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Chapter II
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2022-02-11 07:11:02Lowri’s POV
Poor guy, he’s got himself into a right pickle. This is London, you've got to keep your whits about you no matter how rich you are, and this one likes the finer things in life, judging by his tailored look. I’m doing my good Samaritan for drunk people thing now; I can see the wallet in his pocket, I tell him I’m just taking the cloakroom tab to get his jacket – it’s right in the front of his wallet. I close the wallet and give it back to him. I don’t pry at his cards, that’s not the right thing to do. I tell him to sit tight whilst I get him some water. An hour in the fresh air and some water should get him his legs back. Then I’ll stick him in a taxi and get him home.
It’s been an amazing night. I’ve worked my ass off to win this trip. My pharmaceuticals sales figures for this year are the highest for the whole of the UK, and along with the healthy financial bonus, I get a 5 star stay in one of London’s best Hotels, all expenses paid for, and I get the honour of meeting the company’s Chief Exec. The trip was for the best sales rep plus a partner. I don’t have a partner. I could’ve easily brought along a friend, but for once I selfishly just wanted to enjoy a break without wondering if the other person was having a good time, is that awful? Well it’s too late now, I arrived at the Hotel this morning, and after enjoying the luxury of a pampering massage and bath in my hotel, I decided I wanted to go dancing. Yes, on my own. Risky I know, but I was going to take a taxi absolutely everywhere, I had my rape alarm in my handbag, and I knew my limits when it came to drink. This club I ended up at was just amazing. Clearly designed for the wealthier of clientelle, judging by the price of the drinks and just the general luxurious feel of the place. The DJ was on top form, playing music that drew me to the dance floor time and time again.
I don’t mind being on my own, in fact, I relish opportunities to just drink in life, at my own pace, in my own head space.
It’s a Saturday night and the place is heaving. After some cocktails and dancing, I headed up to the rooftop space for some fresh air, and to take a moment to appreciate the good fortune my hard work over the last few years had brought me, when this guy comes crashing through the doors of the rooftop space and throws up over the side. I wonder if it caught anyone below?
He was really quite drunk, and the few others on the rooftop were so engulfed in their own night that if he were to wobble over the side, no one would notice. I was ready to call it a night anyhow, so seeing that this guy was ok was no bother.
I realise pretty quickly he’s not ok. I can’t get much sense out of him other than that his name is Marc. I sit with him, mainly in silence, for almost an hour.
“Can you get up Marc?” I ask him.
He slowly but surely gets to his feet. “Yeah….listen, I think I’m ok now. Thanks for your help”.
He turns, and stumbles over the basket of blankets. Holding onto one of the chairs to stop himself from falling.
“Umm…Marc, I have a taxi coming in 5 minutes, I’d feel much better if you let me drop you somewhere? This is Soho on a Saturday night, you know.”
He’s silent for a minute.
“Yeah, ok”.
“Do you want to let anyone know you’re going?”
“No, they’ve found other entertainment a long time ago”.
Hmm, what questionable friends he has. Oh well, let’s manouver Marc to the taxi.
“Do you remember your address?”
“Yeah”.
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