An Invitation

“Dude, what're you doing for Memorial Day?” I pondered Scott's question for a moment. Should I be doing something that weekend? Do I need to be doing anything that weekend? I'm horrible at remembering my personal schedule. As a result, I said that I'd have to check with Sarah Jean.

“Who's that?” When I responded that she was my girlfriend, which still sounds weird to say for some reason, he reacted with surprise. “Really? Good for you man. Was starting to think Heather messed you up too much. Not that you didn't like girls or anything like that, just that you maybe didn't trust 'em anymore or somethin'. Know what I mean?”

I assured him that I did. “Alright then. You check with her and stop by if you can. You know where the home is now. It'd be nice to see you again, especially if you have a pretty gal with you. Then I don't haveta look at your ugly mug so much.”

I laughed at his joke and he chuckled knowing that I wasn't offended. How could I be offended? Sarah Jean's much easier to look at than me. I see myself in the mirror all the time and it's not at all interesting a visage. “Alright boss, see ya soon.”

What Do You Mean, Sarah Jean Who?

Chris was pondering this information. “Have I met this young lady?” I gave him a strange look. They'd met many times before, mostly at my house. After reminding him of that fact, he exclaimed “Oh, that Sarah Jean.”

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You thought I might know two redheaded young ladies with the somewhat unique name of Sarah Jean?”

Chris remained calm of voice but distressed in expression. “It should come as little surprise that I am not terribly familiar with what passes for popular names these days. My focus is elsewhere.”

“It's not like I'm dating a child here,” I protested.

“To me she might as well be,” he informed. “My perspective on such matters is different from yours. At my age you are but a babe yourself. Are you even thirty yet?”

“Soon enough,” I bemoaned.

“Yes, well, get back to me when you crest one hundred. We'll discuss age again at that point,” he expressed. After I teased him about being crotchety tonight, he admitted it was so. “I may well not be the best of company at the moment. Julia has not been well of late, nothing serious mind, but she has needed some time off from duties to recuperate. The tear in reality proved to be most distressing. I am not quite sure I've recovered from that circumstance.” Out of concern and curiosity, I asked for more detail on his reality tear story but he waved me off. “I fear I have no tale of action as you do Patrick. I was physically aware of the rend. It pulled and tore at me in a significant manner. Most distressing.”

“I'm sorry I didn't check on you sooner. I didn't know,” I apologized.

“I did not wish the information to become public while I was laid low so that my enemies might consider taking advantage.”

“There is that,” I agreed. “Still I could have brought you the vampire equivalent of chicken noodle soup or something.”

Chris smiled. “A kind offer but I think you would consider the 'vampire chicken soup' rather unpleasant.”

He's probably right.

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.”

Bam!

I was valiantly attempting to defend baseball as an entertaining sport to Dr. Castillo when Sarah Jean approached me. I was leaning upon the mantle, gesturing with my right hand and, when it returned to me, it did so with a Sarah Jean attached. She slid into me, leaning deeply into me. It was one of those hugs that was very casual, not so much a hug as a using me to prop her up, with her personage trying the meld with my own. Loosely she grinned up at me. “Hi.”

Sarah Jean is a trained professional. She does not use her abilities for personal gain or just for show. She has 'switches' of a fashion in her mind to prevent her subconscious mind from roaming in an unfocused manner when she is asleep or unconscious or medicated.

I'm not completely sure what happened at this point. Everything was fine, I felt good, the last of the wine's effects leaving me. Then Sarah Jean leaned into me and I felt very good indeed. My brain fuzzed over immediately. Don't get me wrong, I do feel that Sarah Jean's presence is intoxicating and especially so her physical form, but this was ridiculous. In retrospect, I think our physical contract opened up one of those 'switches', allowing her fogged mental condition to affect me. My response to her was intelligent. “Hi.”

Dr. Castillo's grin grew mightier, shining like the crescent moon in the sky. “My friends, I sense I am no longer needed here.” He wandered off.

The suddenness of this drunk made it difficult for me to react. I recall trying to turn in order to better hold her but this movement almost proved disastrous. There was weebling as well as wobbling but no falling down. Before I could attempt another ill conceived physical movement, I was assisted. Dr. Castillo grabbed Sarah Jean's free arm, helping lift us from the mantle. Ms. Romero grabbed my free arm. We were surrounded. Suddenly we were walking.

I don't know exactly what occurred during that process. I know I focused most of my mental energies towards the picking up of one foot in order to successfully put it in front of the other. I was also aware of Ms. Romero's hot breath in my ear. I've the impression that she was speaking but none of the words were comprehensible to me. I do know what happened at the end of the process. Sarah Jean and I were guided to a bed and deposited there as gently as possible. As I fought to regain some clarity, our hosts departed the room. After the door clicked closed, it clicked again. We were locked in.

Add Wine and Stir

After this concerning start, the remainder of dinner passed by without incident. There was good food, good conversation, good friends. We were relaxed. At least I was. This was due to good wine.

I may not drink it often but I do like wine. I know precious little about it. I know people that know vintages and how long to let it breathe and all that sort of thing. I am not that guy. I have an idea of what I like and I drink that. I am not fancy about it at all.

Part of the reason I don't drink wine often is that it tends to relax me more than I'm comfortable with when I'm out and about. With most other alcoholic beverages, I'm familiar with how I react to them and have known limits. The impact of wine is harder for me to accurately judge. It seems to be more variable than other alcoholic beverages. I blame the grapes. Wine has the highest possibility of sending me from zero to drunk.

Under normal operating situations, this was something to be concerned about. Given that I would be driving later this evening, it was something to be extra concerned about. Given that Ms. Romero is difficult to resist when sober, well, you can see my problem. I reasoned that, if for reason I were to take Ms. Romero up on her offer, I wouldn't want to do it when drunk. If that was going to happen, I felt it would be something I would want to remember, not be told about after returning from a blackout. I was talked into a second glass during dinner and I resolved within myself that was going to be my limit.

This was all well and good, a fine decision to make. However, I had not considered all the factors at play. Mostly, I'd not considered Sarah Jean.

Honestly, this should come as no surprise. It has been what feels like forever since I was last seriously accompanied anywhere by a young lady. I know she's smart and I trust her. What I had not considered was that I didn't really know her tolerance levels, especially for something like wine, and know that would affect me.

I had paced out my intake of the wine and its effects on me, while pleasurable, had been minimal. I was still in control of myself. The combination of factors had hit Sarah Jean enough to dent her sense. When Ms. Romero offered her an after dinner drink in the living room, she readily agreed.

This is when the evening got complicated.