Page 26 of Clinically Bewitched
Unfocused.
That was one word for it.
Other words included... drunk, desperate, questioning every life choice that had led to this moment, and seriously considering whether passing out face-first on the bar would be preferable to continuing this conversation.
“I’m fine,” I heard myself say.
My voice sounded strange. Distant. Like it was coming from underwater.
“Are you sure? Because you’re swaying a little bit and—”
“I’mfine,” I said again, more forcefully this time.
I was not fine.
I was the opposite of fine.
I was so far from fine that fine was a distant memory, a concept I’d once understood but could no longer grasp.
But admitting that would require acknowledging reality, and we’d already established that reality was unacceptable. So I ordered another drink. And another.
And possibly several more after that—though at that point I’d lost the ability to count or form coherent thoughts or do anything other than desperately hope that the universe, her universe, the one she kept talking about, would take pity on me and make her disappear.
It didn’t.
She just kept talking. And I just kept drinking. And somewhere in the pleasant, fuzzy darkness that was rapidly consuming my consciousness, I had one final, crystal-clear thought.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Many... many hours later, I woke up. Or at least, I thought I woke up. It was hard to tell because my head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, my mouth tasted like something had died in it, and the room was spinning in a way that suggested I might still be drunk.
Actually, I was almost positive I was still drunk.
I lay there for a moment, trying to remember where I was.
Vegas. Right. I was in Vegas. For the TED Talk. Which I’d given. And then... something had happened. Something involving a bar and whiskey and...
Oh God.
Oh God!
The memories came flooding back in horrifying fragments. The woman. The cosmic energy. The endless talking. The drinking. So much drinking.
I sat up very slowly, immediately regretted it, and stumbled toward what I hoped was the bathroom.
I made it just in time.
Several minutes later, after I’d finished using the facilities, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror (pale, disheveled, looking like death warmed over), I stumbled back into the bedroom.
And froze.
There was someone in my bed.
Someone naked.
Someone with wild curly hair spread across my pillow.
No.
