I hit the button, but it goes right to voicemail. Damnit. I try again. Same thing.
Did he… block me? Shut his phone off? Just in a bad service area?
I try one more time and when it goes to voicemail, I let it play out and leave a message.
“Austen… fuck, I am so sorry. I’m… I know my words don’t mean anything. I know you’re pissed and you deserve to be and—” I sigh. “Please just fucking call me,” I say, my voice breaking. I end the call with trembling fingers, then I pick up the bottle and finish it off.
I feel like death. I haven’t been this hungover since college. It’s nothing compared to what I deserve though. Nothing.
My head is spinning and my stomach fuckinghurts.My mouth tastes like—oh yeah. It tastes like vomit because I fucking threw up.
Groaning, I roll out of bed and bring myself to the bathroom where I take a cold shower and brush my teeth twice just to get the taste out. The entire shower, I feel like I’m going to pass out and throw up. Thankfully, I make it through without doing either. I am too dizzy to do anything though, so I lay back down in bed and order food. It’s afternoon already, but I want breakfast, so I find a diner close by and order one of everything. I let the front desk know to bring it up when it gets here and leave it at my door.
I close my eyes, willing the room to stop spinning and I must pass out. When I wake up, I notice an hour has gone by and I bet my food is here. I don’t feel any better so I get out of bed and carefully make my way to the front door, where my food is waiting in four different plastic bags.
Bringing it all inside, I lay them on the island and tear them open, pulling all the containers out and opening them. I pick at this and that, but go for the sausage, bacon, and French toast first. It’s too sweet and greasy and not what I want. It’s not Austen’s cooking, that’s for sure. Just as the thought enters my brain, I shove it away. I eat a ridiculous amount of food, then feel sick again, so I go back to my bed and lie down.
My fucking life is ruined. Seriously. I ruined it so bad, there is no way it’ll ever be fixed. The dream I could so perfectly envision after these last nearly two weeks with Austen, is shattered. And I only have myself to blame. I stare at my phone on the end table, wishing I had someone to call. I have no friends. Austen was the only one. He’s always been the only one, and when that was ruined last time, it just stayed that way. Sure, there are people I talk to, or that I’m friendly with, but no one I trust. Not like I trust him. No one who knows the history of Austen and I. Havingto explain it all isn’t what I want to do. I just wish I had someone to fucking talk to. Then I get an idea.
I open up that hook up app and I’m grateful when I see JJ’s profile still there. I send him a message because at least he got some of the story. He’s not a friend, but he was cool. Fun. And he’s someone I can talk to.
Hey
I stare at the message, waiting for a response, but I don’t get one. It doesn’t even say he’s online.
“Fuck,” I groan, dropping my phone and staring up at the ceiling.
What else is there to do but go back to sleep? So I roll over and force myself to sleep.
When I wake up, I feel a little better. My head isn’t spinning as much, and I don’t feel sick like I did. Still pretty terrible, but at least better than earlier.
My phone alerts me of an email, so I grab it, but ignore the email and instead tap on the message from JJ.
Hey, what’s up?
My life is fucking over.
???
Remember the cheating wife?
Yes…
Well, my best friend just found out I knew and didn’t tell him.
Ouch.
I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I doubt he cares. But he was there, he experienced it with me, and that just feels… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything lately.
He and I were kind of seeing each other so…
Well, this sounds like the kind of conversation that needs a drink.
I huff out a laugh, but get nauseous over the thought of more alcohol.
I’m back on the east side.
Bummer.
