When I came to, I was hugging that blue mannequin that had been on the wall when we first arrived—and don’t ask me how it ended up on the dance floor.
My face was pressed against the smooth plastic as I drifted along with whatever song was playing—I really wish I’d been sober enough to remember which one it was—when David suddenly appeared in front of me, talking loudly to Phillip.
I couldn’t understand what was happening, but Phillip was trying to grab the cup out of David’s hand. I tried to focus, to figure it out, but a crowd moved in front of me and blocked my view.
When I opened my eyes again, I was somewhere else.
Everyone was dancing. I tried to dance too, but I felt exhausted, my body heavy and slow. I let go of the blue mannequin—apparently still with me—and made my way toward the bar. I was dizzy.
Very drunk, actually.
And somehow, I still wanted another drink.
“Don’t you think you should slow down?” David asked, setting a glass down on the counter.
I hadn’t even noticed him coming up beside me.
“Why would you think that?”
I’m almost sure it didn’t come out as clearly as it sounded in my head.
“You’re all drunk already,” he muttered.
He said something else, but I couldn’t make it out. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I nearly threw up right there.
“You were drunk too,” I tried to say, forcing my eyes to stay open.
“I didn’t drink as much as all of you, ” David replied, glancing over the crowd.
“Stop talking.” I won’t say how many times I tried to say stop, because I’d apparently forgotten the word in English. “I’m gonna keep drinking.”
I stood up from the stool and grabbed the glass he’d left on the counter.
My feet felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. I stumbled more than once before finally reaching the table where Gih and Elisa were sitting.
I don’t remember what happened after that.
In the blink of an eye, I wasn’t at BlueHouse anymore.
I was drifting somewhere quiet instead—wrapped in the strange, peaceful darkness that only comes when everything finally goes black.
[...]
When I woke up, the damn sunlight was cutting through the curtains, reaching all the way to where I was sprawled across the bed. I got up staggering, my stomach heavy and empty at the same time, and dragged myself straight to the bathroom with slow and miserable steps.
The creak of the door sounded like claws scraping against a chalkboard, sending a sharp pain through my head. My bedroom door had never made noise before, but that tiny squeak felt like a full-on heavy metal concert that morning.
Or afternoon. I had no idea what time it was.
I looked at myself in the mirror, ignoring my phone ringing somewhere behind me. My face looked rough. Under my skin were splatters of paint. I touched my cheek, turning my head slightly and blinking a few times to focus on the drawing David had made there. It was smudged, but still visible.
It hadn’t been a hallucination.
My shirt was wrinkled like a sandwich that’s been stuffed in a backpack for hours, the paint stains less dramatic than I remembered. I rinsed my mouth, trying to get rid of the awful taste before finally relieving my bladder—but when I unzipped my jeans, the room key card fell to the floor.
I had no idea how it got there.
I picked it up, shoved it into my pocket, and finished what I’d gone in there to do.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Giovanna looked like she’d read my mind. She scoffed at my phone screen just as it stopped ringing and picked it up. She was lying on my bed, still wearing last night’s clothes—which explained the stained sheets and paint-splattered blanket.
“Feeling better?”
“Is it that obvious I’m not?” I asked.
“Yeah, that too.” She tossed my phone near me. “It was Uncle Carlos.”
“I’ll call him later,” I muttered, face-planting onto the bed.
My back relaxed almost instantly, and I stretched out right there.
“Ready for an update?” she asked.
“An update? No. What I want is a shower and to get rid of this feeling like I dove into the Tietê River,” I croaked. “You should do the same.”
“I would have, if you hadn’t done what you did.”
Damn.
She had my attention.
"Update me,” I said, praying I hadn’t done anything catastrophic.
“You ruined the night, bestie…” she began.
At that moment, I knew I urgently needed to learn how not to drink. Every single time—no exceptions—I embarrassed myself. The last time, I ended up wearing Gih’s dress at her family barbecue. Ever since then, whenever I go over, her family—especially Uncle Pedro, and yes, same name—calls me “Strapless.”
“And that’s not even the worst part,” she continued. “Not only did you make everyone leave yearly, but when we got back to the hotel, you started crying in the middle of the lobby, Pedro. Full drama mode. Like one of those possessed children who don’t listen to their parents.”
She laughed.
On the other hand, I wanted to throw myself off the balcony.
“Lucky for you David helped carry you upstairs. Otherwise you would’ve slept hugging the reception desk. And it gets worse…”
Worse?
Giovanna bit back laughter as she grabbed her phone.
“On our way out, you kept saying you were scared to be alone and started crying again.”
She showed me the screen.
In the video, I was lying on the couch, under a blanket, muffling the sound of my crying. David was trying not to laugh while he and Giovanna reassured me that everything was fine, that nothing was going to happen to me.
“It was a whole mission to get you to sleep,” she finished.
Oh my God.
When I thought I couldn’t have possibly done anything more humiliating…
“Great. How am I supposed to look David in the eye now?” I groaned, burying my face in the pillow and screaming into it.
"I don’t know… How do you want him to look at you?” she asked—in English.
That was when I felt it.
The cold drop in my stomach.
My soul leaving my body.
The shame evaporating into the air.
Because when I turned, David was lying on the couch across the room.
“Sorry…” he said carefully.
If surprise is already unexpected, imagine a completely unexpected surprise.
David looked… oddly composed. If I was a disaster—wrinkled clothes, paint everywhere, messy hair, and the face of someone who’d eaten bitter melon all night—he was the organized version of chaos. Just as covered in paint, but looking like someone who had actually slept. His face was only slightly puffy.
His hair—well, it still looked like a golden nest. Just a bit messier than usual.
How had I gone to the bathroom without noticing him there?
“If you say anything, I’ll kill you,” I whispered to Gih, taking advantage of the fact that he didn’t understand Portuguese.
She laughed.
“Are you feeling okay now?” David asked.
I wanted to murder Giovanna for not warning me. Smoke signals would’ve been fine.
“Not really… What are you doing here?”
“You locked him in.”
I snapped my head toward Giovanna.
“I did what?”
“You locked the door because you were scared of being kidnapped and kind of… hid the key card,” David explained, laughing like this was amusing instead of mortifying.
That’s when I understood how the key card ended up in my jeans.
As the great and wise Mushu once said: “Dishonor! Dishonor on you, dishonor on your family, dishonor on your cow!”
I face-planted into the comforter again and pulled the card out of my pocket.
“I’m sorry,” I said, raising it in surrender.
“You really think we’re touching that? Go open the door,” Giovanna ordered.
Fair enough.
I got up, covering my face with a pillow. The shame was too much to handle. Managed two steps before tripping over my damn sneakers—completely covered in mud and blue paint.
Why was there mud on my shoes?
I was an idiot for wearing the white ones instead of the black.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” I said quickly, dropping the pillow.
I opened the door.
“If my mom yells at me, I’ll kill you,” Gih said as she walked out, holding her shoes in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Love you too,” I replied.
She paused outside, peeked back in, and stage-whispered, “He’s hot!”
Only Giovanna could whisper-scream like that.
She laughed and disappeared down the hallway.
I turned to David, who was standing a few steps away. I avoided his eyes and stared at the carpet instead. That mud stain on the cream fabric was suddenly fascinating.
Another problem to deal with.
“Uh… I’m gonna head out. I need to change,” he said, walking past me. He glanced me up and down. “You probably should—”
Before he could finish, I shut the door.
I know. I know. I shouldn’t have. But I realized that only after it was already closed.
So I opened it again.
“Sorry,” I blurted—then shut it again.
I couldn’t spend another second in front of him. I’d embarrassed myself enough. I’d rather seem rude than dig the hole deeper. I didn’t want a lecture. Especially not from him.
And even though I couldn’t remember most of the night, I clearly remembered him trying to get me to stop drinking.
I should’ve listened to him.
If someone had told me I’d one day slam a door in David Connor’s face, I would’ve laughed. Yet here we are.
I walked back to the bed and threw myself onto it again. I could smell myself on the comforter—that mix of sweat and alcohol—and that’s when I decided I really needed a shower.
I grabbed my phone—15% battery left—because I liked listening to music in the shower. Back in front of the mirror, all I saw was exhaustion. I chose a quick shower instead of the bathtub this time. I hung Gilberto—the rubber duck—on the shower door while steam began filling the space.
Then my phone started ringing. Not music— the annoying ringtone.
I sighed when I saw who it was.
“Good morning!” my dad said before I could even say hello.
“Morning…”
“What happened?” he asked, voice slightly slurred.
“Hangover.”
“Yeah, I heard you passed out last night. And before I even get the chance to check if my son’s okay, he disappears from the hotel, shows up at dawn causing a scene, and then ignores my calls all morning,” he said quickly.
I should’ve told him I was going out.
“I’m fine, don't worry."
“Oh, I hope you are, Pedro.” He muttered something I couldn’t catch. “I had to leave early, but we’ll talk later.”
Even standing in the bathroom, I could already feel the future lecture hitting me.
“Okay. I’m not going out today.”
“Good. Glad you got the message. Take care. We’ll talk later. Love you.”
“Bye, Dad.”
Carlos was a good guy. A little dramatic sometimes, but still a good father.
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