When he got there, he lectured me for being irresponsible. For being unable to take care of myself. For apparently being an over all shitty human being. He then went on to tell me that if I was going to need his assistance for “every tiny thing,” that I might as well move back home, as they wanted me to.

Changing the tire took ten minutes. The scolding lasted over an hour.

I ended up having to call the estate owner and rescheduling, which was last minute, and she wasn’t pleased.

I was going to miss my deadline and I had had to endure my father’s belittling criticisms. So I was absolutely not in the mood to fight with Viv over where and when she was allowed to diddle the skittle.

I felt frazzled. My head was pounding and if I was honest with myself, all I wanted was a stiff drink.

There were times that I craved alcohol so badly that I could almost taste it on my tongue. I missed the buzz I’d get after two or three drinks. The loss of inhibitions. Those brief moments when I could drop the Gracie act and be the “real me.” Or the version of me that was less encumbered with bullshit.

Drunk Gracie had been a lot of fun. Sure, by the end of the night I was a mess but there were usually a few hours where I was the life of the party.

And I liked the escape. I enjoyed letting loose.

That’s how it all started.

At first it had seemed like normal college shenanigans. Getting wasted was a rite of passage. You hadn’t really had the true college experience until you had danced on a bar top and then prayed to the porcelain god until morning.

But what started as a weekend here and there became every night. Then sometimes during the afternoon. A cocktail around lunchtime to get me through evening classes. Boundaries became blurred and I forgot what willpower was.

I didn’t know how to stop. I wouldn’t stop. Even when Vivian went to my parents and told them about my drinking and they threatened to pull me out of school, I refused to listen.

I was a wreck, plain and simple. But no one was going to tell me that I needed to stop. I was fine. I had it all under control. Until my body made the decision for me.

Waking up in a hospital room with my very pissed off parents hovering over me had been a nasty wake up call.

But it was one I had needed.

Therapy and rehab helped me to identify my problems. They gave me the harsh label of alcoholic. But it didn’t take away the desire. The need.

And yes, it made me unbelievably cranky.

“Look, you just interrupted one hell of an orgasm, so don’t come in here giving me a load of shit,” Vivian growled, buttoning her pants. She put the phone back to her ear, turning her back on me. “Sorry, baby. Now where were we?” Her voice faded as she walked down the hall and into her room, thankfully closing the door behind her.

I sighed, going into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I should be used to Vivian’s lack of boundaries by now. I had been living with her in some capacity since I was a sophomore in college. She was the woman who thought nothing of pulling her boobs out at Mardi Gras or letting her boyfriend give her a pelvic exam in public.

It had always been a source of good-natured ribbing. We all laughed about it because it was “just Viv.” But it used to more bearable because I had someone to endure it with.

“She’s so loud!” I whined, lying back on the bed, propping my feet up on the wall that separated my bedroom from Vivian’s.

I could hear her moans and groans as clearly as though she was next to me. She and Cole were in the middle of a two day sexathon. He and the guys were home for a few weeks in between shows and I hadn’t seen much of either my roommate or her boyfriend since he had arrived.

“I can hear her! She really does have one hell of a set of lungs,” Mitch said, his voice through the phone doing nothing to drown out the noises coming from the next room.

There was a crash and the wall beneath my feet shook. Then Cole began shouting profanities in between grunts.

“I know that battle cry well. I think it might be time for you to make your exit, G. Things are about to get ugly,” Mitch laughed.

“Christ, the neighbors are going to call the police thinking someone is being murdered.”

“Come over here. You can hang out with me until they’re done,” Mitch suggested.

“What if they don’t stop?” I asked just as the wall shook again from another crash. What were they doing in there?

Scratch that. I really didn’t want to know.

“Then you’ll just have to stay here forever,” Mitch suggested.

“You’ll get sick of me. And I’m a bed hog,” I warned good-naturedly, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. Sometimes Mitch could say things that felt…different.

We were friends. The best of friends. Why would I feel weird with him?

I was being ridiculous.

“I’m okay with that, Gracie. You can take up all the room and I’ll be happy just because you’re here. Everything I have is yours, you know that,” he said softly, a strange note in his voice.

I chuckled nervously needing to diffuse the tension. Why was there tension?

“Does that include the Chunky Monkey that I know you keep in the freezer?” I joked.

Mitch cleared his throat. “There are limits, G. Don’t push your luck.”

I was relieved that the moment was over.

We were just Mitch and Gracie again.

Mitch and Gracie.

Best buddies.

“But given your obvious emotional stress, I may make an exception,” he added.