“I call the bed.” Lydia raises her hand, and I roll my eyes.
“Fuck.” I grumble as I head to the bathroom and close the door out of sheer annoyance.
I don’t know how we do it, but for the rest of the day, we avoid each other, not speaking, cooped up in the small hotel room. Could we easily leave and only come back tonight? Yes. But that would admit defeat, and we’re both too stubborn to let this bother us. Or at least show that it’s the worst thing in the world— being trapped with someone you cannot stand at the moment.
When it’s finally evening, I want to order some dinner from room service. Lydia is on the bed beside the hotel phone, reading a book I’ve never heard of and won’t pretend to care about for conversation.
The problem is, she feels me staring and thinks I’m staring at her, when really I’m just staring at the phone I want to use— and a little bit at her.
“What’s up?” She slowly asks, not looking up from her book.
“I’m hungry.”
“Go get food.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“Why? Because the pleasure of my company is so wonderful, you couldn’t imagine not taking me with you?” I slowly blink at her chiding tone.
“No.” I curtly respond. “Because I don’t want to leave.”
“So, why is thismyproblem?”
“Because you’re by the help-desk phone.” She glances over at it, then back at me. Something crosses her eyes, and for a moment, the sarcasm and anger is gone. It’s just her and me, and honestly, the look makes me fucking confused why we’re even this mad at each other. It quickly changes, though. She shakes her head and crawls to the far edge of the bed.
“Have it.” She waves as she looks back down at her book. I don’t thank her for this small measure of decency as I order an entire meal for both of us. I know she’s hungry and knows what she likes, so yeah, I’m a fucking saint for hating her and caring for her all-in-one. Call me Mother Teresa– actually, don't.
“Thanks.” She must have noticed I ordered for her. I only nod and make my way back to my chair at the very corner of the room beside the balcony window. When dinner arrives, it’s another quiet affair. I barely look at her, and for some reason, this sets something off inside. I’m still pissed at her, but most of all, I feel betrayed, and I hate feeling in general. Still do, even though she’s the one who makes me feel the most.
She goes into the bathroom after she’s done eating, and I order a couple of bottles of wine. Within the next hour, I've drunk a whole bottle of red, and I am starting on the second when I feel the pang of guilt in my chest. This time it’s not guilt for sharing what I did with Lydia, it's guilt for the way I acted when she didn’t share with me. She’s been in the bathroom this entire time, and I can tell she’s upset. I don’t know if I’m the cause, but I don’t know what else would be making her hide away. I grit my teeth as I stand, knock on the door, and wait. She opens it after a second, and I smile.
“Can I help you?” She crosses her arms over her chest, clearly not in the smiling mood. Maybe I should have brought that other bottle with me.
“Uhhh. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She takes a step back to let me in. “As if we aren’t already in tight enough quarters.” She mumbles under her breath, and I try not to let it piss me off again as I step inside.
“I’m sorry.” I blurt out, and she tilts her head, nearly shocked.
“For…”
“For blowing up the other night and not giving you a chance to speak. I— I do care about you.”
“Friends, right?” For some reason, this sounds like a dig, but I know she’s only asking, so I nod.
“Right.”
“Well, I apologize for going through your phone. I should have just asked you if I could look through it. Trust issues here too.” She shrugs and turns back to the mirror. At this point, I realize she’s putting on makeup, already in a black dress, too hot to be staying in tonight.
“Where are you going?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re getting ready. Where are you going?” She doesn’t answer me. Won’t look my way as she applies more makeup to her already perfect face, and now I’m angry all over again. “God damnit, Lydia.” I raise my voice just a bit, and she turns to me.
“I have to go.”
“Where?”