DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #178 - should i stay or should i go

⚠️ short chapter in which nothing happens because my life is hell atm... and also because I hate the place this story is in. I want the happy days back, if there's even a chance of that 🥹 ⚠️

فيزا

I stand up from the white throne, I wipe myself up well with abundant toilet paper, I blink twice, and I realise I've got at least a couple things to do, before I walk back into the main room and find myself face to face with Sean again. He's out there, chill as a pill for what I can hear from here, while I'm in there, and still feeling like shit and shaking like a leaf: so, with the very little bit of strength that's still left inside of me, I hop on the sink, and I treat myself to a very improvised, but ever so cliché, expat-fashioned bidet. Not that I'm gonna need it, I ain't gonna get laid today, tomorrow, and not even the day after tomorrow... but the wise old man says that a clean flush of water and some neuter PH soap down there are sometimes all you need in order to feel better with yourself, and I comply to that pearl of wisdom I was raised to all of my life. Then, I hop off the sink, wash my shaking hands, dry them on a random towel, and I finally find the bravado to look at my reflection in the mirror: and when I see myself all red in the face, and even redder in the eyes, with trails of melted makeup on my cheeks, I curse out loud, giving zero fucks about being heard by either Sean or anyone of our peeps. Why are you poor, wrecked, silly thing cursing, you'd like to ask me... so I'll answer by saying that it's because it's clear that Barbaranne doesn't put her makeup remover wipes in the toilet, hence there's nothing I can do to make myself look less like I've cried in front of the man who made me cry. But, at some point into cursing in a language that ain't English, because English is not eloquent enough for my tastes when there's to manifest disappointment...  I remember that I'm rather smart, when it looks good on me, and I decide to implement the wise old man's rule all over again. And because of that, I soap my hands up, and wash and rinse my face with aggressive soap and warm water until there's no trace of runny makeup on my face. I look one last time at my reflection in the mirror, I try to cock a smile even if I'm feeling like shit and looking like half of the girl I used to be, and in the end, I just pull the damn door handle. Not quite ready to open the damn thing, and find Sean unproblematically sitting among all the people who tried to put me back together after he broke me for no reason.

I sigh out loud and hold my own hands to give myself strength, when I open the door wide, and see the man himself sitting on the armchair that once used to be mine. I mean, not mine de facto, because this room ain't billed with my name at the reception, but it's still the place I once used to be all curled up on, before he walked in here and triggered my peeing stimulus... and for that alone, I'd hit him with a slipper. If I weren't barefoot of course, and if this was a legit reason to give him as good as I originally got from him. I was expecting to walk back in here and find him leaning against the wall with his hands on the peepee, in the standard Kinney pose ... but much to my surprise, he's sitting with my camel plushie on his lap, and he's looking rather frowned. Face between his palms and gaze lowered to the floor like he's contemplating how deep the universe is, out of all the things. Standard Sean behaviour, so standard that I don't pay that much attention to it, and I just shrug and scratch the back of my head like I couldn't be any less bothered by his physical presence. But I realise that I'm way more bothered by it than I'd like to admit to my own self, when he sees me leaning just a few steps away from him... and he welcomes the sight of me (a scarecrow, at this point), by standing up from his seat, putting my plushie in the pocket of the horrible, greyish lounge shorts that he's wearing, and buzzing his eyes open like he's just seen Jesus Christ in person. Okay, the bad boy and I share a hometown, and everyone in this room knows it...  but that's about it. Bethlehem rizz, no hype at all. So why is he now looking me as if I were the prophet, when until not so long ago he was looking at me as if I were worth as much as a trash bag to him, and pushing, pulling and throwing me accordingly? What is this? Another mood swing of his? Or regret biting back at him like a dog bites its own trail?