47
“JENNIFERRRR!!!”
I think the entire building heard my mom scream my name. No—scratch that—the whole street probably did.
The sound ripped through the fog in my head, and I blinked open my eyes just in time to see the absolute horror on her face.
That’s when it hit me.
I didn’t just throw up on my bed.
I threw up on her.
My mom.
I watched, still half in a daze, as she stepped back, looking down at her shirt like it had personally betrayed her. Her eyes—wide, fiery, fuming—snapped to mine, and the full realization of what just happened crashed over me like a tidal wave.
“Oh my God!” I muttered, a little too late.
My stomach twisted again, this time from mortification, not nausea.
And then came the final nail in the coffin—my dad.
“What happened? What’s going on?” I heard his voice before I even saw him. He was already halfway inside my room by the time my mom turned toward him.
He froze.
His eyes scanned the scene—my mom covered in vomit, me curled up on the edge of the bed, the smell, the disaster, all of it.
“Oh, shit!” I whispered under my breath.
His face contorted with confusion and panic. “What the hell happened in here?”
He rushed to my mom like she had been wounded, already pulling her toward the hallway.
“I’m fine,” she barked. “I’m going to get cleaned up. You too, Jennifer. Living room. Ten minutes.”
She emphasized every word, her voice sharp enough to slice me in half.
And then they were gone, leaving me in the mess I'd made, both literally and figuratively.
I just sat there, frozen, staring at the disaster on my bed. The smell was awful. The sight was worse. And yet, all I could feel was this overwhelming wave of pain in my chest.
Emma.
It all came rushing back—last night, the way she held me, the way she kissed me, the way she let me go. The sex. The sadness. The goodbye.
The thought of not being with her suddenly felt unbearable, like my lungs forgot how to breathe.
My parents being furious didn’t even matter in that moment. Nothing did.
Is this what it’s going to be like now?
Every time I think of her, is this what I’ll feel?
The ache twisted deeper. My eyes began to sting, and within seconds, the tears started to fall again. I covered my face with my hands, sobbing quietly in front of the same vomit that had caused the chaos.
Great. Just great. I’m crying in front of my own puke. Classy.
My door had been left wide open, and from the hallway, I could hear my mom’s furious voice echoing through the house. She was talking to my dad, ranting about me, and I could tell by her tone that she was livid. I couldn’t make out all her words, but I caught the gist.
“Unbelievable… irresponsible… she could’ve died…”
I wiped my tears quickly. I needed to clean up before she walked back in and found me still sitting here like a lost puppy.
Dragging myself to the bathroom, I stepped into the shower and let the warm water run over me. I cried the entire time. The kind of crying that made my chest heave and my throat feel raw.
When I finally got out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Yikes.
Puffy eyes, red cheeks, pale lips. I looked like someone who’d just survived a hurricane—and maybe I had. An emotional one, anyway.
I tried to fix it. I really did. I attempted a bit of makeup to hide the damage, but it only made things worse. The foundation clung to the tear-streaks on my face. My eyeliner smudged like I was trying to recreate the Joker. I gave up. I washed it all off and whispered, “Thor, take the wheel.”
God clearly wasn’t saving me from what was coming next, so I figured I’d call on the Norse gods. Maybe Thor could strike me with lightning and end this mess quickly.
I walked back into my room and stared down at my bed in disgust.
“I’ll deal with you later,” I muttered, as if the bed would respond.
I forced myself to head toward the living room, heart pounding in my chest. My parents were already seated—my mom stiff and angry, my dad quiet and disappointed.
As I reached the edge of the room, I slowed down instinctively, trying to buy myself a few more seconds.
“Come here fast!” my mom snapped. She must’ve sensed I was stalling.
I walked over and sat on the sofa across from them. My knees felt wobbly. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
My mom dropped something on the coffee table with a loud thud. My phone.
“Your friend Kate dropped that off this morning,” she said, her voice sharp.
Oh. Right. Kate.
I didn’t want to think about her right now. Not after last night. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it—my mom was already grilling me.
“What time did you get home last night?”
“I… I don’t remember,” I mumbled.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Did you drink and drive?”
I looked up at her and then at my dad. I didn’t want to lie. I knew the rules. They had always been very clear about this one thing. Drink if you must, but never, ever drive.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Jennifer Higgins!” my mom snapped.
I swallowed hard. “Y-Yes,” I whispered.
The moment the word left my mouth, my mom stood up in disbelief. My dad lowered his head, covering his forehead with one hand.
“Oh my God, Jennifer! How many times do we have to tell you that you cannot drink and drive? Why didn’t you call us? We’ve told you over and over—we don’t care if it’s three in the morning or if you’re on the other side of town. We will come get you!”
Her voice cracked. My mom—my strong, unshakable mom—was on the verge of tears.
“What if something had happened to you? What if you crashed? What if—” she paused, her voice shaking, “what if you died last night?”
She was crying. Actual tears.
My chest ached. My eyes burned. I bowed my head and said nothing. I knew I was wrong. There was no excuse.
“I can’t even believe this,” she whispered. “You are grounded. For a month.”
My head shot up. “What?”
Before I could protest, she cut me off.
“I’m not taking your phone, you’re seventeen. But from now on, school and home. That’s it. You call me on the landline when you get home, every day. No neighbors. No friends. No exceptions. Do you hear me?”
At the word “neighbor,” my heart cracked again.
Emma.
God. Emma.
My mom stormed out of the room, leaving my dad and me alone. He stayed seated, calm, silent. His disappointment was like a heavy fog.
“I’m with your mother on this,” he said quietly. Then he stood up and left, too.
I sat there, frozen, replaying everything in my mind.
Honestly, being grounded didn’t even sting that much. Emma and I were over. What did it matter if I couldn’t go next door?
But then I thought of Sam. Of hanging out with her after class, of laughing at stupid memes and sipping iced coffee in her car. That hurt a little.
And then… Kate.
The party. Her smirk. The way she’d maneuvered everything like a game and I walked straight into her trap. I felt sick again.
How could I have trusted her?
Still dazed, I walked to the kitchen and fixed myself something to eat. My stomach was growling—it was almost four in the afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten a single thing.
After forcing some food down, I went back to my room and started cleaning up. Slowly. Dreadfully. The night felt long already, and I had no plans of rushing into it.
It was Saturday. Usually, I’d be at Emma’s house, lying in her bed, watching movies and doing nothing together. Laughing. Touching. Kissing.
Now, it was just silence.
Emma.
Her name echoed in my head again, and it was like someone clenched my heart in a fist.
Her hazel eyes were imprinted in my memory. The way she looked at me when she whispered she missed me. The softness in her touch. Her lips.
Everything.
All I had now were memories.
And they hurt.
I buried my face in my pillow and screamed silently. I had no idea how I was going to get through this. How I was going to survive seeing her again—in the halls, in the parking lot, in the spaces that used to feel like home.
How?
__________________________________
Hello, my lovely and funny readers, I set up a ko-fi account, so if you want to treat me, send me a gift, or just simply motivate me, please feel free to visit my page: Ko-fi.com/lunamarcelo :)
Thank youuuu for always supporting my work, I'm reading all your comments and I love how invested you are in the story :)