Trying to Make Things Better

After that round of activity and some white soda Sarah Jean felt better enough that she let me move her to the bed. By the time I had her tucked in, safe and sound, Ms. Romero returned with silky pajamas and the offer of assisting Sarah Jean with the process of changing into them if I was not competent enough to do so myself. Now comfortable and reclined, she politely turned down this offer. Ms. Romero cooed warmly over Sarah Jean, offering to leave them behind in the event that she changed her mind.

While her manner over Sarah Jean was apologetic but normal, her expression upon turning away was sad and wracked with guilt. I watched this pain from my position curled up in the comfy chair in the corner that I had taken as my own. As I observed her, I decided enough was enough. Before Ms. Romero could leave the room, I rose in order to thank her for the offer, as well as the non-alcoholic beverages she had brought us in order to rehydrate Sarah Jean. My kind words were taken as the forgiveness they were mean to be and were responded to with a big hug of thanks. I don't know what I've done to deserve her friendship or that of her husband but they seem to mean well enough, even if they show it in strange ways.

With the mood thusly lightened and Ms. Romero once again departed, I decided I'd check on Sarah Jean. Coherency and control were returning to her in small stages. Carefully I brushed a piece of hair from her face. “Need anything while I'm up? More water maybe?” She moaned and turned away from me. “Something wrong?” I asked the question before I could really think about it. It was a dumb question in a lot of ways. I knew something was wrong, she obviously was in a great deal of physical discomfort, but what I wanted to know was more specific to this action on her part. I was tired. This was made more clear by my equally simple follow-up question. “How can I help?”

She responded but these words were lost in the pillow. My request for repetition just made things worse. Pain in her voice, she directed “Don't look at me.”

I was confused. I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned towards her, causing her to bury herself further into the pillow. “Why not?” I innocently asked.

“I look hideous,” was her explanation.

This made no sense to me. “You look fine to me.”

“I do not,” she protested, the sound of tears appearing in her voice. She sniffed, mucus bubbling in her nasal passages. “My makeup's all over the place and I'm all snotty and just leave me alone.”

I tried to rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. For a moment I sat there watching her bury herself in a pillow in the center of this large bed, almost out of my reach. Her red hair may have been wild and scattered, but it still glowed and glistened in the light. Learning in, I tried to touch her again bit as soon as my fingers contacted her, she flinched again to remove me, muttering as she did so.

Eventually I can take a hint. She wanted me to leave her alone. “Okay. Fine. Sleep well. Feel better.” I stood up to return to my comfy chair and there paused. “As you sleep, take this thought with you. I watched you be sick and I still think you're beautiful.” Quickly I leaned in and kissed her on the back of the head. Got hair in my mouth and everything. That done, I could head to the chair in peace, departing from that goal only to dim the lights.

Curling up in my comfy chair, I found that it reclined, quite the bonus. As I leaned back, I hoped that she would fall asleep before me as I'm told I snore a bit. “Patrick?” I grunted my response to Sarah Jean's request. “Thank you.” I muttered back a tired “Welcome” in response. It was a particularly comfy chair.

Hair Holder

Thankfully making contact with Sarah Jean's hair didn't seem to be enough to fully activate our connection. I really didn't want to experience the situation any more than I did. So, thank goodness for that at least.

When the purging was complete, she moaned and groaned as she resisted my efforts to help her up, choosing to curl up on the bathroom floor instead. Unfortunately being familiar with her general situation, I let her rest there for the moment.

Now that all was mostly quiet in the suite and my mind was functional again, it was easy for me to hear the door unlock and open. I hurried to investigate, finding Ms. Romero in the bedroom, wearing her robe of soft slippery material, and looking a bit put out. “I was unaware that this would be so complicated. You should be naked by now. Do you require help? I can help.”

“That won't be necessary,” I coldly informed her. “Sarah Jean's not feeling very well at the moment.”

Concern appeared on Ms. Romero's face. “She is not?”

“No she's not. She appears to be a bit drunk at the moment. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that.”

She paused, guilt mixing in with the concern on her face. “I just provided her with wine. I was just trying to help. Sarah Jean said...”

I interrupted. “I'm sure she said a lot a things once the wine got to her. I mean, did you think me incapable to getting her drunk if that was my goal?”

Ms. Romero wilted in the heat of my anger. “Patrick, I am so sorry. This is not what I meant to have happen at all. Please believe me.”

She seemed close to tears and that ate at my indignation. I tried to not let it show. “Yes. I'm confident I know what you meant to have happen.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah Jean fight to get up and I knew she didn't mean to join in the conversation, not in that way anyway. Moving back towards the bathroom, I noted “We'll get out of your hair once she settles down.”

Ms. Romero half followed me. “Please, stay the night. Let her rest. The ride in the car will not be pleasant at this point.” After a pause, she added “I will fetch soda water.” I heard her depart.

I didn't answer. I was too busy holding hair.

Spin Room, Spin!

Being locked in was not an immediate concern. It was not as if my brain said 'what? Locked in a bedroom with a beautiful but drunk woman? I must escape before things become problematic!' My thoughts were more along the lines of 'I noticed that? How did I notice that? The room is all spinny. Whee!' as I lay on the foot of the bed.

Sarah Jean rolled into me, deliberately I think. I took it as an attempt to upgrade our 'arm around her' back to the 'side hug' that I'd been enjoying while we were standing. “Hi.”

“Hullo yourself,” I slurred just enough to notice. “How you doin'?”

“I doin' great,” she informed. I felt her smile rather than saw it. She has a very potent smile which makes it glow and you can feel its warmth. “Patrick. You know what?”

“Chickenbutt?” I checked.

She giggled and swatted at me with her slightly free hand. “No. We're in a bedroom.” This was true, an excellent observation to be able to make while in her condition. “We're lying on a bed.” This also was an accurate statement and I congratulated her for making it. “You know what we should do?”

“Take a nap?” I was beginning to tire of the spinnyness of the room. A nap should fix that problem.

She giggled again.”No,” she said, managing to give a two letter word three syllables. She also started tickling me. Quickly her drunken mind recalled the location of my particularly ticklish spots and I was fighting to stop her. The combination of spinny room and tickle was not a very pleasant experience. Suddenly she caught a sensitive area, I jumped severely, and we were separated.

Clarity snapped back into place. I became coherent so quickly that it hurt. When your thought process snap from snail's pace back up to normal, I suppose that will happen. Thoughts and concerns flooded into my brain, only to disappear back into the fog as Sarah Jean climbed atop me. As she giggled, she made contact with me and the world became easier to deal with once again.

“There you are silly,” she slurred. Curled up atop me, she leaned in and kissed me.

When she pulled back, her expression looked significantly changed, much more green than before. As the feeling of nausea began to roll over me as well, she staggered away from me, heading for the attached bathroom.

At least this time I was better prepared for the pain of separation. I fought my way to my feet to follow her, aware that the gentlemanly thing to do under the circumstances would be to assist Sarah Jean with her long hair. Holding my head, I muttered “Nice to know that kissing me makes you sick.”