The art of getting laid - InterludeSubmitted by Spam at 2008-07-25 08:10:39 EDT
Rating: 1.78 on 72 ratings (72 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I sleep for the first time in days, dreams a warped miasma of the hours I spent with Her. Time wasted. I dream of phone calls that stretch into the early hours, of train journeys and hotel rooms. Of the complete and unadulterated joy in meeting up with her after our time apart. Rose-tinted memories of the night I moved away and how tender she was, how loving, how we promised each other that we'd make it work despite the distance between us. Mostly I dream of our laughter, soft and intimate, throaty chuckles shared as we lay in bed together, not quite sleeping.
And when I awake, for a second at least, it feels like I'm still there, like we've still got it, like there's still somebody walking around this earth that actually cares for me. Loves me.
And then I remember that I'm not, and we haven't and there isn't because she doesn't. Probably, she never did.
And it's like a punch in the stomach, a sharp pain that never abates. It clouds my every thought and crushes me with every pain racked movement I make.
And I stay there for a while, a long fucking while, using up every ounce of concentration I have to make it all stop, to find a single fucking reason why I should bother to get off this sofa and go about my day.
But even then, It never goes away.
Joe prods me with his foot to see if I'm awake for the second time in as many mornings but everything feels different today, less jovial. I see his face register shock as I sit up off the couch to face him and I don't have to look in the mirror to know that I look like shit, tired eyes haunting an unshaven face. He looks just as bad as well, a consequence of spending the majority of last night passed out in a ditch outside.
"Sleep well?" He eyes the 2nd empty whisky bottle on the table as he asks and nods, knowing that he doesn't really need an answer.
"You?" I reply, forcing a smile. I remember taking his keys from his coat and leaving him unconscious in the rain.
"Fuck you" he says.
We sit there in silence for a long time, each of us trying to piece together the shattered memories of the previous evening and both trying to work out at exactly what point it all went so wrong. After a while Joe produces a bottle of vodka from behind his sofa and pours out two glasses knowing that to ask first would be insulting. And we sit, quietly drinking the morning away, not feeling the need to speak to each other unless we really believe it's worth it.
And lets face it, when you're both drinking neat vodka from dirty glasses at nine o'clock in the morning, it rarely is.
*****INCOMING SMS - SHE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED*****
****Hi Sammy, I heard you were back in town last night. Are you okay? I miss you... Nikki.***
My first reaction is elation, joy that she's messaged me and delight in what it says. That soon subsides though and in it's place grows a deep and brooding anger. Fuck Her. Fuck her for telling me that I wasn't good enough for her those weeks ago. Fuck Her for thinking it's okay to treat people like shit and then smile at them a month later as though nothing ever happened. Fuck Her for calling me last week and setting the wheels in motion that led me to be here, on this sofa, miles from home, lonely and depressed and in the middle of a weekend of drunken disappointment.
But mainly I'm angry at myself.
Because there's no denying my first reaction was still one of elation.
Seeing Leon was a smart move.
There's a pang of resentment as I light my first spliff in 6 months and yeah, it does piss me off that I've reverted to this because of Her but all of that goes as soon as I take my first glorious lungful, it all goes along with everything else. I don't feel angry anymore and the heavy weight of inferiority lifts from my chest. But I'm not happy either. Or tired, or hungover. I'm no longer depressed or hungry.
As I lay back and lazily close my eyes for a thankfully dreamless sleep, I feel absolutely nothing whatsoever.
And it's fucking wonderful.
Day 3 http://www.ubersite.com/m/118001