"Slumber Party"

After my brush with depression, alcohol induced of course, and before my visit home for the Holidays, I decided it was time to get in touch with Faye. I had sent her some not so favourable text messages during my stint in Rehab (the club, not the clinic.)

“They were something along the lines of ‘I hate myself. Why am I a cunt?’ It was such a bad idea.” I told A.

She responded with: “Well, yeah, they do sort of make you out to be a manic depressive.”

“Not too attractive then, eh?”

That night, along with A, Alyson and others, including Faye, we decided on another late in Oceana.

“I’m surprised we’re not all sick of Oceana yet.” Faye told the group, charmingly, in her Northern Irish accent.

“Yeah, we should really all branch out after Christmas.” I replied, downing the rest of my pre-night-out home made cocktail I liked to call a ‘Leedtini’. “There’s got to be smoky, little, jazz clubs somewhere and I’d love to go to a comedy club too!”

“I’d be up for that,” Christian chipped in, buttoning his shirt on what would be his first night out in almost a month.

“Well then, it’s a plan. No backing out now, you’ve made a commitment...” I poured slightly more vodka into my plastic Halloween cocktail glass, “...a verbal contract of sorts.” I liked to think I knew what I was talking about.

After going straight from the taxi to skipping the line and straight into the club, all of us were feeling the effects of those ‘Leedtini’s. Later, I asked myself: had it been those very cocktails that had later come back to haunt me? As usual we headed straight to the bar, where Faye managed to charm an older guy into using his wristband offering free drinks all night. Score. Grinding, dancing, and many-a-kisses followed until too many free drinks later, we stumbled back to our flats, luckily, both adjacent of each other.

“Before I even knew what was going on,” I explained to Aspen over the phone the next day, “she was half-undressed, falling asleep under my covers. And as I lay next to her, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to throw up. I mean, it wasn’t her, obviously, or she wouldn’t be in my bed, but I’m still blaming those shitty homemade cocktails. I had a bucket next to my bed all night, just in case.”

“So you didn’t do the deed?” Aspen asked.

“No, because that would have been unethical Aspen.”

We woke up the next morning, spooning, and not in the least bit feeling slightly awkward.

“I need to go.” And with that she was gone. I turned over and went back to sleep. Waking up later that afternoon, I looked around and saw her possessions. I guess I had my own ‘walk of shame’ to do. I gathered her stuff, including clothes and shoes, and took them to her flat. Knocking on the door, her flatmate answered.

“Hey, I just have some of Fiona’s stuff.” I said, most probably blushing.

“Faye!!” She shouted. “Haha, what exactly did you come home in this morning Faye?”

I hung around for a while, making small talk, mostly about how long we’d both slept after she left. Normality: I liked it.

Later that night I got to thinking: could you ever really sleep with someone without actually ‘sleeping’ with them? Was it an act that brought people closer together, because, after all, it is one of the most vulnerable states you can be in around someone?

Several days later and I was homeward bound on the train for my family’s annual Christmas and New Year celebrations. I got a text from her telling me she’d had the best night’s sleep in a long time when she’d slept with me, without actually ‘sleeping’ with me. I still had it.