luck for the night - rl.

30. taking care of a drunk friend.

"How much of those hellish concoctions have you consumed?" Phoebe was suddenly towering over me. It was lunchtime, and surprisingly, I had not packed any lunch. So, my midday meal consisted of another sextuple espresso and a few cigarettes.

"Uh," I said, surprised by her sudden emergence into the break room, where I was sitting on a chair, "I don't know."

The girl grabbed my wrists, eyes blazing with worry in a way I had not seen before. "Then why are your hands this shaky?"

I looked down at my hands in wonder. She was right, they were shaking like crazy. Why hadn't I noticed that before? "I'm fine," I brushed it off, fear and guilt in my chest. I pulled my hands from Phoebe's grip, taking another sip of my bitter but extremely sweet drink. I had learned from my mistake this morning: I added a bunch of sugar to balance out the bitterness.

Phoebe's face hardened. "You're not."

The anger in her eyes made fear spark through my body. This was it, the moment she would find out about Remington. Somehow she knew where I had been last night, figured it all out. I tried to get to my feet and do what I did best, when in need of a distraction. I started rambling. "I really liked talking to you, Phoebes, but I really need to get back to work. I have a client in 10, a lip-blushing procedure, so I'll just make sure I have all the ink ready. Did we order more of that, though? I don't know about you, but I am running out of that really bright pink shade. What is it called again? Fuchsia something something?"

"Rylin," Phoebe blocked the doorway as I tried to walk through it, "you cannot do that procedure. Not with your hands like this."

The amount of money in my bank account flashed in my mind, as well as a pair of well-known, dark brown eyes. I really needed this client, definitely right now. Besides, I could not just let cancel on someone ten minutes before the appointment: that would be extremely unprofessional.

"Phoebe, just let me through," I pleaded.

My friend did not step aside. She grabbed the coffee cup from my hands, and a soft but stern look came onto her face. As if she was taking care of a drunk friend "I really think you should call your client, and reschedule."

I looked down at my hands, still vigorously shaking, and knew Phoebe was right, so right, this time. I hated it. A sight left my mouth, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Now what?" I muttered, as my friend lead me back to the chair I had been sitting on. "Eat something, cancel the rest of your appointments today, and go home." Phoebe rummaged through her bag and gave me a cereal bar. Right as I ripped the packaging, the little bell attached to the door tinkled. "I'll take care of this client for you." Phoebe gestured to the waiting area with her head.

Guilt flooded me. Phoebe was willing to put her own schedule in jeopardy for me, a sad excuse of a friend. The lies started weighing heavier and heavier on my chest.

"I can't, I really can't let you," I sputtered, trying to get back up and reach the door before her. Of course, I couldn't. I was swaying on my feet, and I had overlooked the fact Phoebe was way closer to the door than I had been.

Phoebe did not budge, "Let me do this." She placed her hands on my shoulders to emphasise her words. "Just admit that you are not okay, I don't know if you are ill or getting burnt out, but you look terrible, you act different," her eyes wandered off to my pink mug, "and all that caffeine. Go home, sleep it off, and come back in two days as the Rylin we all know and love. Please."

I did not have the heart, or the courage, to tell her that version of me was long gone, faded away by all the lies, all the hotel rooms, and all of Remington...