Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Mystomachheaves,andIdoubleover,mybodynolongerabletotoleratethealcohol,andIvomitspectacularlyontotheground.

           “Ugh—Diosmío,Ana!”Joséjumpsbackindisgust.Greygrabsmyhairandpullsitoutofthefiringlineandgentlyleadsmeovertoaraisedflowerbedontheedgeoftheparkinglot.Inote,withdeepgratitude,thatit’sinrelativedarkness.

           “Ifyou’regoingtothrowupagain,doithere.I’llholdyou.”Hehasonearmaroundmyshoulders—theotherisholdingmyhairinamakeshiftponytaildownmybacksoit’soffmyface.Itryawkwardlytopushhimaway,butIvomitagain…andagain.Oh,shit…howlongisthisgoingtolast?Evenwhenmystomach’semptyandnothingiscomingup,horribledryheavesrackmybody.IvowsilentlythatI’llnevereverdrinkagain.Thisisjusttooappallingforwords.Finally,itstops.

           Myhandsarerestingonthebrickwalloftheflowerbed,barelyholdingmeup.Vomitingprofuselyisexhausting.Greytakeshishandsoffmeandpassesmeahandkerchief.Onlyhewouldhaveamonogrammed,freshlylaunderedlinenhandkerchief.CTG.Ididn’tknowyoucouldstillbuythese.VaguelyIwonderwhattheTstandsforasIwipemymouth.Icannotbringmyselftolookathim.I’mswampedwithshame,disgustedwithmyself.Iwanttobeswallowedupbytheazaleasintheflowerbedandbeanywherebuthere.

           Joséisstillhoveringbytheentrancetothebar,watchingus.Igroanandputmyheadinmyhands.Thishastobethesingleworstmomentofmylife.