Binge

The One That Got Away - Part 3

When I'm hungover, I usually wake up uncomfortably early, head pounding and unable to fall back to sleep. This morning, my hand involuntarily smacked my forehead, cooling it and shielding my eyes from the sun beginning to blaze through the blinds of my window. I groaned quietly as I peeked through one eye. It was no dream: there he was.

It was March 18, and I couldn't believe the previous night had actually happened. Chin up, mouth agape, eyes closed, and completely naked, Adam was sprawled across my bed. This wasn't happening. I mean, it was, thank God, but how did it happen? I closed my eyes again and began to piece together the night before, a jigsaw with missing pieces and no discernible borders.

I had a vague memory of crashing into the elevator of my dorm, tangling into each other as soon as the door shut, half-sloppily making out and half-giggling uninhibitedly. Another vague memory of crashing into my dorm room, interrupting my roommate and his girlfriend, who were celebrating the holiday in their own way on the top bunk. I covered my eyes with my hands and told them not to go, not to let us interrupt their fun, that we'd be quiet. As if my sober roommate from Texas and his girlfriend wouldn't mind some gay bottom-bunk rocking in tandem with that of their top bunk. Angrily, they leaped down from the top bunk, storming out with their blankets-heading somewhere I couldn't care less about, as Adam and I laughed and fell into my own bed. Then it hit me in a flash what had happened next.

Now, the next day, I carefully turned my body and angled myself toward him. There he was, the prize possession of telemarketing, soundly snoring in my bunk bed. It's crazy how the carefree and ravenous things you can do with someone at two in the morning can make complete sense at the time, but in the glow of dawn just five hours later, they unspool a skein of questions and implications. Surely we both were consenting adults, but was he going to freak out waking up with a man? Will we even speak to each other tomorrow at work? Was it his first time, too?

Head pounding, I slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed to the bathroom as quietly as I could. I peed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, drank a glass of water, took two Advil, and looked in the mirror. Holy shit. Last night actually happened. I looked at my reflection and laughed under my breath at the ridiculousness of the situation. I was still unable to believe that the guy I had a crush on was in my bed. Through the pain of my hangover, I grinned.

Intending to sneak back into my sheets, I delicately opened the bathroom door and was surprised to see Adam, clothed, on the edge of my bed and tying his shoelaces.

I broke the silence. "Good morning . . . how are you feeling? Crazy night, no?"

"Yeah, the party was fun, thanks for letting me tag along," Adam replied nonchalantly. As if the most eventful part of our evening happened at the Jewish frat party. I froze in my tracks and looked at him, puzzled. Was he going to act like nothing had happened?

"Hey, uh, thanks for letting me crash, I should probably get going." He never met my eyes. I'd never seen anybody take such intense interest in his shoelaces.

"Oh, yeah, no problem," I said as he stood up. "You sure you have to go so soon?" I offered the glass of water I had poured for him, but he slipped past me.

"I'll see you at work," he said, already halfway out the door. And just like that, he was gone.

Holding two full glasses of water, I stood for a long time in my underwear, in the middle of my dorm room.

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