Wrong Number

Chapter 8

I wake with a throbbing headache and two post-it notes taped to my forehead and phone. The one on my phone says Haley's out and probably won't be home until later. The one on my forehead is from Sean and it says he tried waiting for me but got impatient and decided to go get lunch on his own.

There's also a glass of water and some aspirin awaiting sweetly on my bedside table. It was probably Sean who left them there while Haley helped me to bed because I don't know how I got changed and that's usually the way things go.

P: I know yesterday I said I was dead but today I mean it

My feet drag along the rough carpet of my bedroom and into the cold tiled floor of the bathroom. My reflection shows a crazy homeless lady with a bird's nest for hair and reddened tired eyes surrounded by dark circles that could be makeup or just the fact that I haven't been getting much sleep lately.

Maybe a bit of both. I opt for a quick shower while my coffees brewing then settle in the tub for a warm bath.

P: The house is too quiet

P: Have you ever noticed rats hands are just like really tiny human hands?

P: I JUST THOUGHT OF ANOTHER NAME
P: Lorenzo!
P: That's it isnt it?!

P: You know this texting thing isnt as fun when theres no reply....

P: Wait, were you serious yesterday? Are you really not going to text me anymore?

P: Fine but all im saying is im SUPER tired and if i fall asleep in this bath you're going to feel real bad
P: If you hear about someone drowning in their tub just assume it was me...

P: For the record once again: you texted me

I sigh, draining the tub and tossing my phone on my bed. An hour. Sixty minutes. One. Whole. Hour. And nothing. Not even a 'busy go away' or 'can't talk right now don't die'. Nothing.

Which should be fine, except that it's not. And not in the clingy whiney way where I need him to reply to me all the time anytime because this isn't that. There's just a funny feeling in my stomach telling me somethings off. Like my body and brain know something I don't.

If I think about it too much my head starts to hurt again so I don't think about it. I tell myself everything is fine and he's probably just too busy to even tell me he's busy, that's how busy he is. I tell myself the weird feeling in my gut is just apart of my hangover and the two are not related. I ditch my phone and shove him out of my head, busying my mind with a movie instead.

Everything is fine and he is not going to go ghost on me again.

-

The day goes by quickly and not just because I slept through half of it. I get tweets about the party last night - along with some very unflattering photos, Facebook messages from old friends asking to catch up sometime and one from my mom saying I never pick up my phone and you don't live that far away you know.

Which maybe I deserve that bit of sass since I do only live a little over 6 hours away yet go home the least amount I can get away with before she has a strop about it.