Juice turned on the water and held his mouth under the tap. It didn't erase the bitter taste in his mouth and he brushed his teeth with a big blob of toothpaste. His head was pounding with every move he made; his stomach was still upset. He was hungry, but he was sure he would throw up the slightest bit of food. 

"Oh fuck man," he sighed when he turned around and discovered that most of tonight's puke had ended up next to toilet instead of in it. The sight of it made the bile creep up again, quickly he returned to his bedroom. He would clean that later, once his stomach was a little calmer. 

Before he sat down on the edge of the bed, he slammed some water and painkillers. What the hell had happened yesterday? Sure, he had been blind drunk many times, but there hadn't been a special party last night – it had just been a regular Saturday night. He had shared some drinks with Tig and then...

"Fuck." He remembered flashes. Had he called Abigail? Or wait – he had sent her texts. Suddenly an image crossed his mind, where he had been jerking off. That wasn't exactly something he had never done before, but still it caused a nasty feeling in his stomach. 

No, I didn't, right...?

His headache became ten times worse as he took his phone from the nightstand. Immediately he looked into the last conversation with her. His heart was racing in his chest, but even before he had read one of the messages he knew that he had screwed up. He felt so nervous that he couldn't even read the sentences, but when he first saw a picture where he was shirtless and later one where he was only wearing boxers, he felt sicker and sicker. 

"Oh shit man. Oh fuck," he kept repeating as he read the texts that had been sent. From the beginning she had sounded annoyed, and even being drunk he didn't know how he couldn't have pick that up. His answer that she had wanted to do things with him during Halloween, filled him with shame, although it paled at the sight of the video of which he watched the first seconds. 

Tears stung his eyes, he couldn't remember he had ever felt so ashamed. Her last message, in which she wrote that this was the most disgusting thing someone had ever done to her, that she felt humiliated and that he had fucked up their friendship, hit him hard. 

He lowered his phone, supporting his head with his hands. Fuck. How could he have done this? What the hell should he do now? He didn't want to give her up, not because of something so stupid like this. He however knew she wouldn't answer the phone and would ignore his texted apologies, and he didn't think that was enough either. 

If he wanted to save their friendship, he needed to talk to her in person.

And so he took a quick shower, put his clothes on and searched for her address on the internet. It was still early in the morning, and as far as he knew, nothing was planned for this Sunday. Hopefully he would be back before someone had missed him. 

Imagine that she will show that video and conversation to her father...

Fear squeezed his throat. God – what if she would really do that? What if she felt so hurt that she believed this was the ultimate payback? Then he wouldn't only lose her, but also the club – his safety. Even though he might not even need protection anymore; there was a big chance that Chibs would kill him himself. 

. . .

Twice he had to stop at the side of the road to throw up. That he was still having a hell of a hangover wasn't helping either, but it were mainly shame and fear that were shaking up his body. 

As soon as he neared the student flat where she was living, his whole body was shaking. He was so scared that he was afraid to cry before he would even reach her door. Taking a few deep breaths, he crossed the street towards a small mall where he bought the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find. She would probably refuse them, but he didn't want to arrive with empty hands and for some reason the fresh scent of the flowers calmed him down a little. 

Stabs were plaguing his stomach as he walked back and entered the flat. Afraid of a panic attack inside a narrow space as the elevator, he decided to take the stairs. When he reached the third floor a few minutes later, he was already out of breath. 

Before he could knock on the door, he leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. His face was glowing, he felt sweat gliding down his back.

"Come on," he whispered to himself. "You're the one who fucked this up."

He raised his hand and drummed his knuckles against the wood. Nervously he swallowed, preparing for the worst; that she would slam the door into his face. 

Footsteps came closer. The bouquet was shaking in his hand, his heart was racing so wild in his chest that he feared his ribs would be bruised again. 

The door opened. 

It however wasn't Abigail who opened the door, but another black haired girl. She glanced briefly at him, then she flashed him a wide grin. 

"Hi Juice. You're gonna give us a live performance now?" she winked. 

His cheeks turned flaming red, and he murmured a denial. "Uh... Is Abigail around?"

"She's showering, don't think it will take much longer. You can wait inside."

Juice nodded gratefully. All his muscles were so tensed that he was afraid he could collapse any moment. She gestured him to sit down on the left bed, which he did. He stared at the stems of the flowers; he had squeezed them so hard some of them were broken.

He didn't dare to look up, even though he knew her roommate was studying him from the other bed. Luckily she asked no questions. In silence he listened to the shower raining down on the other side of the wall, and when it was turned off he was so nervous he was afraid to puke again. 

Not much later the bathroom door opened. Skittishly he glanced up – and a shock went through his body as he saw that she was only wearing lingerie. Her towel she had wrapped around her head. 

She froze the moment she saw him. 

"Oh fuck," he stammered. "Sorry. Sorry Abigail. I'll wait at the hallway. Sorry," he rambled, quickly turning around and fleeing the room, even though he wasn't sure she would invited him back in. 

Shakily, he leaned against the wall. People walked past, looking curiously at him. He stared past them, still feeling so nervous he was close to tears. 

After what felt like eternity, the door was opened. Hopefully he looked at Abigail. She closed the door behind her and answered his glance in silence. 

"I'm so sorry," he started. "I don't know what came over me. I was drunk and I missed you and Tig said..." He took a deep breath. No, he couldn't blame Tig. That would only make her more furious. "I wasn't thinking," he said in a tiny voice. "I was really drunk."

"Yeah I figured that out," she answered coldly. "There was no need to tell me that in person."

"I want to apologize. And not with another dumb message." He held out his hand with the flowers. "I'm really sorry Abigail. You have no idea how ashamed I feel."

"Apparently not that much that you don't dare to look me in the eye again," she huffed, without making a move to take the flowers from him. "I go back inside Juice. Bye."

His shoulders slumped down. In disbelief, he stared at her. Sure – he had been afraid things would go this way, but her words still hurt. 

"I made a mistake," he murmured. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Not if I block your number, no."

"Abby, please..." He didn't care that he was begging. "It was just a drunk thing. Please, give me another chance. I just – I just wanna be friends."

She sighed. "I don't think you can be ' just friends' with me, Juice. I assume you don't send videos like that to all your friends."

"But have you never done something stupid when you were drunk?" he still tried.

"I'm only embarrassing myself when I'm drunk. You humiliated me. You knew my friends were there."

Juice wanted to claim that he hadn't been able to think about anything at all that moment, but he knew there was no point in it. As for her, their friendship was over. And he couldn't exactly force her into anything. 

Hesitating, he tried to hand her the bouquet once more. "Please – please take these. As I sign of my regret."

"No, I don't want any reminder of this. I just want you to leave me alone."

She turned around and reached for the door handle. 

"Wait!" He grabbed her shoulder. "You're gonna – you're gonna tell your dad?"

She looked over her shoulder. Her eyes looked like embers. "So that's the real reason you're here? You're afraid they're gonna kick you out?"

"I don't want to lose you and the club because of one drunk night. Please Abigail. I'm good as dead without them. I know that you're pissed, but you do care at least a little about me, right?"

"I dunno Juice. Maybe I thought you could just fill the void that Opie left behind when he was sent to jail. It was a stupid thought."

Her words stung. Was it true? Was he just a replacement? "I don't believe that," he said softly. "If that was true, you wouldn't have felt so hurt now."

"I don't give a shit what you believe or not. Go away Juice. I let you know if I start to miss you, but don't hold your hopes up high."

His shoulders hung down helplessly. There was nothing more he could say. "And your dad?" he asked quietly. 

She looked up to him, her jaw clenched. "You'll find out soon enough."

She slammed the door behind her. Defeated, Juice stared at the ground. But as he headed for the exit, annoyance crept underneath his skin. He understood why she was pissed – but come on, she was really overreacting now. Since she had grown up around the club, he was sure she had done her own share of stupid things when she was drunk. 

By the time he stood outside, he threw the flowers on the ground, crushed them underneath his boots and rushed to his bike.