Persistent knocking woke me and I glanced around, confused by the sound and the damp spot on my shirt. I'd slept on the couch? Peering over the back, I studied the untouched bed. It looked so comfortable. If the damn knocking would stop, I could climb over there and sleep.

I got to my feet and something sharp twisted in my stomach. With no time to make it to the bathroom, I grabbed the wastebasket and violently expelled most of a fifth of whiskey. The room spun, my nose and throat burned, and the infernal knocking grew louder.

"Joby!" More pounding at the door. "Are you okay?" Liv's voice was frantic and way too loud.

"Ugh." I gagged and threw up again before carrying my bucket of puke with me to let her in.

One second after opening the door, her jaw dropped, then she covered her face with her hand as the smell hit her. "Yikes, Joby. Are you alright?" She pushed her way in, closing the door behind her.

"I'm peachy. How did you get in here?" I asked as I moped toward the bathroom in search of my toothbrush.

"You didn't lock your office door, so I came on through. Yuck." The sounds of her straightening my living area would've been embarrassing if I wasn't more focused on my impending death.

Nausea swirled in my stomach, sending unpleasant chills over sweaty skin. My head throbbed with the beat of my pulse, and the lights above the mirror were blinding.

Squinting at myself, I almost recoiled from the zombie staring back. Gray skin and dull eyes circled in dark rings. Hair that may have never seen a brush. I was disgusting.

As I gargled mouthwash, trying to remove the taste and smell of puke, I realized I was lucky Liv was the one to wake me. If an employee had found me so disheveled and reeking of whiskey, it could've caused problems. If Mr. Harrison had shown up, I'd probably be fired.

She leaned into the bathroom and shoved a clean pair of sweatpants toward me. "Why don't you take a shower? I'll go grab drinks and something to settle your stomach."

"Thank you." I tried to smile, but it felt like more of a grimace.

Her eyes narrowed. "You better be here when I get back. We need to talk and it's only six. I know you have time."

"Yeah. I'm not going anywhere." I peeled my whiskey-soaked shirt away from my skin. "But I'll smell better."

"I freaking hope so."

Half an hour, two more vomits, and three teeth-brushings later, all traces of my little bender were erased from the apartment. I leaned back on the couch sipping water and hoping the Tylenol would kick in. At least the room ceased its twirling before Liv announced her return with a soft knock.

Rising at a sloth's pace, I crossed to the door and let her in along with the smell of strong coffee and a large paper sack from The Grind. I breathed in the life-giving scent. "You're a saint."

"I know." Liv grinned as she walked to the coffee table and started unpacking things. A bit of weight lifted from my shoulders—she didn't hate me. I knew she wouldn't cut me off, but that didn't mean she had to like me.

"Come on." She patted the couch and held up a Gatorade. "Drink this. I got us plain bagels, grits, bacon, and cheesy scrambled eggs. I wasn't sure if this was a situation for grease or bread."

Suddenly starving, and unable to remember my last meal, I said, "Both, please." Taking half a bagel, a small cup of buttery grits, and the electrolyte drink, I settled and waited for her to collect her breakfast.

Sitting back with two pieces of bacon poking out of her grits, she wiggled her fingers at me. "You better get going. That hangover won't fix itself."

Tearing off a bite of the bagel, I chewed and cracked the lid off the lemon-lime drink. After using it to wash that first bite down, I took a deep breath and relaxed. Just that little bit was enough to tell me this was what my stomach needed.

"Thanks, Liv. This is really helping."

"No problem." She dipped her bacon back in the grits and took a bite. "If you'd called, I would've brought hangover food with me. Or I could've been here last night to prevent this. You just have to let me be here for you."

Unable to meet her eyes, I stared at the coffee cups on the table. "I thought you'd be mad at me."

"Oh, I am. You're an idiot. But I still love you."

Idiot wasn't a strong enough word. Tears filled my eyes and Liv grabbed a napkin, passing it to me. "I'm sorry. I hate that you're hurting. But what did you expect? This is the twenty-first century. Did you think Nate would want to be confirmed bachelors and roommates? How long was he supposed to be happy being your fake friend while you're too scared to claim him publicly?"

She was right. Still, anger heated the back of my neck. "It wasn't fake. He was my best friend. Nate let me be myself. He felt like home and I fucked it all up." My voice cracked on a sob and her face softened.

My gaze shot away from her pity to the yellow drink in my hand as I caught my breath. "I'm aware of how pathetic and selfish I was. I know he can do better."

"Joby." Her voice was soft as she popped her breakfast trash into the takeout bag and moved closer to me. Patting my knee, she said, "No one could do better than you, if you'd just be yourself all the time. The problem isn't with you, it's with the way you're handling things."

That distinction didn't seem any better to me, so I just shrugged in response, making her sigh. "You need to think about what you want from life, and how to get it."

That was easy to say. "Yeah. I know."

"Is there anything I can do before I go?" she asked, glancing around the room. "It looks like you have things back in order."

I wanted to ask about Nate. How was he? Had he already moved on?

But I couldn't put my sister in that position with her friend, and I had no right to ask. Even though clearly annoyed, she'd still come to check on me and try to be supportive. I wouldn't push her.

"Nah. Breakfast was plenty. I'm glad you came."

Liv stood and bent to kiss the top of my head. "I love you, even if you do stupid things."

"Thanks."

She grinned and headed toward the door. Before it shut behind her, I called, "Love you too."

Thanks for reading! 💜