Tamara squints at the painfully bright light. Covering her eyes with her hands she pulls the blanket over her head. Blanket?
It’s a scratchy wool blanket. And it’s heavy. Smells like flowers. Lavender maybe?
Where’s the duvet? Peeking out from under the blanket again, and the light is like needles stabbing directly into her brain. A lot of frilly pink shit. She hates pink. She’s not home, it’s gotta be Barbie’s dream house.
Meow, stop it girl. Barbie is a good friend, just cause you’ve got a hangover is no reason to dis the girl, not even in your own head. Not her fault her mom’s so scary.
Stop it … stop it … you’re being a bitch again. You drank that shit all by your lonesome. Barbie was a saint, bringing you home. Uh oh. Didn’t you throw up on her?
God. And what day is it? What time? Can’t risk missing any more classes.
Sit up. Whoa girl, way too fast, the world is too damned unfocused. Except for the pointy bits stabbing directly into her brain. Gotta do something about the light.
Tamara pushes the blanket off and lowers her feet to the floor. Sure as hell seems a long way down. And it’s moving. How much did she drink to be still having bed spins in full daylight?
Ohmigod. Move slow. Hold onto the bed til the world stops spinning. Oh boy. Gotta kill the damned sunlight or she’s never gonna get out of this world of pain.
Stumble to the window, pull the heavy drapes. Much better. Now it’s muted. Cell phone … where is it?
Oh look. Her clothes are neatly folded on the delicate little café chair with the heart shaped back that sits so perkily in front of the vanity. Perched on top, like a cherry, is her cell phone.
Flipping it open she sees the battery is almost empty, and of course the charger is at home. It says it’s Friday and only nine thirty.
That’s something, anyway. No class til this afternoon. Thank god, time to get human. Might even be able to think by then.
Need the bathroom. Pull on the frilly pink – what else – kimono hanging from the back of the door.
Open the door a crack and peek out: the coast is clear. Tamara shuffles down to the bathroom.
Hanging the kimono on the hook, she kicks off panties and unsnaps her bra, dropping both on the floor as she reaches behind the curtain to start the shower.
Running water reminds her she has to pee. As she settles on the toilet she thinks that’s such a coarse way of putting it in such a delicate bathroom. The only word that could possibly be appropriate in this environment would be ‘tinkle’. The mists starts to obscure the sparkly unicorn wallpaper. Thank God.
Tamara steps into the shower, standing under the nozzle and the waves of warmth stream over her head. She can feel the tension melting away. As the pounding in her head starts to ease off, she thinks maybe her life is starting to feel bearable.
Until the tapping sound. It takes a minute to realize that someone is tapping on the door. She shuts off the shower.
“Yes?” she says, wincing at the noise of her own voice.
“Tam, it’s me.” Barbie says through the door. “I’ll be leaving for school in a half hour. You want a ride be ready.”
“Sure.” Tamara says. Head or no head, she doesn’t want to stay here with Godzilla mom. No way no how. “I’ll be ready.”
