I am a firm believer in the concept of eating that frog, getting the worst tasks completed first, so I text Andrew to come over so I can get the shittiest part of my day over with as early as possible.
Me- Come over as soon as you can. We need to talk.
There, short and sweet. Well, not exactly sweet, more like short and to the point. He must have been waiting for my message, because he texts me back almost immediately.
Andrew- on my way
He’ll take at least twenty minutes to get here, so I drag myself to the bathroom to have a quick shower before he arrives. I’m midway through shampooing my hair before my stomach roils with a sudden, unavoidable need to vomit. I jump out of the shower and throw myself to my knees on the bathmat only to wind up naked, dripping water, and throwing up into the toilet.
I guess that settles it then. I’m notgettingsick, Iamsick.
I flush and quickly rinse my hair in the shower, forgoing conditioner, opting instead to dry off and dress in my comfiest joggers and a big Sleeping Dogs t-shirt from the last tour. Andrew ought to be thrilled with this attire if he hates my skirts and band tees so much. Nothing feminine about baggy sweatpants and over sized t-shirts.
The doorbell rings, announcing Andrew’s arrival, just as I’m emptying my bathroom garbage can to bring to the living room in case I feel that overwhelming need to vomit again. I carry it with me when I go to let Andrew in.
“Hey,” I say, turning and heading back to the couch. “Come sit. I’m sick so not too close.” That’s convenient too, since I have no interest in being close to him, anyway.
“Oh, OK,” he says while lowering himself into the armchair opposite the couch.
“So I’m just going to say this. We need to break up.” It’s then that I feel my mouth filling with liquid, telling me I’m about to throw up. Good thing I brought my trusty trash can. I grab it off the floor and forcefully vomit up the rest of last night’s snack.
“What? Why?” Andrew seems surprised, which doesn’t make much sense to me after last night. He had to have been able to tell how unimpressed I was with his behaviour. Plus, in my mind, this has been a long time coming. I probably wouldn’t have been able to deal with his rude whispering for too much longer, anyway.
I grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table and wipe my mouth. “Really? You have no idea why-” but before I can finish that sentence I’m throwing up again, and Andrew takes that as his cue to leave.
“I’ll call you later to talk about this.” he says as he walks toward the door. “I don’t think this is the right time to be having this conversation. You obviously have other things going on.” And then he’s walking out, slamming the door behind him.
“What a dick.” I mutter into my trash can. “Didn’t even offer to help me when I am clearly sick.”
I lay back and settle in for what I’m guessing will be a long day of throwing up when the doorbell rings again. I lean forward to get up, but that just starts me throwing up again. Whoever is at the door knocks and then opens it. I guess Andrew didn’t bother locking it.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
Ugh, what the hell is Ryder doing here? Like I don’t have enough to worry about today. He better not be here to tell me he got himself into some kind of trouble again.
