She woke to the stench of vomit.
A blasting headache, in a mostly dark, only slightly familiar hotel room.
She was sixteen. And a half.
She had on underwear. Hers, but not the same. And a tee shirt that wasn’t.
Her brother was supposed to be in this room too. This was family vacation after all.
Where was he?
Trudging to the bathroom, turning on the light, she winced.
Head hammering from the inside out.
Her hair was damp and messy. Mascara blackened her entire eyes. Dried drool stuck to the corners of her mouth.
Bending over, she dry-heaved violently into the toilet.
She laid her cheek on the cool, white tile of the bathroom floor, and drifted off.
Half dreams. Blurred memories. Rancid recollections.
The sound of water running.
She awoke, this time, still on the bathroom floor to her brother’s shake. He was saying something about the trouble she was in.
What happened? She asked.
You drank whiskey. He gave it to you. You disappeared. Both of you.
What then? She asked.
He brought me to you. You were like an uncontrollable animal. Your jeans were off.
My underwear? These aren’t the ones.
He told me he tried but got scared. It was mom.
He said he didn’t.
Where is he now?
I beat the crap out of him. He’s gone.
He tried. I remember now.
I know. He admitted it.
It was my first time drinking.
I know. Mom and dad are waiting outside. You better get your shit together. Expect the worse.
And she got the worst…
She got the grounding, the disappointment, the apology (although years too late) and the memories.