Page 100 of The Lies I Told
7:00 a.m.
Jackhammer. There was a jackhammer pounding against the sides of my skull. My mouth was dry, and my stomach lurched. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. When the heaves finally stopped, sweat soaked my body and clothes. Rising, I looked in the mirror and found bloodshot eyes staring back. My mascara had wept down my cheeks, and my jacked hair stood up.
It had been more than a year since I’d looked at my face after a binge. That face,thisface, was so familiar. And now here I was, right back at square one.
I hated this face. It personified failure, weakness, and a lack of impulse control. I turned away, closed my eyes.
Immediately, I swayed and found myself back on my knees, vomiting again. This time when I rose, my body shook. I wanted to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. Shut out the world until I could deal with it again. But that was what the old Marisawould’ve done. She’d have surrendered to the illness, just as she did as a child.
Instead, I turned on the shower taps, and as steam filled the room, I stripped off clothes reeking of sweat and vomit and carried them directly to the unit’s small washing machine. With the washer chugging, I returned to the bathroom, stepped under the shower’s hot spray, and let the warmth spread over my chilled skin and ease the tension banding my muscles.
Past experience told me that I’d feel like crap for the rest of the day. A cold cola and a couple of aspirin would help, but there was nothing else to be done other than suffer through this.
Served me right. I’d let Brit push my buttons. I’d fallen for one of a thousand traps she’d been setting for me for years. The pleasure-and-pain seesaw I’d been balancing for a year had dipped toward pain with just a few words from Brit. Instead of taking it on the chin, I’d done what I’d always done. I numbed it.
Through bleary eyes, I realized Brit was happiest when she was driving me to rehab, holding my hand through another detox, sitting at my side after the car accident. So smug. My weakness gave her strength.
I tipped my face toward the water, and hot spray pulsed against my skin. “You’re too old to let this happen. Too smart.”
I shut off the water and toweled off. In my room I dressed in jeans and a gray sweater. For the sake of morale, I put on makeup, dried and styled my hair. As I’d said to a woman at a meeting a few weeks ago, “Get back on track, old girl. The future can still be bright.”
Meetings. The idea of facing my peers and turning in my one-year chip sucked. We didn’t like to call it the walk of shame, but that was exactly what it was. But disgrace, and the desire to avoid it, was a powerful motivator.
After setting up my coffeepot, I grabbed a large trash bag and collected the three empty wine bottles, which I stowed under the kitchensink. For the secret drinker, cleanup was a key step. Couldn’t have the empties lying about.
As the fresh pot of coffee gurgled, the front doorbell rang. The list of people who could make it past the security door was short. I wasn’t interested in seeing anyone and was tempted to just wait them out.
The bell rang again.
“I know you’re in there,” Brit said. “I can smell the coffee.”
Shit. The woman had radar. No doubt, Brit had been thinking about that glass of wine she’d left out on the counter, like bait in a trapper’s snare.
Drawing back my shoulders, I moved to the door. A quick glance in the side mirror told me I didn’t look like a complete dumpster fire. Not my best, but presentable.
I opened the door to Brit and David. A doubleheader. How lucky could a girl get?
Brit eyed me closely, taking in my face, hair, and clothes. Narrowing eyes scrubbed off my makeup to see the woman behind the mask. “Good morning!”
“Good morning.” My voice sounded like rough gravel, forcing me to clear my throat. “Sorry. I was up late editing.” Lying also came naturally to a secret drinker. I’d often joked at meetings that if I were Wonder Woman, I’d have a Lasso of Lies.
“Morning, Marisa,” David said.
“Hey, David. How’re you two this morning?” I stepped aside and let them in. The sooner they said their piece, the faster they’d leave.
Brit’s gaze swept the apartment, searching for the bottles. She looked a tad disappointed when she didn’t see any. If David hadn’t been here, she’d have searched under the kitchen sink in the trash can, but with him, appearances trumped validation.
“We have news for you,” Brit said.
“Oh?”
“We wanted you to be our first,” David said.
“First?”
Brit held up her hand, displaying a white-gold ring with a solitaire diamond. “We’re engaged. David popped the question last night.”
I had to admit I was shocked. My sister, who thought out every move carefully, had accepted a marriage proposal from a man she’d known eight weeks. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
