. This was her least favorite feeling, the kind of thing she always did her best to sleep through the morning after. There was just something about being still drunk when you awoke that made you regret your choices so much more than usual. She regretted the last gin & tonic, and the double of Jack Daniels she’d chased with a Budweiser after that last gin & tonic. Whiskey and beer were always a sure sign that she had gone overboard—she was much more of a gin/vodka/tequila girl, and she utterly despised beer—if she was drinking them, well, she was too far gone already. They were only going to make things MUCH worse. Thankfully, she had woken up clothed and alone and in possession of clear memories, so she knew nothing truly out of control had happened.

In all honesty, it had been a good night. The bar they’d ended up in—one just down the block—had been more crowded than usual, and a table of cute boys with Irish accents had taken she and Meg under their wing. They’d spent hours drinking and laughing and flirting aimlessly with the boys. One of them in particular, Kian, had taken real interest in her. She clearly recalled one brief but intense make-out session near the men’s bathroom, hidden behind a decorative surf-board and a second, slightly more drawn out encounter by her doorstep.

“Are you sure you’re not hung over?” Joe asked.

“I’m positive. The room is still moving strangely, which is a sure sign I’m drunk. Besides, I don’t have hangovers.”

He scoffed. “Sure you don’t.”

“Oh, because you know so much about hangovers.”

“I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. Alcohol does nothing to improve your mood.”

The couch they were sharing was small, sized perfectly for a Manhattan apartment. This also meant Joe was within kicking distance at all times. She took advantage of this, hoping to cause a Charlie Horse as she lashed out.

“Ouch, that was so not necessary,” he said, rubbing at the spot where the ball of her foot had made contact with his thigh.

“Right now YOU are not necessary. Stop talking, or leave.”

Without a word, Joe rose and drifted toward the media console on which the television rested. Crouching down, he poked at a stack of DVDs still in their cases. From amongst them, he selected ‘Across the Universe.’ Still crouched down so he was eye level with the television, he started pressing buttons and prodding at remote controls until he figured out how to make it play. She paid him only cursory attention, focus costing too much energy and making the dizziness exponentially worse. She figured a movie would distract him long enough for her to get more rest, and frankly, rest was the only thing on her mind. So she said nothing, only sunk further into the couch as ‘Girl’ began to ring out across her apartment.