Smashed by Lisa Luedeke

shriek of laughter.
    I rubbed the wet sleeve of my T-shirt across my face and looked over at Alec. He had the tequila bottle to his lips, head back. We’d ditched the margarita mix hours ago. He swallowed and handed the bottle to me. I slid the driver’s seat back as far as I could to stretch out my legs, then lifted the bottle to my mouth. The taste gagged me, but I liked the burning path it made down my throat and the explosion of warmth in my belly.
    “Jesus, Martini. You drink like a dying man in the desert. Save some of that for me, will ya?”
    I pulled the bottle from my lips and handed it to Alec without looking at him. It was his, after all. He’d just offered to share. He wanted something in return for his generosity—he’d made that clear—but that wasn’t my problem. We were in his car, but I was in the driver’s seat. I was feeling invincible in the tequila high, like nothing could touch me.
    Outside the car, sounds were dying down. Only a few engines hummed and the rain splattered on the windshield and the roof of the car—big drops of water hammering an uneven tune. I shut off the fan and rubbed my fingers across the glass to see who was left. I saw Stanfield’s green pickup truck and the headlights of a second car I didn’t recognize. Most everyone had disappeared, headed for home. Fluorescent green numbers on the dashboard clock beamed out the time: 1:29.
    Alec dropped the tequila bottle on the car floor. The rain had started to let up, and I opened the window to get some freshair. I was starting to feel queasy and tired, depressed. The party was over and the high feeling was slipping away. I gazed into the darkness outside the car and pretended not to notice when Alec put his hand on my bare leg.
    The keys jingled and the car engine died. I turned my head toward Alec.
    “We don’t want to run out of gas,” he said. He squeezed my leg slightly and circled his torso in front of me, moving in for another kiss. His breath carried the musty stench of the beer he’d been drinking earlier.
    “Excuse me,” I said, pushing him away. The car door swung open and I stumbled out onto the uneven ground next to the car.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’ll be right back.”
    Our headlights were off and the sky was black. Clouds hid the moon and stars from view. My whole body felt heavy, like I was moving in slow motion. I was drunker than I wanted to be, but it was too late to take that back.
    I veered into the woods, tripping on the root of a tall pine tree, then walked farther until I could barely make out the car back in the clearing. Wet pine needles dug into my flesh as I sank down to my bare knees. Palms down in front to steady myself, I gagged, my body convulsing forward. Bitter liquid filled my mouth and I spit it out quickly, just in time for the next wave of nausea to rock me again. Shit. I hated puking more than anything. Drinking on an empty stomach was always a mistake. I spit again and again, trying to get the taste out of my mouth,then sat still, hunched over and breathing carefully, hoping it was over.
    Hands fixed on a slender tree trunk, I managed to pull myself up. I brushed off the needles stuck to my knees and made my way back to the car, groping for trees in the dark to keep myself from falling.
    The rain had stopped, but fog had risen off the pond next to the clearing and it was hard to see. The car was running again, and Alec was outside leaning against it, his arms folded in front of his chest.
    “Did you boot, Martini?” He was slurring slightly. “I thought you could drink like an Irishman. You disappoint me.” He handed me the tequila bottle. “Here, there’s a little left. Mouthwash.”
    I ignored his words and grabbed the bottle, rinsed my mouth with what was left of the alcohol, then spit it out before reaching for the driver’s side door.
    “Hey.” He put his hand on my shoulder and spun me around. “What are you doing?”
    “I’m wet, I . . .” My tongue