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05. LITTLE LIES
THE WEAK SUNLIGHT was caressing my skin, causing me to widely open my eyes and wake up. Lazily, I tried to hide myself under the covers, wanting to spend a few more minutes in bed, but the weird uneasiness inside of me didn't plan on giving me a break. One minute I'd be lying on my stomach, face buried in the pillow, but once the uneasiness increases, I'd be lying on my back, facing the empty sealing and think about what had happened last night.
Every time his face showed up right in front of my eyes, I would shake my head and turn to the other side of the bed. But the images didn't stop forming inside my head, so I had to get up, still unable to ignore the worry eating me alive.
Why couldn't I stop thinking about it? Why couldn't I simply shake off the memories and the feelings I had for him? It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, the sudden smell of alcohol that clenched onto his clothing and the smile plastered against his face would drag me back at the very beginning.
Reluctantly, I stood up, hair messy and vision blurry from the sleepiness. Without a thought, my hands stormed towards the phone placed on the nightstand. Once my hands finally found the rectangular object in the darkened room, I saw no messages or calls left.
I knew that Parker doesn't remember a single thing from last night, but a part of me was hoping that he'd let me know he was okay. Or at least, thank me for trying to help him. That was all I needed. It was all my soul needed from him even though my brain denied it.
Moving on takes some time, it takes months for those feelings to fade away and I thought that I was finally over it. I thought that once a certain period of time was behind me, I'd be okay gain.
With the heart throbbing pain rushing through my veins at the very thought of him, I realized that I'll never be okay.
I wanted to call him, to check if he was doing okay, but my ego was standing in the way. I couldn't even admit to myself that I still cared for him, let alone let him know how I really felt. So eventually, I gave up, leaving the phone back on the nightstand. Once I put on the oversized sweater and a pair of jeans, I stormed out of the room, not even bothering to make the bed.
Before my stomach could crave for a morning meal, I realized I had no time to let my palates taste anything, not even a plain black coffee. The old clock on a white wall was ticking loudly, its hands resting on the number 7.
That's when I knew it had happened again; I was late for work.
Again.
Within seconds, I grabbed my keys and stormed out of my small apartment, thinking that I'll just grab a snack on the way.
This is the second time this week I was being late. If this becomes a habit of mine, I'm sure I'll no longer have a job to dedicate my time to. Working as a waitress in a coffee shop might not seem like the best job on the entire planet, but it was all I had until I can finally find something that would help me stand back on my feet for a longer period of time.
