I'm here...which is where exactly?
Patrick sat looking at the girl in his passenger seat. He was worried about taking her into his apartment. The thought of waking up in a strange place with no memory was enough to freak anyone out, but he had already tried to wake her up again and it was obvious that the alcohol in her system wasn't allowing her to be conscious right now.
Sighing, Patrick exited his car and walked around to the passenger side. He gently picked her up and closed the door with his butt. Thanking every star he could think of, Patrick pushed the button for the elevator the led directly from the parking garage to his apartment.
Once in the elevator, he set her down on the floor so that he was able to get his key card out of his wallet. Soon the elevator was moving and Patrick took this time to relax a little. Even though the girl in yellow was slim, it was still a lot of work for him to be carrying her everywhere.
Thankfully the ride was short and Patrick just had one more short walk from the front door to the couch. He laid her smoothly on the couch and walked to the hall closet to retrieve a spare pillow and blanket. After she was covered with the blanket, Patrick had an afterthought and removed her shoes, trying to be gentle. The last thing he wanted was to wake her up now.
He decided the best thing to do would be to leave her a note in case she woke up before him so that, hopefully, if she saw it, it would minimize the freak out.
Laying the note on the coffee table above her shoes, Patrick finally headed to bed.
Oh sunlight, why do you hate me so?
I try very unsuccessfully to open at least one eye, but the sun just adds to the pain in my head. So I do the only logical thing I can think of and snuggle deeper into my pillow and attempt to leave this headache in the waking world.
oh bacon sounds so good right now
I rub my stomach which is in the process of yelling at me very obnoxiously.
I sit up quickly, which turns out to be a horrible idea. My eyesight swims and my head pounds. I can feel the pain even in my toes. I lay back down and cry out. As soon as the sound leaves my mouth I regret it.
Who is in my house? Did I bring someone home with me? Please let them think I am still asleep.
I attempt once more to open my eyes. Painful, but successful. I squint for a moment, trying very hard to keep the room from spinning in and out of focus.
I very quickly realize that I am not where I think I am.
Okay...okay...it's okay. I'm okay. I'm not tied up, or in a basement, or...or... I don't know. I'm just here, I'm here at someone's house. With someone. Who I don't know. I need to get out of here. Here... I'm here, which is where, exactly? Oh man, oh god. Okay...okay, calm down.
Shoes. You're not wearing shoes. Find shoes, then find door, then well who cares just get the hell out.
I roll as quietly as I can off the couch and have my first stroke of luck. My shoes are sitting right in front of my face. I feel as though this is a small sign, maybe I wasn't kidnapped. I mean, why would my shoes be right here? Still, my heart is pounding and all I want to do is leave. I sit up and try to ignore the pain resonating within my skull.
As I began to slip on one of my flats I see a paper with some writing on it sitting on the table in front of me. I glance around quickly, grimacing at the twinge behind my eyes and reach for the paper.
To the girl in yellow,
Sorry, but I don't know your name. You fell asleep at the bar last night and to make a long story short, I tried to wake you up multiple times, but you were pretty passed out. You didn't have a purse with you that I could find so I just brought you to my place to sleep it off. Please don't be alarmed if you wake up before me. Help yourself to some food or something to drink. If you need anything, my name is Patrick. Feel free to wake me up, I'm in the room at the end of the hall. Otherwise, I wrote the number for a taxi at the bottom of this paper.
I reread it twice. Is this for real? Who just helps a person out nowadays?
I finish putting my other shoe on and stand up slowly. I promptly sit back down and place my head in my hands. I haven't been this hung over in years. For a moment, I'm quite sure that I'm going to throw up, the pain is so intense and so centered behind my eyes that for a moment I feel like my eyes may just fall right out of my head.
I don't know how long I'm sitting there but I suddenly hear footsteps behind me. I begin to sit up, but almost immediately curl back down.
"Good morning. I brought you some water and Advil. I'm cooking some breakfast if you want some, but you look like you might be sick so, I'll let you decide on that one. Can I get you anything? My names Patrick, by the way, in case you didn't read my note." I could hear the nervousness in his voice.
Why is he nervous? he's not the one who woke up in some random house without any idea where he is or who he's with or.... oh god
"Where's the bathroom??!" I ask quickly, already up and making my way down the hall.
Bathrooms are usually in the hall right? right.
"Oh, uh.. first door on the left." He, Patrick...patron saint guy, said quickly as I stumbled towards the door.
How embarrassing, good job. This guy, possibly the one good guy left in Chicago, helps you out, offers you breakfast and the first thing you do is heave your guts out in his toilet. Great. Yea that's right, hang your head. No wonder you're always getting stood up. Ridiculous.
I sat in Patrick's bathroom for a good 15-20 minutes, it only took me 5 or so to lose my lunch from the day before but it took a lot longer to convince myself to drag my sorry ass out of that bathroom. I stood up slowly, shaking my way to the sink, I washed my face and rinsed my mouth out as best as I could. I took a glance in the mirror and ignored the sad girl looking back as I tried to fix my messy, drunk, couch hair. When it was somewhat manageable, I left the safety of the bathroom and made my way back towards the living room.
Patrick must have heard me leave, and appeared in the doorway across the living room.
"Come and eat something. It'll make you feel better." When he saw the look on my face he backtracked a little,"At least some toast, you really will feel better. I promise."
I nod and follow him into the next room, which was more like two rooms in one. It was a spacious kitchen at the far end and a cozy dining room right when you walk in.
There was a small assortment of breakfast foods on the table, eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. Orange juice and water seemed to be the two immediate choices for drinking.
I sat cautiously at one end of the table, unsure of how to act.
"It's okay, help yourself." He handed me a plate from the kitchen counter and set a glass in front of me.
We eat silently for a little while. Me eating very tentatively, hoping to keep my stomach contents where they belong. Patrick decides to break the silence, which I am actually thankful for.
"So, if you don't mind me asking, I mean I did cook you breakfast,"He starts with a smile on his face,"whats your name?"
"My name," I cough, trying to bring my voice out of hibernation,"is Lucy."