Wyatt's Magical Wardrobe || ONC 2024

[Eight]

My phone pulls me from blissful oblivion, alerting me to a new message.

"Shut up, you stupid hunk of junk," I yell from my drowsy state.

I'm tempted to throw it at the wall, but it's new and would probably just keep beeping, anyway. Plus, I'm not that psycho. The screen lights up my semi-darkened room and a number I don't recognise has sent another message.

Instantly, I know who it is.

Good morning.
Could you please come and collect me at your earliest convenience? Yours sincerely, Matthew.

Is it weird that I love how polite this is? I decide to ring him and give him a fright.

He answers almost immediately. "Good morning, Wyatt."

"Morning. I was hoping you'd freak out and take you forever to answer in a fluster."

"I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I am now a mobile phone expert," he says.

"Confident much?"

"Last night I read the instruction manual from front to back and this morning I discovered the worldwide Web," he tells me matter-of-factly.

Hmm, what trouble has he been getting himself into then?

"And what do you think?"

"Fascinating! I spent an obscene amount of time on goggle maps and then I discovered space and the planets," he says. I can hear the pure excitement in his voice. And the way he says google is so cute, but slightly wrong.

"Careful, the internet is a slippery slope of time wasting." I warn him. I should know, I spent an entire week (between jobs) in my dungeon flat bingeing taskmaster and pimple popping videos once.

"I just discovered cat versus cucumber stories when you rang," he says.

I yell down the phone, "abort, abort, once you start it's impossible to stop!"

He laughs at my frenzied panic, and the sound is like pure sunshine after a snowstorm.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" I ask him.

"No, I've been researching all morning." Or, in other words, wasting time staring at his new gadget.

"I'll get dressed, then come pick you up. Let's say about twenty minutes."

"Lovely, I'll see you soon Wyatt."

Swoon, I love the way he says my name with his posh accent.

"Bye."

I end the call and sit up. My neck pinches as I put my phone on my side table. Damn it, just what I didn't need today. I rub at it profusely as the ache travels down my spine. This old mattress is crap. Becks told me I'd regret not replacing it with a new one. I hate it when she's right.

Shit, Becks. There's still been no word from her. Not even a reply to my text, which is definitely weird.

Then I look up at my curvy wardrobe, the light peeking through my curtains illuminates its off centeredness. Bugger, I can't move it with my aching neck. But then I remember my big strong Mr Darcy waiting for me in the little room at the Inn. Excellent, he can do it.

I'm about to get dressed when I notice a strange, unpleasant smell. I sniff around, trying to find the source, but it smells like it's everywhere. Then it hits me like a slap in the face-I'm the problem, it's me. Oh bloody hell, I haven't had a shower in about, ah crap, five days. No wonder I'm turning ripe.

I can't be arsed trudging back and forth between the bathroom and kitchen for hot water, so I grab some clothes and things to have a shower at the Inn. Matt won't mind. I am paying for it, after all.