Eventually, I fall asleep, and when I open my eyes again, the sun is going down. I can tell through my blanket fortress. I push the comforter aside and rush to the toilet—my bladder wins—and then reassess.
I still feel like shit. A glance in the mirror tells me Ilooklike shit. I don’t even want to touch my phone because my friends are probably calling to check on me. The shower is calling my name, so I hop in and rub myself raw, trying to get the smell and feel of Hunter off myself.
When I am done, I get dressed in sweats and my slippers and head to the refrigerator. What I find there is abysmal. Because I am never home, I don’t even have either of the two things one must have in these situations—chocolate and wine.
Slamming the fridge, I mumble under my breath and go to get my keys and wallet. A trip to the convenience store will have to be the cause of me breaking my eternal vow to never leave the bed again.
I don’t care that my hair is wet and I have no makeup on. I rush in, grab the few items I need, and wait for the teenage boy behind the counter to ring them up.
“Tough day?” he asks, bopping my wine with the wand before moving on to one of three kinds of chocolate I laid on the counter.
“Yep,” I say.
“Boyfriend break up with you?” He doesn’t look like the type of guy who is going out with a new girl every weekend, with his bad skin and thick glasses.
“No. My dog died,” I tell him, and the cocky look on his face fades away.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” He looks like he’s about to cry, and I suddenly feel bad for the lie. But rather than trying to make up something else about it, I take my bag, hand him enough cash to cover it, and head out, letting him do what he will with the change.
Back at my apartment, I am ready to go inside and eat chocolate and drink wine while I watch the newest season of that raunchy real estate show on Netflix, when the door next to mine opens and Mrs. Woodside pokes her head out.
“Hello, dearie,” she says with a warm smile. “I was hoping that was you.”
I know I look like a disaster, and I’m suddenly embarrassed to be seeing anyone in this state, and then it occurs to me that she likely heard the fight Hunter and I had earlier, too. I was screaming all sorts of obscenities at him… I feel my face flush with embarrassment and fully expect her to tell me I’m going straight to hell the same way my grandmother would have if she’d heard me say the F word.
“Hello, Mrs. Woodside,” I say, my voice trembling slightly, like I am in the principal’s office at school.
“It sounded like you’ve had a rough day, honey,” she says. “I guess you broke up with your boyfriend?”
I am wondering why she is asking this, but since I’m not sure, I decide it is easiest to say, “Yes, I, uh, I broke up with him.” She doesn’t need any details.
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, dear. You know, the good ones will always find their way back to you. If they don’t, they’re not that good. Anyhow, I made these for you.” She extends a plastic container full of brownies to me.
I don’t know what to say. It’s one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me in a long time—other than the necklace I still haven’t taken off and the party my friends threw for me at work last night.
“You didn’t have to do that!” I exclaim.
“Well, I love to bake, and Mr. Whiskers isn’t much for brownies.” She laughs and gestures for me to take the container, which I do.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her.
She smiles and nods. “I sure hope you feel better, and he either gets his shit together or you drop his ass.”
My mouth falls open as I stare at her. Did Mrs. Woodside just say the S word? And the A word? She’s giggling as she ducks back into her apartment, and I am left with the first genuine smile on my face since Hunter ripped it off.
In my apartment, a few minutes later, I have my three chocolate selections, a bottle of wine, and a container of brownies with me, along with my laptop, and am watching my favorite show until I am so full of sugar and alcohol I practically pass out. Shutting my laptop, I try not to think about Hunter and put the lid on the brownies. This is my agenda for tomorrow as well, and I don’t want them to get stale.
I fall asleep hard and sleep late into the morning. I wake up to the sound of my alarm and turn it off. I’m not going anywhere. Later, when it’s almost time for me to go to work, I haul my ass out of bed and go take a shower before I phone the club.
“Club Limelight.”
“Carter?” I say, not sure if I recognize his voice or not. He shouldn’t be there already. I’ve called the club floor number instead of the office because I don’t want to talk to Hunter.
“Oh, my God, Meghan! How are you? Are you okay?” I can hear the concern in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I tell him. “I, uh, I just wanted to let you guys know I’m not coming in tonight. I mean… I’m sick. I’m not fine. But I’m okay.” I’m not making any sense.
When I finally give him a chance to talk, the bartender still sounds sympathetic. “No worries, Meghan. We had a feeling you might be out again tonight. We’ve got your shift covered. You just take care of yourself, all right? And when you’re ready, we look forward to having you back. We all miss you.”