an excerpt from Exacabyte

I struggled through a weird twist of conscience as I tried to determine if it was like cheating to have Bon Jovi in my head and Robin Grange in my bed? I let it go, after determining my alcohol intake probably prohibited reasonable thought.

I felt the bed shift as Robin moved.

We weren't exactly cramped but I knew he was there. The bed felt different. There was breathing, and part of me liked it.

All I needed to do was convince the rest of me that it was an okay thing to like. It felt like a memory and for a change, it felt like a good one. My eyes closed.

My legs moved, my feet felt heavy and constricted. I wriggled them. One foot shot out unexpectedly and I kicked myself.

I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

"Okay?" his voice sounded different, sleepy.

"Boots," I said.

"Me too," he replied.

I felt the bed move behind me as Robin pulled his boots off. They thudded to the floor one after the other. He flopped back down, with a sigh.

I tugged my right boot off first, there was a small fight as my fingers failed to grip the slippery leather. The left came off too quickly and the excursion tossed me backwards, my boot went flying across the room.

I felt Robins hand in the middle of my back pushing as I struggled back up. Laughter bubbled up and suddenly it was laughter, it was an over powering urge to vomit.

What a perfect end to a perfectly screwed evening.

I jumped to my feet and rushed to the bathroom. The darkness was almost as soothing as the cold porcelain.

I heard Robin say he'd get me  a glass of water.

Light flooded the bathroom as the door opened. He flipped the light switch.

"That's always going to be weird, having the switched upside down like that," he said.

I had my head in the toilet!

This was the night that kept on giving.

Robin disappeared.

He came back and set a glass next to the sink. He crouched beside me, and held my hair. He held my hair, so I could vomit. I always thought my hair was too long to fall in the toilet, until the day it did. I was incredibly grateful that Robin helped prevent an embarrassing repeat. I wanted to fall into the fuc'n toilet.

Maybe this was what life was like in a sitcom. It pretty much blew. As a matter of fact it blew chunks.

I couldn't fathom any of it. Surreal didn't even begin to cover the madness. The only thing I could come up with at that moment was that expensive Champagne didn't make puke taste any better.

And puking was disgusting.

Do I make a great impression or what?

I sat back on the floor and pulled a face cloth off the sink. I wiped my face. Part of me wanted to hold the cloth over my mouth and nose until it suffocated me.

"Bed," Robin said as he stood up. His hand reached for mine, it was much nicer using his hand rather than the toilet bowl to haul myself to my feet.

A wave of, what a fuc'n idiot hit, me with vengeance.