Like We Used To || Manuel Neuer

15

            I don't realize that I have been wasting my vacation away until I wake up one morning mourning under a myriad of blankets and note that I have been in this position—and solely this position—for most of my time here in Rio.

Nearly two weeks has passed since my sentimental encounter with Manuel and I haven't left the villa since then; instead, I have been carelessly lounging around, drowning in excessive cups of coffee and watching sappy romance movies while bathing in a pool of self-pity. I have taken on a secluded lifestyle that involves being entirely withdrawn from civilization because people are assholes and only ever set you up for heartbreak.

Maybe I should run away to the Himalayas and make this habit a lifestyle.

Good idea. Too bad I don't have a death wish.

I gingerly prop a handful of popcorn in my mouth and continue watching Gilmore Girls because Rory and Dean are so cute, they momentarily make me forget of my hatred of human beings.

How could I have let my life get so pathetic?

At the thought, I sigh and bitterly glower at the television—an uncanny shift in mood—because I notice how unfair it is that teenagers have a better love lives than I do. Rory and Dean make me nostalgic for the last time I had kissed a boy.

They make me nostalgic for the last time I'd had sex.

It was so long ago, I can barely remember it without contemplating whether it truly happened.

I might as well go to a nearby convent and get myself a habit and a veil to celebrate my new identity. That's probably the easiest ticket to hell, if I'm not there already. And whatever "hell" looks like, it can't possibly be worse than this. Burning for all of eternity sounds more peaceful than drowning without a love to help you escape the under.

I'm going insane.

Maybe the mental asylum is a better alternative, actually. Maybe that's where lunatics like me belong. Maybe I'll get assigned to a really hot psychiatrist and we'll have an affair. Maybe I'll forget Manuel Neuer. And maybe someone is knocking on my door right now.

Someone is definitely knocking on my door.

The door is rattling and the only thing I can hear with the exception of Dean being a total lovestruck idiot is the sound of knuckles rapping against wood. I sit motionlessly on the couch for a little bit before fighting my laziness and answering the door.

I unintentionally pause Gilmore Girls at a very compromising scene with Lorelai and Max and I'm pretty sure any bystander will think I am watching porn. But I don't give a shit about mankind right now so I swoop my hair into a tasteful bun at the crown of my head and saunter to answer the door.

When I do, I see a stranger with a dainty cap. "Can I help you?" I ask in English, my heavy German accent unintentionally emphasizing each word each syllable. 

The stranger asks, "Did you order Mexican food?"

"Uh," I drawl, rubbing the back of my head. "No?"

"No, no, look here," he says, flashing me the note of an address printed on the tag on the bag. Surprisingly enough, it's mine. "This is the address I got and I'm going to be fired if I fuck up any more orders so can you please just take it and help a poor guy out?"

I awkwardly take the bag and ask him for the subtotal.

"Oh, someone already paid for it," he tells me and I gape a little more. I probably have the most idiotic expression on my face right now. My mouth awkwardly hanging open and my eyebrows are furrowed in confusion.