"Oh fuck, oh FUCK." & "Please come get me." (but tbh I want all of em)
Cecilia was feeling a little wild, a little dangerous when she went out that night, taste of Fireball on her tongue spurring her on as she left the kitchen to go and find her friends in the other room. She thought she was moving with purpose, but anyone who looked at her could see the many drinks behind the glaze of her eyes.
She was out with her mates from football, celebrating some thing at some random flat that she couldn't find in herself to pretend to care about -- what she cared about most was getting drunk.Â
Her success was unfortunate for the dick who decided it would be a good idea to grope her ass as she walked past. Regardless of Cecilia's mental state, he would have gotten a thorough verbal thrashing, but the whisky had sparked a fire that shot down to her fingertips as her hand closed into a fist and connected with his nose, a right hook her brothers had taught her years ago.
"O, fuck, oh FUCK," Cecilia stumbled back, shaking her fist that throbbed despite the alcohol in her system and her proper technique. "What the fuck is your face made out of -- steel?" she exclaimed, the words slightly slurred as the man who'd groped her held his bleeding nose and two of his friends placed their hands on her shoulders in case she tried to strike again.Â
The hostess quickly came over, bursting into tears when she saw the scene before her, instructing the two boys who held Cecilia to escort her out. Cecilia was too drunk to put up a fight, wanted an excuse to leave anyways, slinging insults behind her shoulder as they led her away.Â
Noelle met her at the front door, but Cecilia shook her head, cradling her hurting hand to her chest as she insisted that she would be fine going home on her own. Noelle was drunk enough to believe her.Â
Cecilia made it two blocks before she pulled out her phone, looking up a contact she hadn't phoned in weeks but between the alcohol and adrenaline, she was convinced it was a good idea. She sat on the steps of the nearest house, holding the phone with her good hand, head hung low.
"Cecilia, what is it?" Harry asked, his voice deep and groggy from the sleep she'd surely woken him from.
Cecilia cringed at the use of her full name, drunken tears threatening to spill over as regret coursed through her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called, nevermind," she said, voice breaking, squeezing her eyes shut as she told herself to go and hang up the phone and but her remained holding the phone at her ear.
"No, don't hang up -- shit, shit, please stay on the phone," Harry scrambled when he heard how she was slurring her words, heard the sirens in the background.
There was a few beats of silence over the phone, Harry sighing in relief when he heard Cecilia's shaky breathing on the other end. His freshly awakened mind was scrambling for something to say, something that would keep her on the phone with him, but Cecilia spoke first.Â
"Please come get me?" The question was barely audible, whispered through trembling lips as Cecilia brought her forehead to her knees and wanted to disappear, but her drunkenness had made her honest. Instead of curling in on herself, around her own injured hand, she wanted to curl into the leather seat of Harry's car and then curl into him as he tucked her into bed beside him.Â
"Of course I will. Tell me where you are and I'll be there as quickly as I can."
