"Oh," she says, before bursting out cackling with a snort that sounds exactly like a little pig.
I laugh harder, and the two of us, completely drunk, laugh so hard we fall over onto the carpeted floor.
I push my hair back, feeling the glitter stick to my forehead. "Okay, okay," I gasp, reaching for my phone. "Siri, call Chandler."
Cici slaps my shoulder, still snorting. "Chandelier! Siri call Chandelier! Hahaha!"
Siri replies, confirming the request, but the two of us hear nothing but our own ridiculous laughter. I tap the screen to activate the call. A dialing screen appears or at least I think it is.
Cici grabs my phone, leans in, and shouts, "Chandelier!" before instantly covering her mouth and collapsing into fresh gales of laughter.
I'm beyond wasted now, lying on the couch, shaking with laughter. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the cushions and into my bones.
"Come come join us," Cici slurs into the phone. "It's so much fun."
None of us realizes that no one is talking on the other side. Cici, in a total drunk haze, lets the phone slip from her grasp. It hits the thick carpet with a dull thud.
She laughs, shaking her head. "Oops."
"Leave it," I slur back, trying to bat her hand away. "It won't bre-break."
Cici's focus abruptly shifts. She leans down and pulls me up by my arms. "Hey, hey, tell me, is he that bad?"
"Who?" I ask, my vision swimming. "Chandler?"
"No, no, no, your man."
"Oh, him." My tone immediately changes, the anger finding purchase through the alcohol. "He is not my man. Who would have a cold bastard like him as a man?"
Cici holds up one finger, her eyes trying to focus. "He is handsome."
"Yes," I concede.
She holds out two fingers. "He is rich."
"Very rich," I agree, the words slurred and heavy.
She holds up a third finger. "And he is nice to look at."
"Nice where?" I challenge, my words barely escaping the thick cushion of alcohol. "I have seen plenty of shirtless men at the gym. But I will tell you what's nice."
Cici seems to sober up for a split second, her eyes wide with a focused, drunken eagerness. "Tell me!"
I lean in, savoring the secret. "His lips are so soft and sweet. I couldn't get enough."
Cici and I burst into loud, synchronized laughter, the ugly sound echoing in the private room.
I continue, the alcohol emboldening my confession. "But soft lips or not, he is a cold-faced bastard. A stiff plank of wood. He always looks like someone owes him billions!" I wave my glass wildly. "When I divorce him, I will get a handsome boyfriend with soft lips who actually knows how to laugh!"
Cici smirks, grabbing my arm. "I would love to see his plank of wood."
"Too bad," I say, shaking my head with exaggerated regret. "We both can't see it."
Cici chuckles. "Ohhhhh, how regrettable," she says, her tone dramatically mournful.
I grab another shot and down it. The warmth spreads instantly through my chest, and I can feel my cheeks getting hotter.
Morning After
I hear a loud ringing, a relentless, invasive sound that slices through the cotton wool stuffed in my brain. It won't stop, and it's making my splitting headache even worse.
"Cici," I manage in a groggy, muffled voice.
She responds with an unintelligible "Mm," but she's clearly asleep, sprawled across the couch.
I try to fall back asleep, praying for silence, but I suddenly hear the ringing again. Upset, I open my eyes, half-lidded, and feel around for the phone.
I grasp it and manage to force my eyes open. My vision is swimming. I'm seeing doubles, and I can't read the number clearly. The call cuts, and the screen soon dims back into blackness.
Suddenly, Cici's roommate, Matt, stalks into the living room. He looks furious and exhausted.
"You two bitches should never ask me to come get you ever again," he says, his voice tight with pure annoyance.
Cici, who is sleeping belly down with one hand dangling off the couch, half sits up. "Matt, darling, you don't mean that," she slurs, still half-asleep.
"I mean it," Matt insists. "You were rowdy and loud. I was so embarrassed, and you—"
I look at him and point at myself. "Me?"
"You slept like a pig," Matt informs me, rubbing his temples. "I had to drag you into the elevator."
I feel genuinely apologetic. I scratch my head, the movement sending a fresh spike of pain through my skull. "Sorry, Matt. I will treat you to a meal."
"It better be expensive too," Matt grumbles.
Cici sits up completely, her chin resting on the back of the couch, and the two of them immediately begin to bicker.
I tune them out. I push my hair back, looking at my phone, which is buzzing with an unsaved number. I let it ring till the end, desperately crossing my fingers that it's just scammers.
My hope is instantly dashed when the message notification pops up.
It reads: "Madam, it's Seth. The boss asks that you come to the mansion ASAP."
"Shit," I exclaim, jumping up. The sudden movement sends a splitting ache through my skull. The terrible hangover throbbing.
"What's wrong?" Cici asks, already half-asleep again.
"I have to get ready and go," I say, already heading toward the bedroom.
Cici lays back down. "Your toiletries are still in the same spot," she mumbles helpfully.
I rush into Cici's room, plug my phone onto the charger before jumping into the shower and brushing my teeth with frantic speed.
Thirty minutes later, I ride my bike back to the mansion, the morning sun a brutal spotlight on my pounding skull.
I cut the engine, yank off my helmet, and immediately put on my shades, desperately hiding the dark circles under my eyes. My eyes are agonizingly sensitive to the light thanks to the hangover.
I walk in through the massive front door, and Catarina is instantly there, greeting me with frantic excitement. "Madam!"
I head straight for the kitchen, my voice a barely audible rasp. "Morning."
"Wild night?" Catarina asks, her eyes twinkling as she hands me a cold bottle of water.
"You don't know the half of it," I mumble, unscrewing the cap and immediately chugging half the bottle.
Catarina comes closer, lowering her voice. "Tyr," she whispers, using my name with conspiratorial caution. "Sir is in a bad mood, so please try to compromise with him."
I swallow the water, the cold liquid momentarily soothing my throat. I wonder what he could possibly be so upset about. Whatever it is, I decide, it has nothing to do with me.
"I will try," I say, wanting to end the conversation.
Catarina looks immensely relieved, her smile returning full force. "Please sit in the dining area. I will make something that can help with your hangover."