“Just feeling restless. You know, it’s a Saturday night and all,” I blurt out, hoping it will get her off my back.
She pauses the movie and stands up placing her hands on her hips.
Oh shit. Here we go.
The vein on her forehead looks like it’s ready to pop. Her dull green eyes suddenly spark with rage.
“I get it. You’d rather be elsewhere,” she huffs. “Why on earth would you want to spend Saturday night with your friend who almost died today when there’s some fresh pussy waiting to be fucked.”
“No, it’s not like that—”
“I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Drew,” she says without looking my way as she heads out of the room.
What the fuck was that?
I want to follow her down the hall, but obviously, something’s bothering her, and I’m too on edge. We’re forever arguing about things, forever at war but this is so out of left field.
Minutes later, I find myself staring blankly at the television wondering what the hell’s wrong with her. It’s like almost instantly she snapped, and why? I have no idea.
The clock on the wall says it’s just after eleven. For the club scene, it’s just the beginning of the night, but my head isn’t in the right frame of mind to go out and have fun.
On top of that, I had called the hospital earlier and told them my roommate had to be resuscitated today. They told me as long as someone covered my shift, I could have the night off. While Zoey was sleeping earlier, I had called around, begging everyone I could find to swap with me. It’s the worst night to switch given everyone cherishes their rare weekends off. Finally, one of the other interns, John, agreed on the condition that I did his nightshift. Great. I agreed only because I thought being here for Zoey was important.
Boy, was I wrong.
Chapter Five
Zoey
On Sunday morning, I’m glad to wake up and find the apartment empty. Last night turned out to be one of those nights I would rather forget. Make that the whole day.
After Drew’s eagerness to head out and party mid-movie, I’d lost my cool and threw a girl tantrum. So, I was irritable and exhausted. And just maybe I had acted like a spoiled little brat because I didn’t get my way. You’d think spending time with your roomie on the day she almost lost her life wouldn’t be too much trouble, but hey, what would I know?
Drew never came to my room to smooth things out. I wasn’t surprised one bit. He simply left the apartment probably to drown his frustrations in someone’s vagina.
Typical.
As for me, I was wide awake with nowhere to go. I cleaned my room after a sudden burst of energy, throwing my earphones on and mellowing out with some New Kids on the Block. It was either that or go for my ballads, but I didn’t need a reminder of my tragic love life.
Upon cleaning my room, I found one of those miniature vodka bottles someone gave me at a party and downed it in one go, ignoring the persistent burn it made on its way down my throat—the perfect end to a day that screamed disaster.
And so here I lie, at some godawful hour on a Sunday morning, with the sounds of a bird’s incessant chirping invading my room. The sun lights up my walls forcing me to open my eyes. The vodka—although a small quantity—was enough to give me a slight headache.
After yesterday’s near-death experience, something inside me has been triggered. I don’t want to be the fat girl eating pizza on a Friday night by myself. I don’t want to fetch paper for my boss. And most importantly, I want to feel the touch of a man again and the love of a man. I want to close my eyes each night next to a man whispering sweet promises in my ear of the beautiful life we will embark on together.
Romance—that’s what I crave—and to feel worthy. And just because I’m only human, maybe some kinky sex on the side. A man who can make me feel like a goddess in the bedroom.
Maybe this happening is a good thing. A much-needed wake-up call that Zoey Richards is wasting her life away. I just need a plan. Plans are better executed with some music. Leaning across to my nightstand, I fumble for my iPod and scroll through my playlist. Katrina and the Waves—perfect. I should be walking on sunshine considering I survived.
I text my friend from work, Mia, to see if she’s up for a run. This out-of-character text prompts her to call me immediately.
“Are you okay? Is this an SOS message because you’re in danger?” she panics over the receiver. “I’ve got 911 on speed dial.”
“No, I’m fine, but I could use a run.”
We agree to meet at the park around the corner in twenty minutes. Buried in the back of my closet are my shorts and a sports tank I bought after my New Year’s resolution of losing weight and getting fit. The tags which are still attached to the garments are another reminder that New Year’s resolutions were a waste of time. Stretching my arms, I pull the tank over my head and it’s snug, and that’s being generous with my words. My boobs look like water balloons ready to burst, and my tights, they give me massive camel toe. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I slip my feet into my joggers and grab a hair tie, throwing my hair back into a tight ponytail. No doubt, this time tomorrow, I will be sitting in the same spot regretting my mission to become thin and fit.
The park is located a block away from the apartment. I attempt to throw myself into the deep end by running as soon as my feet touch the pavement, but by the time I hit the end of the street, I can barely breathe and am certain that I’m having a heart attack. Resting against the street lamp, a couple stops and asks me if I’m okay. How embarrassing! I simply smile and manage to cough out the words ‘major stitch.’