Free WORTHY, Part 2 by Lexie Ray Page B

no,” Brock said, looking at me.
     
    “Oh no what?” I asked, having to shout to be heard over the din on the dance floor.
     
    “Looks like some of your makeup has rubbed off,” he said.
     
    I dabbed at my lips, then at my eyes, but he shook his head.
     
    “Oh,” I said. “Oh no.” People weren’t staring at me because I was sexy in my dress and heels. They were staring at me because I was a freak of nature — a woman who thought a pretty dress would distract from what was terribly wrong with her.
     
    I tried to dash off to the bathroom to hide, but Brock grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.
     
    “Fuck it,” he said. “I like dancing with you, Michelle.”
     
    “I like dancing with you, too,” I said, ducking my head away from him and to the right. “But I should really go freshen up.”
     
    “Don’t worry about it,” Brock said. “Really. Forget about it. It’s just who you are.”
     
    He was staring at my scar, and it made me squirm.
     
    “Stop,” I said, twisting in his arms. “Don’t look at it.”
     
    “It’s not bad, I promise,” he said. “That’s a burn, right?”
     
    “I don’t want to talk about it!” I shouted, shoving hard against his chest. “Let go of me!”
     
    “I don’t mean any offense,” he said, holding his hands up. “Why would I want to insult my best friend’s wife?”
     
    “I’m not your source of entertainment,” I snapped, leaving him on the dance floor. I had no idea how I found myself back upstairs in the VIP section, but I was there, standing in front of the couch and drinking right from the vodka bottle. When I’d taken in my fill from that, I chased it from the carafe of orange juice.
     
    “Holy shit,” Jane commented, staring up at me, her phone lying forgotten in her lap. “That’s fucking awesome.”
     
    “Let’s do a shot,” I said, breathing hard and wiping my mouth.
     
    “I’ve never heard something so beautiful in my entire life,” Jane said, smiling wickedly as she poured the tequila into the glasses.
     

Chapter Five
     
    The first thing I knew was pain. God — so much pain. My head pounded and my stomach churned. I slit my eyes open and was rewarded with yet another stab of agony behind my eyes. It was bright, and the sunlight strongly disagreed with me.
     
    As upset as my stomach was, my mouth was terribly dry. I needed something to wet it.
     
    I chanced another wave of pain when I lifted my head — along with a wave of irresistible nausea. I tried to get up to get to the bathroom but found a trashcan beside the bed instead.
     
    Good enough.
     
    I emptied the contents of my stomach in the receptacle, wincing at the smell of it, which only made me puke more. It was all liquid and all colors, the unfortunate aftermath of my heavy night of drinking. I groaned and dry heaved a couple of times before I was able to flop back down in the bed.
     
    It was then that I realized several things at once.
     
    For one, it wasn’t my bed. It wasn’t even my room. I looked around slowly at my surroundings. There were large windows with gauzy curtains blowing in the breeze that came in from outside. I could hear gulls — were we by the lake? The room had a masculine feel to it, lacking clutter or any sort of sentimental ephemera. A chest of drawers had been pushed against the wall opposite the bed, and its top was bare. Besides the trashcan and a bedside table, there wasn’t anything else in the room except the bed.
     
    And me.
     
    And I was naked.
     
    Grateful for the thick white sheets and blankets covering me, I tried to assess my situation. It was painful to think back to last night, the idea of liquor making me gag yet again. If I could’ve thrown up, I would’ve, but my stomach was completely empty. I shouldn’t have listened to Jane about not eating last night. Who cared how hard the alcohol hit us?
     
    I couldn’t get over how sick I felt. This was hell. This was death. I was never drinking again, I