Rachel was beyond mortified when she awoke the next day. What the fuck was she thinking? Embarrassing Damien like that, ruining the shred of a good first impression she managed to make earlier in the evening, spilling her guts to someone she’d only just met! Dread sunk like a stone into the pit of her stomach the second she began to stir. There were a million other things she would’ve rather done at that moment than open her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she wished she was sleeping in her old room.
Crawling under the bed and hiding for the next month sounded like an excellent idea.
The first half of the morning she spent with her head buried in Damien’s chest, apologizing nonstop. She ruined the evening making a complete fucking fool of herself and there was no point in going out in public ever, ever again. His quiet listening and soothing hair stroking made her feel even worse. Really she just wished he’d be angry at her and get it over with. She didn't ask what happened after she went to bed and definitely didn't ask how everyone was before they left. The less she knew, the better.
The second half of the morning--early afternoon, really--she spent taking a long, hot shower. Alone.
She needed to get out of the house to snap out of it. Go grab some lunch, maybe do some shopping, something distracting. There was no sense obsessing over it. It was all said and done with now. Thank the gods she had the worlds tiniest hangover. Silver linings.
“You sure you’re not too hungover?” he’d asked when she told him what she planned to do, a playful smirk on his face. She gave him a scowl to cover up the pained expression, drying her hair and stalking into the closet. After dressing quickly in a pair of black leggings, a plain teeshirt, and a hooded sweatshirt, she jogged downstairs to pop a couple of Asprin while she sent a text to Greg.
He was mercifully prompt this time.
As soon as the car pulled up, Rachel stepped out the door and wordlessly got into the car. Greg, thankfully, didn’t say much aside from asking where she wanted to go. It was late afternoon now, so she had him drive her to some cute shops in Central first. The entire car ride she debated texting Quinn--she needed some sort of insight but she had the feeling that he’d just laugh at her instead. That’s what she would’ve done anyway.
As soon as the car was stopped, she took off at a quick pace through the streets and Greg followed her closer than she would’ve liked. She was in and out of a handful of shops quicker than her mind was able to process, arbitrarily picking things off shelves and examining them without actually seeing. There was something methodical about it that was soothing enough to pull her out of her mantra of stupid, stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid. A few shopkeepers were watching her as if she planned on stealing something, and under any other circumstances, she would’ve been pissed. She didn’t buy anything, which left her with a vaguely dissatisfied feeling even though she knew that wasn’t the point of this outing.
By the time the sun was just starting to set, she’d grabbed a smoothie (no appetite for a real lunch) and headed back to the car with Greg in tow. She sat silently in the car for a minute, even though the shifter was obviously uncomfortable with the lack of direction, sipping steadily at the smoothie and staring out the window. It wasn’t until this moment that she realized they’d parked across the street from the White Rabbit. Rachel exhaled slowly, her head against the back of the car seat.
“You okay, kid?” Greg was staring at her from the rearview mirror.
“Yeah,” She didn’t look up yet. “Gonna go in the Rabbit.” Another exhale.
Right. Time to own up to the Massive Fucking Mess she’d made of last night.
The fact that she’d never set foot in the place increased her nerves. Rachel put on her best ‘Dont Fuck With Me’ face and opened the car door, taking a rapid pace across the street with Greg scrambling to keep up. She had no fucking idea what she was getting herself into.
Just gotta fucking do it before I lose my shit.
Bewildered by the biker bar she’d found herself in, Rachel ended up paying the cover at the door for her and Greg without looking back at him (she knew he'd be breathing down her neck in no time). She headed straight to the bar to get the attention of the first person who would talk to her.
“Uh, can I talk to Lisa-Joe. Or Jake McCloud. Maybe both?” With her hands shoved into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and her heart pounding intensely, somehow she managed to keep her composure. Somehow.
