The first and last time that Jesse had drank so much he'd just turned eighteen -- no longer a boy but not quite a man either. He'd gotten drunk enough to forget his own name and his parents had shown him no mercy. The following morning, they'd cared not one iota about his protesting stomach nor the crippling headache which had given him triple vision. Just like any regular Saturday, he'd had to haul himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to perform his duties; earning his keep and college tuition around their old plantation home as if he was fit as a fiddle and not on the receiving end of a serious lesson in hangovers. It had been either that or his father had promised that he'd been prepared to report his delinquency -- along with that of his buddies -- to the sheriff. Had it meant that he could have gone back to sleep, Jesse would have readily accepted the latter. Clive and the rest of them would have given shit for selling them out but a few hours of sleep to help him recover would have been worth their butt hurt. They'd have gotten over it within 24 hours then they'd be back to their old antics. Unfortunately, his father had made it clear that, either way, whether he'd involved the sheriff in the matter or not, sleeping in hadn't been in the cards for him that day.

'Building character'  he'd called it while dragging Jesse out of bed by the ankles. His son had made a few grunts of protest, each of which he'd quickly regretted since the sound of his own voice had rattled his brain. He'd had a slightly different take on things than father's as well. Attempted murder is what Jesse had seen it as; but Bertrand Caine still isn't known to be a reasonable man; and back then, especially not when it came to discipline and his two sons.

So, with his father waiting, his impatience like that of a warden's beside Jesse's bedroom door and the disappointment in his eyes just as damning as the kind of day Jesse had known he was about to endure, he had had no choice but to totter into the hall dressed in the same shorts and t-shirt that he'd fallen into bed with the night before. He'd all but crept down the stairs and bypassed the kitchen without a glance or a good morning to his mother, standing at the stove, since the very idea of food had pitched his stomach into a rebellion.

A few times during the day, while puttering around in his father's workshop, trying to appear busy and not inflict any kind of damage upon himself, Jesse had needed to bolt through the wide open barn door to puke in the little stream that runs through their property. When he had no longer been able to tolerate the debilitating discomfort of the remnants of alcohol in his system, he'd simply dropped beneath the young willow tree beside the babbling brook, closed his eyes and truly wished for death to take him.

Up till now, Jesse will testify to anyone that it was the little girl who'd lived with her mother in the small house they rented across the stream who had saved his life. She'd found him flushed and sweaty, almost unmoving, with the hot sun beating down on him turning his skin the shade of a lobster.

In the days following that ordeal, he had caught himself smiling often at the memory of Tullisa, small as she had been, chewing him out and calling him stupid for getting himself so plastered. At the time, the sound of her voice had been anything but funny and she'd been anything but cute.

More like the devil, in fact.

On top of feeling like his brain had been liquefying, her nagging had been akin to screws being driven into his skull.

Although only very vaguely, he recalls the vile flavor of the concoction her mother had brewed and given her to nurse him with. Being the spirited sprite that she still is, Tullisa had forced it down his throat despite the heavy protestations he'd put up. The only reason he'd given in had been his hope that by doing so, she in turn would have left him alone to die in peace. He remembers managing to get a few gulps down before having to dive for the water's edge when the muscles in his guts revolted and convulsed against the offensive odor and repugnant taste.

She'd sat beside him after that encouraging him to take smaller sips until he'd swallowed everything. The next thing he knew, he was waking up cured and confused with his head resting in the lap of a thirteen-year-old girl while the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. Never had he moved so quickly to get away from a female before in his life.

Like a stuttering fool, red in the face from embarrassment, he'd scrambled backwards to put some space between them, stumbled while trying to get on his feet and fallen on his ass with a litany of apologies flying out of his mouth.

She'd looked embarrassed and guilty, amused and stricken all at the same time.

Behind his closed eyelids, Jesse can still picture Tullisa that beautiful August evening. She'd bounced to her feet with her back to the setting sun and her glowing bronze face smiling shyly at him. The burst of golden light at her back had cast this unearthly shadow around her and set aflame her riotous mop of brown, orange, red and gold tight curls like a bush fire during the dry season.

It's not really strange that he would recall the only other time he'd suffered a hangover of this magnitude. Nor is the memory of the bitter taste of the brew her mother had made for him. After all, he has every intention of asking Lily for the recipe just as soon as he can persuade his eyes to remain open under the assault of the sunlight streaming through the light curtains covering the windows. What's baffling is the perfect recollection of Tullisa after he floats unwillingly out of blessed sleep.

He hasn't thought about that particular incident in a long, long time. As a matter of fact, he'd deliberately blocked it out of his mind. Waking up that evening to her stroking his hair and his jaw like only a lover has a right to and he moaning his enjoyment of her touch had been traumatizing. Once he'd blinked fully into consciousness and acknowledged the slow rising in his shorts, he'd felt dirty -- like a sleaze -- like someone who needed to be shackled and kept far, far away from little children. But the image is there now renewing the mortification he'd felt back then and causing Jesse's troubled stomach to flip and curl in on itself.

Unable to; or maybe he's just afraid to get out of bed, Jesse lies there on his back hoping that by remaining completely still, the room will stop spinning, the veins in his temple will stop pulsing and his stomach won't rise up into the back of his throat.

He hadn't expected to feel the effects of overindulgence so acutely -- not at twenty-eight; but it's there just as terrible as it had been following that Friday ten years ago.

It had been beyond moronic to give in to his baser instincts but that's what had driven him to the bottle last night -- not necessarily to bury the sorrow, or to dilute the pain. Not let go of the residual anger either. He's already accepted that these will be his unflagging companions for the rest of his life. All he'd simply wanted was to feel something different for once. To be who he had been before everything had gone to shit.

Those same buddies who had gotten him sloshed on his eighteenth birthday had finally convinced him that what he needed was to get laid. 'It didn't even need to be in a bed', one of them -- and he doesn't remember who the culprit is right now -- had told him. Before he'd had the opportunity to protest that, another had poured him his first of many drinks for the night.' With the right amount of liquor, you'll be up for whatever', they'd convinced him.

By the looks of things, his mission had only been half successful. If his symptoms are any indication, he'd went and gotten himself well and truly hammered. Seeing that he is waking up alone, the effort and the consequences are an absolute waste.

The brackish taste in his mouth, makes Jesse grimace.

Though disappointed that he hadn't closed any deals, he feels a measure of relief particularly because, subsequent to the first set of shots he'd downed back to back, his recollection of the events of last night become pretty hazy. From there, everything kind of just fades to black. There's a deep chasm in his memory up until the point when he'd first opened his eyes this morning.

The effect of trying to recover the missing segments makes the throbbing in his head that much more severe. Jesse lets out a long moan; a sound he quickly regrets since it stirs a vibration in his skull. He flops an arm across his eyes to fend off the abuse from the unremitting glare of what has to be the midday sun by now. The sudden high-pitched ring from his phone somewhere on the floor feels like a gong being rung right beside his ear. Jesse groans again and decides to let it ring out. It's Sunday after all, his off day and he's got no place to be but right here in his bed, recovering.

Whoever is calling doesn't take the hint; however, as one ring bleeds into another.

With a huff, Jesse flops his arm back down beside him in frustration. He grabs the sheet wrapped around his waist to toss it aside but his hand comes into contact with something cold. He fingers the squishy material for a moment with his face scrunched up in confusion. Easing his head up from the pillows, Jesse looks down and his eyes widen mirroring the sharp blow of shock now rocking his mind.

"Oh no," he groans at the realization that he is completely in the nude.

He begins searching the room for the signs of whoever may or may not have accompanied him home after his bender. Seeing that only his clothes are strewn over the floor, he takes it as a signal that whoever had been there had hopefully already upped and left. Still, he calls, "hello?" just to be sure.

When nothing but silence answers him, Jesse drops back down and stares up at the ceiling. He's not sure whether he should be worried or elated by the lack of response.

,Maybe the person he'd spent the night with is of the same mind as he," he thinks to console himself. He must have specified no strings attached and that's why the individual is no longer in his bed.

The good thing about it is that he'd at least possessed the forethought to choose a bar way out of his way as his hunting ground. Traveling one town over had given him enough time to debate with himself the pros and cons of a one night stand. Plus, it had removed the possibility of the women in his small town of Fresh Water getting the wrong idea about his intentions. They're the settling kind. No doubt, one or two of them would say that they're committed to a one-nighter but it wouldn't be long before they started getting other ideas and expecting things that he's not able to give.

The truth is, he'd already tried for the whole white picket fence scenario. It hadn't worked. As a matter of fact, it had nearly destroyed him. Years later, he's still trying to pick up the remnants of his life. The majority of the women around him are bred homemakers. Accordingly, he'd widened the pool in his quest to break his dry spell

That only makes the mystery of the used condom all the more daunting. Which woman would have driven a drunk man for over two hours just to have sex with him and leave without a word?

It makes no sense.

Because he needs to piece together just what his friends had gotten him into last night, Jesse drags himself reluctantly out of bed.