Unforgettable

5.

All you have to do is touch my hand
To show me you understand
And something happens to me
That's some kind of wonderful

Song: Some kind of wonderful  - The Drifters

**

Five....

Six.....

Seven....

Eight....

Fuck I'm good

Nine....

"Crap" I huff, trying to impossibly look up at my own forehead where a Reece's Piece is currently sitting.

I've spent the last hour the most constructive way possible, laid out on my back on my couch tossing candy in the air and seeing how many I can consecutively catch in my mouth.

My record is 24 by the way.

I pick the the candy from my forehead, popping it in my mouth.

Well this Sunday has been exhilarating so far.

I've been trying to distract myself all day, and by all day I mean since I woke up at noon.

Dylan knows how important today is to me, she knows how hard it is for me and where is she?

Probably drinking kale fucking smoothies with pretentious rich fashion designers in LA, talking about designing another white T-shirt for $400, all because it has a word on the front of it.

For $400 that shirt better fucking dress me, wash itself and give me random compliments throughout the day.

I sigh in frustration, running my hands down my face.

I'm being a bitch, I shouldn't think that. This is her career. This is important to her. This is what she loves.

I need to support it.

This isn't about me.

I will never drink a kale smoothie though.

I'd rather die.

I crane my head back to look at the clock on my wall, 4pm.

I guess I should probably get up and do something, be a productive useful adult.

Maybe I should do some housework.

I look down to the bowl of Reece's Pieces and shrug to myself.

Time murder that record, 25 here I come baby.

I grab a piece from the bowl, tossing it in the air and catching it in my mouth like a dog catching a treat.

One....

Two....

Three....

Four....

There's two loud knocks at my door, and I throw another candy piece in my mouth, frowning towards it.

Five.

Seriously Finn? I already told you I was busy today. I have a very packed schedule of laying like a slug on my couch and only moving for food.

There's two more knocks and I huff, taking the bowl off my stomach and putting it on the coffee table "Don't get your panties in a twist I'm coming" I yell

I haul myself off the couch, stomping towards the front door, pulling down at the hem of the old oversized T-shirt I've lived in since I crawled into bed at 5am.