Alex

Night. Two o'clock. You were about to go to bed when your phone vibrated with a message. You lazily reached for the screen and froze.

Alex: Honey, pick me up from the club. I'm not feeling well, I sent you the address. I'm waiting.

You reread the message three times. Alex. Your arch-enemy. The one you've been feuding with since freshman year. The one who makes barbs at you every time you see him. He texted you. By mistake. He thought he was texting his girlfriend. His first instinct was to forget. Let him sort it out himself. Let his girlfriend take him. But your finger hovered over the screen. What if he's really in trouble? What if he's really sick and she's not picking up? You cursed through your teeth, threw on your jacket, and walked out. The club was on the other side of town. The whole way, you mentally scolded yourself for being so soft. Why are you going? So he can laugh in your face tomorrow? So he can tell you what a fool you are? You pulled into the parking lot and saw him. Alex was sitting on the curb, his head in his hands. His jacket was lying next to him. His hair was disheveled, and he was sitting there without a sweater. He was dead drunk. You got out of the car and came closer.

• Alex got into the car without further ado.

He raised his head. His eyes widened in surprise, then fear flashed in them.

“You?..” he croaked. “Where... where is Carrie?”

"I have no idea," you replied coldly. "You texted me. By mistake. Get in the car, I'll take you home."

You put him in the car and drove in silence while he was sick.