Blast From The Past 3 Read Free Page A

room. I knew exactly where I was—in Tommy’s bed, in Tommy’s apartment—but I had no idea how I ended up there.
    Well, of course, I knew how I’d ended up at Tommy’s apartment the evening before, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how I’d ended up in his bed. To the best of my recollection, I’d only had five bottles of beer, and, at this stage in my life, I was well equipped to handle much, much more.
    Five beers over the course of a few hours wasn’t enough to knock me out cold or wipe my memory clean—but, somehow, they had… Or, had they?
    I’d been socially drinking for over a decade, and had had my share of benders and crazy nights out. But I was never one to pass out or black out so completely, and it didn’t seem likely that this type of pattern would happen so late in life, and not with so little booze.
    But this was the second time in just a few days that something like this had happened to me—and, both times it happened when I was with Tommy. I didn’t like how things were adding up.
    My stomach started to churn, and I felt an uneasiness all over my body. I looked down at my tummy as it made a strange noise, and I was slightly comforted when I saw that, at least this time, I was still wearing my own clothes.
    All of a sudden, I realized that the churning and uneasiness I felt wasn’t just because of the thoughts I was having, but also because my body was rebelling against the “poison,” as Tommy had referenced it, I’d put inside it. I jumped off the bed and ran straight to the bathroom, thankful that I knew where it was.
    Instantly, I fell to my knees and let loose in front of the toilet, filling the bowl with a nasty, food-speckled fluid. Tommy must have heard the commotion, and he came running in.
    “You really can’t handle your booze,” he said with a bit of chuckle. He leaned against the doorframe, and I looked up at him with a look that was meant to slay him.
    He probably thought that “if looks could kill” look came from my anger or disappointment at his sarcasm, but, really, it came from somewhere else. I’d vomited all over my dress when I drank with him the other evening, and now I was on my knees worshipping the porcelain god after another night of drinking with him. Again, I didn’t like how things were adding up.
    Five beers isn’t enough to make anyone hurl, unless you chug them consecutively over a very short period of time. But, like I said, I’d stretched my drinks across a few hours.
    With Tommy still watching from the doorway, I stood up, went to the sink, washed my hands and face, and rinsed my mouth out. “I have to go,” I said, reaching for the hand towel beside the sink.
    “Trish, come on,” Tommy said, walking toward me. “I was just kidding. Don’t get mad… I’m sorry I said that.”
    I wanted to tell Tommy what I was thinking, but, of course, I knew better.
    “I know,” I said, stepping back from Tommy as he went to touch me. “I’m not mad about that. I just really don’t feel well, and would rather sleep it off at home.”
    “Okay,” Tommy replied. He looked both disappointed and confused by my words. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stick around for a bit longer? Maybe you should try to get your sense back before you try and drive home.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I just want to go back to my place, get a shower, put on some clean clothes, and bury myself in my bed for a few hours.”
    Tommy seemed to finally get the picture I was drawing, and he stepped aside to let me exit the bathroom. I went to the living room, collected my bag, and headed toward the door.
    “Hold on,” Tommy said, following me at a rapid pace.
    I turned just as I got to the door. He was standing right behind me, very close to me, and I could smell the coffee on his breath and feel it burn me.
    “You think I’m gonna just let you walk out like this?” he asked. I felt goosebumps erupt from every pore in my skin, and a big lump