Susi’s head throbbed. Her mouth was dry and tasted of rancid wine. She felt the damp grit of sand on half her face. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, gunked together with last night’s mascara and remnants of false eyelashes. It was barely daybreak, but she could see a few earlybirds out, walking dogs or getting a jog in. Her party dress from last night was wrinkled and askew. Her shoulder length curly hair was plastered to one side of her head. Susi’s nose began to run and she used a corner of her dress to wipe it. Why have any shame at this point? As she breathed in the fabric she smelled the smoky wood of bonfire and had a flash of memory. She was dancing around the bonfire, the life of the party. Smiling, laughing, drinking straight out of the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Lots of other young people, shadowy in the flickering firelight, laughing, egging her on. The sweet pungent smell of marijuana.

She had to get out of here and back to the beach house where she was staying for a few days with her girlfriends. Where was that house? Why had her friends left her? Was she harmed at all? She closed her dry, stinging eyes against the glare of the August North Carolina sun, already so bright, and tried to think. She breathed in and out, in and out, trying to calm her nerves and make sense of her situation. Waves crashed; the tide was coming in. The air smelled sticky and salty, humid. There was another smell - body odor? Hers? She sniffed an armpit. Oh God. Opening her eyes, she saw her pashmina shawl was covered in sour, acrid wine vomit. She gagged. Shielding her eyes and looking up and down the beach she remembered she and her friends had Ubered to the bonfire party. There were the remnants of it, not 50 yards away. The beach house was well beyond the pier, which she could see quite a ways away.

She fumbled around for her phone and her shoes. Miraculously finding both of her Birkenstocks and her (battery dead of course) iPhone, she staggered to her feet. Time to begin the long walk of shame.