Getting Under Nathan

23: "I'm so sorry."

Chapter 23 - "I'm so sorry."

My stomach growled loudly. Sighing to myself, I forced my eyes to refocus on my laptop screen; I'd been staring at the words for so long that my mind had gradually wandered off and the words had all become blurred. The word count still read 638. I'd applied my usual tactic of motivation – refusing to let myself have lunch until I'd reached my target word count. Unfortunately, I was starving and I still had 162 words to write. It was nothing really. I could bang out 162 words in less than five minutes if it was in English. However, the damn thing was in Spanish.

Under normal circumstances, I'd accept that I was too hungry to concentrate properly, but I had a particular reason for wanting to get this essay done. Tomorrow I was going to see Nathan. I was going to spend the whole weekend with him, and I wanted to be able to relax and not worry about handing this essay in. I aimed to write 1000 of the 1500 words by tomorrow, and then I could do the remaining 500 words at the beginning of next week, hopefully finishing it in plenty of time before Thursday's deadline. 

A soft knock at the door was almost a welcome sound, despite not needing the distraction.

"Yeah?" I called, quickly hitting Save.

Jack pushed open the door and stuck his head around it. Seeing I wasn't too preoccupied, he slid inside and let the door swing shut behind him.

"Hey, how you getting on?" he asked.

"Six hundred and thirty eight words," I replied. "I've hit a wall."

"Well you've got your ten per cent leeway," he reminded me. "And your conclusion should be easy enough to write...so if you look at it that way, then technically you've probably only got to come up with about...four or five hundred more words...just a few more ideas really, or even just a couple if you develop them well enough."

"Jack, your way of approaching an academic essay is simply inspiring," I said dryly.

"Be sceptical all you like but when you think of it my way then essays don't seem half as daunting."

"Sometimes I wish my mind functioned in the same way as yours."

"I get that a lot," he said. "Anyway, Shaun, Phil and I are going to Maccy D's. Do you want me to pick you something up? I can't imagine you feel like cooking when your head is focused on this essay."

McDonald's had never sounded so appealing. "Yes please," I gushed. "That'd be great."

"Cool. What do you want?"

"Chicken Mayo, please. And fries."

"Right. So a McChicken sandwich and then-"

"No," I interrupted. "A Chicken Mayo. There's a difference."

Jack scoffed. "Hardly. They're both sandwiches that contain chicken, lettuce and mayonnaise."

"No they're not. The bread is different and the mayonnaise is different."

"With all due respect, chicken is the main ingredient. Who cares about the bread or the mayo?"

"The mayonnaise complements the chicken. And I prefer the mayonnaise in the Chicken Mayo."

He sighed dramatically. "Honestly...fine, Chicken Mayo and fries. What size fries?"

"Medium. Actually, no, large."

"Chicken Mayo and large fries," he repeated. "Sorted."

"Do you want money for it now?" I asked, reaching for my purse.