[Image Caption: Samir in the dorms]

When I finally come to, I don’t even know what time it is or where on earth I am. I squint and try and determine if it’s daylight out, but it feels like someone beat me over the head with a sledgehammer. Am I really this hungover? I push myself up on my bed—the bed—no, definitely my bed. Slowly I open my eyes the rest of the way and recognize the pattern of my comforter. Okay, so I made it back to my room last night. That’s good, but I don’t remember anything about when or how I got here.

I glance around, spotting my clothes scattered on the floor. Everything is blurry, like I’m still drunk. I don’t recall drinking that much, though. I try to stand, but my legs shake and a wave of nausea runs over me. I’m quick to sink to the floor, grabbing my garbage bin and throwing up in it unceremoniously. I feel my entire body tense and then I vomit again.

At least I don’t have a roommate. My parents were quick to ensure I got my own room and the last thing I want is for someone to see me like this. I swear, I’m never drinking again. This just isn’t worth it.

When the contents of my stomach have been emptied, I crawl back into bed. It hurts to move. I can barely see. None of my body parts are working properly. I lay here for a while, letting the room spin. This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had. It might be the worst I’ve felt in my entire life. I cover my eyes with a pillow. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep it off.

I wake up again but I’m just as disoriented as before. I’m groggy and still don’t know what time it is. I force myself to roll over and look at my alarm clock. It’s almost four in the afternoon. I want to shoot out of bed but I’m physically unable to. Instead, I sit up slowly and look at the tiny window of my dorm room. The blinds are closed, that’s probably why I was able to sleep for so long.

I feel warm. I wish I had an ice pack or some cold water. Something, anything, but I cannot leave my room like this. I can barely stand. I press the palms of my hands to my eyes, trying to force away the hangover, but it’s in vain. The feeling is persistent. I must be getting dehydrated by now. I try to look for a bottle of water. All I can find is a half empty one in my school bag. It hurts to move. It really hurts. I debate on calling someone, but I don’t. It would be too shameful. 

I wonder if my door is locked. I rotate my head to look. It’s not—the deadbolt is twisted the wrong way. It’s concerning, but not as concerning as not remembering a large part of my week. I try to retrace my steps, but it all goes blank after my first couple drinks. I should have eaten more during the day. I need to stop neglecting my health.

I start to feel like maybe this isn’t normal. Maybe I’m getting sick too. The flu has been going around campus and I probably shared drinks last night like I do every time I go out. That’s most likely what it is—a mixture of two nasty things making one nastier feeling. Since I threw up, it’s probably the stomach flu and I’ll be better in the next 24 hours. I just need to wait it out.

I have homework due on Tuesday that I was planning on working on today, but I guess that won’t be happening. I can ask for an extension if I need to, since I never have before, but I’d rather not. I prefer to keep my deadlines. I know professors understand that life can get in the way, but I don’t even have a solid excuse. This is happening because I decided to act like an idiot. I’ll just need to power through my homework tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll feel fine enough by then. For now, I’ll keep trying to sleep it off…

Unfortunately, the following morning, I still feel abhorrent. I’d kill for a shower and to brush my teeth. I have messages from my friends—Corinne and Sawyer—asking me where I’ve been. I don’t bother responding. I set my phone back down and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

I feel horrible. Maybe even worse than before. Not physically necessarily, but I feel really…bad. I can’t put my finger on it. I chalk it up to the fact that I’m going on my third day without washing and second without food. I’m not even hungry. I still feel queasy. My room smells putrid, though I can tell I’ve adapted to it. The vomit sitting in my bin isn’t helping. I wonder how long it will be until someone in the dorm notices the awful stench and comes knocking at my door.

I force myself out of bed, putting a house coat on. When it gets a little later in the day, I head to the bathrooms to clean my bin before things get too disgusting. Lucky for me, the dorms are pretty quiet this time of day.  When that’s taken care of I debate on trying to shower, but I feel like I’m going to drop, so I head back to my room instead. I set the bin in the corner of my room and lie back down. My phone starts ringing, but I don’t answer. I don’t want to move.

Sometime later, my door swings open and a tall figure stands in the doorway.  Fuck, I forgot to lock it again. My eyes are bleary, but the familiar pop of short blonde hair tells me it’s Corinne. She crosses her arms, visibly annoyed. “Jeez! I thought you might’ve been dead or something, but here you are napping!” she exclaims and I can’t help but wince at the volume of her harsh voice. She must sense this because she softens, closing the door behind her as she moves inside. “Hey, what is it?”

I want her to go away. I haven’t even said a word in days. I try to open my mouth to say something, but I can’t. I feel way too out of it.

She puts a palm over my forehead, like she’s checking my temperature. “Hm…” she muses, removing her hand. She continues to hover over me, but I shove her away. “What the fuck?” she asks.

“I’m sick,” I say. “I don’t want any social calls.”

“Sorry, but I got worried since you weren’t returning any messages. What do you have?”

“The flu, I think.”

She stands there for a moment before asking if I need anything. I say it’d be nice to have something to drink, so she leaves to fill up my water bottle. When she returns I ask her what she remembers from Friday night.

“Nothing too exciting. The usual. You were pretty fucked up, though.”

“I know, that’s part of why I feel so crappy now.”

She shakes her head. “No, you were so fucked up. It was hard to keep track of you.”

“Really?” I let out a long sigh, not looking forward to hearing details.

“Yeah. You must’ve drank a ton. I’ve never seen you like that before. I tried to keep tabs on you, but you kind of disappeared... I guess you passed out in here.”

“Probably,” I whisper. “I don’t remember... I know I didn’t eat much, though. I should have been more careful.”

I’m angry at myself. I want Corinne to leave me alone, but I know she’s here because she cares, so I don’t want to start a fight—especially not when I feel like this.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll be back to normal soon.” She’s frowning, and raises a hand like she’s going to touch my forehead again, but then she stops herself. “Do you remember anything else? It’s not like you to black-out.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

She stares at me. “That’s…weird,” she says after a moment. “Think about it. You had a couple drinks and we were all sitting together. Do you remember that?”

I nod and when she asks me what happened after, I close my eyes, trying hard to remember even the vaguest detail. “I’m pretty sure I saw someone I’ve hooked up with before and went to go talk to her. I think maybe it was Ivy?”

“Good. Maybe we should ask Ivy if she saw you that night.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Samir… aren’t you curious?”

“Look, you can go ask her if you want, but I’m not going anywhere,” I say. I probably sound short-tempered, because she holds up her hands and leaves it at that.

“Want me to get you anything else?”

“Painkillers,” I say, waving her off. She sighs, but does what I ask. She leaves and returns some minutes later. I force myself to sit up, still feeling achy. I down two extra strength Tylenols and then drink some water, hoping this feeling goes away.

I thank her before dismissing her, knowing I’ll likely get an earful when I’m feeling better. For now, I don’t care. I lie back down and start to replay the events of that night, trying to figure out what led up to me ending up in my room. What happened in between my first few drinks and me waking up? I’m almost positive that I went to go talk to someone I’d slept with before. If it wasn’t Ivy, it was one of the other girls, but I don’t exactly feel like going around asking every single one of them. That would take forever.

I think I ditched whoever I approached. Maybe she was already with another guy. I think that’s what it was, but afterward is still a complete blur. I think I ran into somebody else, but I have no idea who. I think maybe they offered me a drink from what the frat was serving, but I can’t be sure. I can only hope I didn’t make a fool of myself. I worry about that a lot.