The perfect recipe for procrastination includes the following: a church, a category two hurricane, and an irresistible ex-con. Said ex-con is smarter than he looks, and as it turns out, he's also an incredible kisser.
There would be no studying thi...
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I had chocolate in my veins.
That, along with many other things that were capable of killing me. I held my hair away from my overheated face as I vomited the contents of my churning stomach into my boyfriend's fancy toilet. The gurgling sounds coming from my throat were that of an animal being tortured . . . with a pitchfork.
I tasted acid on my tongue and my teeth. My stomach burned. It was as if somebody had lit a fire in there and then decided to exacerbate the situation by pouring gasoline on it. The lining of my throat felt raw and bruised.
I waited. Waited on the next big wave of regurgitation, but nothing happened.
It was over.
That feeling of dying was over.
The stench of partly digested chocolate mixed with red wine and this morning's egg sandwich permeated the air. I glanced into the toilet bowl and winced at the dark brown, liquid mess that resembled my cat's diarrhea after she'd made the poor decision of actually eating a rat that she'd found in my parents' basement. I remembered staying up all night with her until she felt better.
Still on my knees in front of the toilet, I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the corners of my lips. I then threw the paper in, slammed the lid shut, and then with trembling fingers flushed down the contents of my poor decision. I slumped back against the wall for a few seconds before getting up to wash my mouth with water.
Why the heck did I think that drinking an entire bottle of wine all by myself after I'd already stuffed my face full with a truckload of chocolate was a good idea?
Well, maybe if I hadn't caught my boyfriend exchanging a bucketful of bacteria infected saliva with my fucking mother I wouldn't have felt the need to combine my two most favorite things in the world in what turned out to be a deadly concoction.
Red wine and chocolate. Never me again.
I was quitting drinking.
Not all kinds of drinking, just the I'm-feeling-sorry-for-myself kind of drinking. I needed to find a healthier way to cope.
I splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth again. I had nice teeth and I wanted to keep them that way. I had never been told by a guy besides my boyfriend that I had pretty eyes or a nice body. It was always my smile they found attractive.
I was reaching up in the cabinet when the bathroom door suddenly opened and there stood my jackass of a boyfriend, Harvey. He focused his deep set eyes on me, the harsh overhead light turning his normally dark blue eyes aquamarine. I stared at him for the longest while, my throat tight with unspoken emotions, and I noticed that he had changed his clothes.
My heart sank, further confirming my suspicions.
"Jillian," he said, calling me by my full name. "What's wrong? You don't look okay." He stayed in the doorway and continued to gaze at me. "What's that smell?"
