"Come on, just one? One surely won't hurt you...
" He's a good-looking guy, with arresting Celtic knotwork tattooed on his forearms, that makes her wonder, hazily, if the knotwork is all over him.
"I really don't drink much; I just don't handle alcohol well..."
"One little one?" he grins, engagingly. He really is quite attractive.
"I shouldn't...alcohol makes me--", but she takes it, anyway, and....
...And she is waking up, in her room. With a terrible headache.
*Morning? What happened? Ooh, my head...*
Her head and...
"Oh, God! Ummmmph-----" she climbs stiffly out of bed and runs to the bathroom, her stomach heaving. She just makes it in time, and vomits violently into the toilet.
She stands there a minute, shaking and dizzy, then heaves again. This time she is more aware of what she is throwing up, and how chunky, how wrong it feels.
*Good God, what did I eat?* She has only a vague memory of last night--a guy, a Celtic tattoo, but little else. "I tried to tell him I didn't drink...", but she can't recall anything else.
And then notices, though one tries not to look too closely, at just what she puked up...."What is...? That looks like...."
*And chunks of---is that skin?*
*I must be hallucinating*--she notices that one of the chunks has, undeniably, a piece of Celtic knotwork on it....
Snatches of last night are coming back now, and she stumbles wearily to the kitchen. It's happened again. There'll be a big mess to clean up, she knows.
After all, she knows *why* she doesn't drink much. She just doesn't handle alcohol well at all.