Score: Runaway - Ed Sheeran

Lydia

Of course, there is a line for the women's toilets already. Like, in every situation, where more than three women are gathered in one place. I suppress another hiccup and try to think of a Plan B before I am sick in the hallway.

How humiliating! How did I get into this state?

After a whole day of binge drinking on an empty stomach, my rational mind smirks.

I ignore her, which has become my regular response to her recently. 

I wander around, knowing that I can't possibly wait the line, and see a flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. This is a hotel, there probably are other toilets on the next floor, my drunken mind manages to conclude, and I head for the stairs.

I stumble to the next floor, tripping on the steps, but managing not to fall over somehow, and, sure enough, there are toilets down the corridor and to the right. I reach the ladies' room and immediately head for a stall, not able to hold myself anymore. As soon as the door closes behind me, I am on my knees, retching.

I curse myself for drinking all of this champagne. It doesn't taste nearly as good coming out, then it did going in. I know my makeup is ruined, I can feel my eyes tear up, as I pour my soul out into the toilet. I wish Alex was here, to hold my hair back.

I hear someone come in, as I gag and feel instantly ten times worse. I really don't want anyone to see me like this. Luckily, the girls who have just come in don't seem to mind what's going on in my stall, as they go into the one next to it to do some coke. I can hear them sniffing, then laughing, before they leave the toilet.

I am relieved that I am alone again.

After what seems like forever, I finally stop throwing up and lean on the toilet to catch my breath. I feel horrible.

No, horrible is an understatement. I feel worse than horrible, and guilty, as I have brought this upon myself. I try to stand up on my feet but am sick again, so I bend over and let it all out.

Oh, God, when will it stop?

Finally, I am able to stand up and walk out of the stall. Thankfully, no one's entered the toilets after the two snotty girls, which is good, because the last thing I need right now is to be even more embarrassed than I already am.

I stand in front of the counter and look in the mirror. I look like a complete and utter mess, but I feel ten times worse.

I splash some cold water on my face, further damaging my make-up, which I paid hundreds of pounds for, and I rinse my mouth. I wish I had some gum, or some tissues in that useless little purse.

I can't go back to the party downstairs like this. I look horrendous and I don't think I can make it through. All I want is to get something greasy to eat, and maybe a coffee or a cup of tea, and go to sleep. And then sleep until I forget what a mess I am right now.

I contemplate calling Patrick and telling him to come pick me up so that we can go straight to the Rosewood, but I can't. He'll be so pissed off. And he'd have all the right to be, for me ruining prom.

I consider briefly getting a taxi and going straight to the Rosewood to wait for him there but dismiss the idea almost instantly. I will have to face him when he gets there if I go, and I don't want to. I need to sober up, I want to be able to think straight, when I talk to him, there are so many things we need to talk about.

I also toy with the idea of calling Alex, or Gloria to ask them to come and save me from my misery, but I don't want to ruin their night, either. They are all probably downstairs at the party having fun right now, at their prom, at our prom, which was supposed to be one of the most fun nights for us, to celebrate our seven years of being together. I have already ruined it for myself, I cannot ruin it for my friends, too.

I even consider going back to Colin's flat. Yes, I am that desperate.

That seems like the best-case scenario, but I really don't want him to see me like that. I hate that I am this drunk, and as him being a drunk is the thing I despise the most about him, among other things, I don't want to show up at his face, being exactly like him. I won't give him the pleasure of seeing me weak.

What else can I do? Where else can I go?

Just as I think I am stuck in this toilet for the rest of the evening, my phone buzzes in my purse. I retrieve it to see a message from Mark. I don't bother reading it but take a deep breath, and as if on autopilot, I call him.

God! What am I doing!?

Just as I am about to hang up, Mark picks up.

"Hey," I hear his voice on the other end of the line.

A vortex of emotions that I can't detangle in my present state, come rushing into my body and mind, as I hear his soft voice for the first time in three weeks. But, at the same time, panic grabs at my intoxicated brain.

Why did I call him? What do I want from him?

I want him to come pick me up and drive me away, far away from this hotel, from Patrick, and from prom.

I note that someone else is trying to reach me by the sound coming through the speaker, interrupting the line. Somehow, I know it is Patrick, which makes a ball of cotton materialize in my throat.

"Hi," I say back finally, making a real effort to sound less intoxicated than I actually am, as I say the next words:

"W'atssup?" I fail miserably. I feel like my tongue is stuck to the roof of my dry mouth.

"Are you okay? Is everything okay?" He sounds alarmed.

"No," I answer curtly and sit on the cold tile. "I need help."

"What's wrong?"

"I... I had way too much to drink...I am sick...I cannot go back to the party," the words come out as a sob.

Great.
Just. Great.

The alcohol is making me sound way too vulnerable. I would rather go without this drama shit. Come pick me up, get a takeout on the way, something fatty, ideally, drive me somewhere I can sleep. End of story. It's not that big of an issue.

But of course, I sound like a fucking damsel in distress.

"Where are you?" He asks and I swear I can hear his keys rattling in the background.

"Some hotel in Camden town. Can you come pick me up, please? I'll share the location with you."

"Why are you calling me? Aren't you supposed to be there with your boyfriend and friends?" He asks, annoyance creeping into his voice.

He's not coming, my subconscious tells me, and I envision taping her mouth with two-inch duct tape and locking her away in a closet.

"Please, Mark...I feel horrible... I need to get away from here... I cannot go home like this...Just... please, let me know if you're coming, or I will try someone else. I... just...I need to get away from here. Please." I beg. I feel miserable, sitting on the cold floor of the toilet, my head throbbing, the world spinning around me.

"Stay there. I am coming. I need twenty minutes to get to Camden." He says, and my heart jumps with relief.

"Where exactly are you?"

"I am in the bathroom in the second-floor hallway," I tell him, and really hope he'd actually come.

"Very specific, but totally useless." He says. "Whereabouts in Camden?"

"Oh...I'm not sure. I'll share the location with you, as I said."

"Ok... just stay there. I will call you when I get there".

"OK".

"OK."

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"You're really coming, right?" God, I sound desperate! I can hear him chuckle.

"Yeah, of course, I am coming. Just stay there."

"Thank you!"

I share my location with him. And now, I wait.

I get to my feet and check myself out in the mirror. I look like crap. I wet a hand tissue under the sink and try to wipe the smeared mascara from under my eyes. It does not work. I bend over the sink and take a drink of water directly from the tap.

My phone starts to ring and I check it, only to see Alex's number flashing on the screen. I ignore the call. I have two more missed calls, both from Patrick.

They are looking for me.

Is anyone going to find me here, in this bathroom? Do I want them to find me before Mark comes to pick me up?

I open the bathroom door a tad and peek my head through the crack. I can hear music and voices coming through from the party downstairs. I can also hear laughter coming from the hallway and I quickly get back inside.

I jump in alarm, as my phone rings in my hand again. I see Mark's number and my shattered nerves immediately relax.

"Hey!"

"Hi! You here already?" It took him less than 20 minutes. I am impressed.

"Yeah, I just pulled up at the entrance. This place is crowded, do you want me to come inside and wait for you somewhere?"

"No!" I nearly shout in the phone.

How am I going to get out of here? The entire final year of my school is downstairs. I cannot risk running into Patrick, Alex, Nate, and Gloria as I sneak my drunk ass out of my own prom, in Mark's car, at that. They are probably already looking for me all over the place. I have been away for nearly an hour. What am I going to do?

"Can you wait in your car, please? Or at the Reception desk? I am sure it will all go quiet soon," I say, terribly sorry that I called him now. Is he really going to wait for me for God knows how long, in his car until the party downstairs wears off? He drove to fucking Camden for me, and now I am asking him to wait here? Why the hell would he do that?!

"No, Lydia! This is ridiculous! Either bring your drunk ass down here, right now, or I am leaving!"

"Okay, Okay, just...let me think, OK?"

This place has to have a back entrance or something. Right!?

I get out of the bathroom, with Mark still on the phone, and walk down the hallway, in the direction, opposite the stairs. There is a lit Exit sign above a fire door at the end, so I hope there is an emergency staircase or something there. As I reach it, my prayers are answered and I see stairs through the glass of the fire exit door.

"You still there?" Mark asks as I push the door open and run, as fast as my heels and the amount of alcohol in my blood allow me, down the stairs. I come up to the double doors of a small fire exit on the ground floor. I don't answer him, but I push the door open and get outside. I look around and take a second to take in my surroundings.

I am at a parking lot. There's a barrier with the hotel's name at the far end, and the platform, leading to the underground parking is right next to it.

"Mark? I am at the back of the hotel, right where the ground-level parking lot is," I tell him. I can hear him sigh in frustration.

"Stay there," he says and hangs up.

I look around while waiting for his car to appear from around the corner, and then look at my phone. I have three more missed calls, one from Patrick, Alex, and Gloria each. I bite my bottom lip, guilt flooding through my brain and jumbling my thoughts. I compose a simple "I am fine. Had too much to drink. Going home now. Will see you tomorrow. I am sorry!" text, and send it to all three of them. I turn my phone off and hope that they will stop worrying and calling me for tonight. I will have to deal with them tomorrow, but I don't care now. I have a splitting headache already and my stomach is making weird noises again. Oh, God, I hope I don't throw up in Mark's car...

Just as the thought creeps in, I see a familiar Discovery coming from around the far corner of the building.

He'll be sooo pissed, if I am sick in his father's SUV...

He pulls up right in front of me and I get in the car as quick as I can.

"Thank you!" The relief in my voice is 100% sincere. He points at the cupholders in between us and I can see two large Starbucks Lattes there, Caramel and all.

I smile and take the hot cup in my hands. Its warmth feels so soothing.

"So...Whereto, Princess?" He asks.

I feel as if I have turned into the pumpkin, though. And I don't really have an answer.

"I... I dunno...just...anywhere, besides my place, or Patrick's..."

"You don't know where you want me to take you? I thought you'd have that figured out by now. What do you want from me - just to drive you around?"

I know the whole situation is annoying, I get it, I really do, but him snapping at me really doesn't help much.

"I...Don't know... let's just leave here, I will think of something..."

He shakes his head, but starts the car, and, as we reach the barrier, he checks his visitor's pass, and pulls into the traffic.

I try really hard to make my drunken mind come up with an idea, but all the places that I can think of, I don't want to be right now.

At last, I decide that my father's flat is the least terrible option. Ironic, I know.

"Take me to my dad's," I say with a deep sigh, as I take a sip from my Latte.

"You said you didn't want to go there." There's no judgment in his voice now, only concern.

"Yea, well, I have nowhere else to go, do I?" I snap, a little too harshly. I didn't mean to be mean, but I am just soo pissed off at myself for the situation I put my sorry ass in. I single-handedly ruined what was supposed to be one of the best nights in my life.

Mark shakes his head again, with a deep sigh, and then says:

"Do you want to come to my place?"