Page 7 of Rafferty's Rules
I glance back at the brunette who’s now treating the lamppost like it’s a bloody Maypole. Her arm linked around it, she skips in a wobbling circle as she hums under her breath.Drunk or roofied?As I turn back, I notice I’ve tightened my hands on his lapels so much my fists are under his chin, his bloodshot eyes wide and terrified above.
With one final shake, I decide, ‘You’re not fucking worth the dry-cleaning bill.’
He stumbles backwards, his feet scuffing the footpath though he doesn’t fall, but the bastard makes sure there’s plenty of distance between us before casting aspersions upon my parentage. Loudly.
‘Come on, you.’ I unloop her arm from the lamppost, leaning her against the lamppost again. ‘I’m gonna take you home, but you’re gonna need to tell me where you’re staying, darl.’
Her shoulders sag dramatically, her expression now slightly annoyed. ‘On a boat.’
‘A boat?’ I find myself repeating. ‘What kind of boat?’ She sighs, shrugs, then yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘What’s it called?’
‘I can’t remember,’ she mutters, waving her hand as though the details are of no consequence.
‘A big boat, was it?’ I ask, calculating the number of places in Sydney that house boats.There’s a cruise ship terminal over on Circular Quay and any number of yacht clubs, moorings, and fuck knows what else.
‘It’s kind of big.’
‘Can you give me a name?’
‘Petunia,’ she says with a giggle.
‘Petunia. Is that your name or the boat’s?’ I ask, somehow knowing its neither.
‘It’s jus’ a name. You asked for a name. Not ’pecifics.’
With a resigned and tired sigh, I wrap my arm around her once again. ‘I suppose we’ll figure it out in the morning. Come on, let’s go find the car.’
‘Where we going?’ The mild tone of her enquiry tells me I’m doing the right thing. She’s too trusting. I can’t in good conscience leave her wandering around Kings Cross off her gourd on God only knows what kind of substance.
‘To tell my driver I’ve decided on carry-out.’
Chapter 3
ALYSSA
‘Oh. My Lord. Someone make it go away!’
Light. So much light.Who left the stupid blinds open?Eyes screwed shut, I feel around the mattress, trying to find the edge of the covers to pull them over my head, succeeding eventually. The bright light piercing my eyelids turns to a softer grey as I try to avoid processing the foggy, distant feeling that I’m supposed to be doing something today. Something...what? Fuzzy and foggy turn to a heaving roil of my stomach as I remember. Maybe not the stuff I need for today, but the other stuff that got me into this state today.
Like how five days ago today, I was supposed to be married.
Like how five days ago, I was meant to be joined to another in front of our family and friends.
Like how five days ago, two years of planning was washed away, and I had what I hope I’ll eventually call a lucky escape.
But how long will it be before I wake up without the countdown of recollection and the roil of nausea and shame?
I’m not going to think about it, and I’m not going to cry today because ... because the bastard isn’t worth it. And I’m in Sydney, Australia, today.
The excited jolt doesn’t last long, not as a foamy, icky feeling washes through my stomach, the kind that has nothing to do with my philandering ex-fiancé.
‘Oh, no.’ I whip the covers away, my hands at my head as I haul myself upright and a wave of nausea rushes up my body, seemingly from the depths of my toes. Swinging my legs from the side of the mattress, I grab the first thing in sight, an unfamiliar enamelled bucket, and bring it to my lap. I breath into it heavily, unsure if I want the wave to pass or purge me of the liquor I think I can feel oozing from my pores.
Oh, Lord. I went out last night. Dinner and a glass of wine to follow a day of sightseeing. My skin had felt a little tingling and raw from sitting on the open top floor of a sightseeing bus, and my throat was parched even though I felt like I’d drank my own blood volume in water over the course of the day. So I’d planned to go easy, as always, and not get wasted. Eyes screwed tight, my heart beats against my chest so hard I think it might be trying to make an escape.
Calm your tits, Lissa. So you got a little drunk in a strange country. You survived. You’re okay. You’re just...I crack open one eyelid.Wearing nothing but panties in some place you’ve never been before.
‘Oh, fud—’Nope, that’s not gonna cut it.‘Fuck—just fuck!’
