Walking Disaster

move. She was staring at the floor, looking a bit green.
    “You’re going to throw up, aren’t you?”
    She looked up at me, her eyes half closed. “It’s about that time.”
    She weaved back and forth a few times before I scooped her up in my arms.
    “You, Travis Maddox, are kinda sexy when you’re not being a whore,” she said, a ridiculous, drunken grin twisting her mouth in different directions.
    “Uh . . . thanks,” I said, readjusting her so I had a better grip.
    Abby touched her palm to my cheek. “You know what, Mr. Maddox?”
    “What, baby?”
    Her expression turned serious. “In another life, I could love you.”
    I watched her for a moment, staring into her glassed-over eyes. She was drunk, but just for a moment it didn’t seem wrong to pretend that she meant it.
    “I might love you in this one.”
    She tilted her head, and pressed her lips against the corner of my mouth. She’d meant to kiss me, but missed. She pulled back, and then let her head fall against my shoulder.
    I looked around, and everyone still conscious was frozen, staring in shock at what they’d just witnessed.
    Without a word, I carried her out of the apartment to the Charger, where America stood, her arms crossed.
    Shepley gestured to Abby. “Look at her! She’s your friend, and you let her do something insanely dangerous! You encouraged it!”
    America pointed at herself. “I know her, Shep! I’ve seen her do way more than that for money!”
    I shot her a glance.
    “Shots. I’ve seen her do more shots for money,” she qualified. “You know what I mean.”
    “Listen to yourself!” Shepley yelled. “You followed Abby all the way from Kansas to keep her out of trouble. Look at her! She has a dangerous level of alcohol in her system,
and she is unconscious! That isn’t behavior you should be okay with!”
    America’s eyes narrowed. “Oh! Thanks for the public service announcement about what not to do in college, Mr.
Eighteen-year-old-frat-boy-with-eleventy-billion-‘serious’-girlfriends-under-his-belt!” She used her fingers to mark invisible quotations when she said
serious
.
    Shepley’s mouth popped open, unamused. “Get in the fucking car. You’re a mean drunk.”
    America laughed. “You haven’t seen me mean, mama’s boy!”
    “I told you we’re close!”
    “Yeah, so are me and my asshole! Doesn’t mean I’m going to call it twice a day!”
    “You’re a bitch!”
    All color left America’s face. “Take. Me. Home.”
    “I’d love to, if you’d
get in the fucking car
!” Shepley screamed the last bit. His face turned red, and veins were popping out on his neck.
    America opened the door and climbed into the back, leaving the door open. She helped me slide Abby in beside her, and then I fell into the passenger seat.
    The ride home was short and completely silent. When Shepley pulled into his parking spot and threw the shifter in Park, I scrambled out of the car and pulled the seat forward.
    Abby’s head was on America’s shoulder, her hair covering her face. I reached in and pulled Abby out, throwing her over my shoulder. America crawled out quickly after, and she walked
straight to her car, pulling her keys from her purse.
    “Mare,” Shepley said, regret already obvious from the break of his voice.
    America sat in the driver’s seat, slammed the door in Shepley’s face, and then backed away.
    Abby was ass up, her arms dangling behind me.
    “She’s gotta come back for Abby, right?” Shepley asked, his face desperate.
    Abby moaned, and then her body lurched. The awful groan/growl that always accompanied vomit preceded a splashing sound. The back of my legs felt wet.
    “Tell me she didn’t,” I said, frozen.
    Shepley bent back for a second, and then righted himself. “She did.”
    I jogged up the stairs two at a time, and rushed Shepley as he tried to find the apartment key. He opened it, and I raced into the bathroom.
    Abby leaned over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach liters at a time. Her hair was already wet with puke from the incident outside, but I grabbed one of those round, black,
stretchy things off the sink and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail. The damp pieces clung together in thick clumps, but I pulled it all back with my hands, anyway, and secured it with the
black hair holder thingy. I’d seen enough girls twist it and pull their hair back through in class, it didn’t take long for me to figure it out.
    Abby’s body lurched again.