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How We Met

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Clara stumbled into the bathroom stall about ready to throw up. Luckily enough, she didn’t. The music from the club could still be heard and Clara, being in the drunken state that she was, bopped her head to it. It was good music after all. Only then she gagged and flung herself to the floor, her hands gripped onto the toilet seat, definitely ready to be sick this time.  

“One drink,” she muttered. “It was supposed to be one drink. But I haaad to get carried away, didn’t I?” 

She stopped as she gagged and coughed, feeling the bile rise in the back of her throat. Why did it always end like this? Usually, Clara would be careful around her work friends and only have one drink, maybe two. She always threw up after. She was a lightweight after all, especially with wine. However, she’d always wait until she got home. Well, almost always. It was Karen’s leaving party, and everyone brought drinks for her, especially Adrian. He always offered before but Clara declined. This time she just got a drink shoved in her face and got told to drink it. He was tipsy, and when he got tipsy he became intrusive and more boisterous. Way worst when he’s drunk. Adrian’s usually the one to run to the toilets first, but this time it was Clara.  

Her thoughts of regret got interrupted when she heard the door open, the muffled music suddenly got louder, and then back to what it was. High heels clicked on the tiled – slightly sticky – floor. Clara suddenly got apprehensive as she heard them come closer to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping those heels didn’t belong to anyone she knew, hoping it wasn’t Karen. It would be so embar – no, mortifying if someone from work saw her like this. She tried to stay silent, and hoped whoever it was would go to the stall next to her, or not notice her at all.  

Unfortunately, the footsteps stopped.  

Clara hoped the person was just at the mirror when she couldn’t help it and threw up. She cringed when she heard the noise, and coughed when the vile taste appeared. A laugh was heard. She froze momentarily, before she vomited again. The laugh turned into a fit of giggles, one that she couldn’t recognize. Once she stopped being sick the giggles died down. Whoever this woman was she was weird. Usually people just ignore or try to comfort people throwing up in the bathroom at clubs, but she woman just laughed.  

Clara sighed, wiped her mouth, and flushed the chain as she shakily got up. She flinched as she stood, her legs and back sore from being in an uncomfortable position for so long.  

“You alright?” a rather thick Scottish accent caught her attention. She looked up to the woman once she was steady on her feet, and went wide eyed. Luckily, it wasn’t somebody she knew. A complete stranger. A rather gorgeous freaking tall stranger. Clara looked over her quickly, gulping as she saw her attire and how beautiful she was. The woman wore very short denim shorts, high heels, a tight fitted red top, her leather jacket tied around her waist.  

The woman laughed at her staring. Clara blushed once she realized she was gawking at her, and quite possibly drooling. “Um, y-yeah...” 

Clara stumbled into the door as she tried to pass the red head, who only moved slightly out of the way and smirked at her. She grinned goofily at her and embraced the smaller brunette into a tight hug. Clara blinked, confused. The stranger laughed at her, resting her head on her shoulder. Suddenly, a hand was on her rear, gently against her back pocket. It stunned Clara, and frightened her slightly. Luckily enough, she moved her hand away swiftly and placed it on her lower back.  

After a while in the grasp of the woman it got difficult to breathe. It seemed the drunk didn’t know her own strength. Clara struggled against the hug as she started to panic. The woman made a confused hum type noise before releasing the brunette. She stumbled backwards and caught her breath.  

“Sorry puppy,” she giggled as she patted her on the head.  


Before Clara could ask, the woman turned on her heel, swayed, and headed towards the door. Leaving the tiny teacher alone in the bathroom, a puzzled expression on her face. She reached down and ghosted where the red head had placed her hand, only to feel something in her jeans pocket. Clara tilted her head and fished out what was in there, only to find a folded piece of paper. 

“What the?” she muttered as she opened it, only to see scribbled down digits in marker on it. “Phone number? What?” 

Clara blushed when her drunken mind slowly figured out what it meant.