I Write Romances, Not Live Them

Chapter 14

 “The worst things in life come free to us.” -The A Team,Ed Sheeran

 

The rest of the blossoming weekend was uneventful. Lots of relaxing and disagreeing on exactly how to relax. I nursed Bria's hangover and brought Sophie some more Aspirin at the café. A fair share of my time was spent talking extra loudly just to see the pain on Bria's face as she cringed-she has to learn sometime how to not overdue things. My two sips had gone through my system quicker than a bran muffin in the morning. She would find a way get back at me, anyway.

“Eat some toast.” I encouraged her on Saturday morning, pulling down the lever on the old machine and checking for sparks. I stood by it and sipped the cup of hot chocolate I'd made myself. The machine was unpredictable, the level you set it on had no relation to how crispy the bread was when it went off.

A stifled groan was all that came from the couch, Bria's tired face was stuffed in between two pillows as she tried to block out the sound of the TV I'd turned on.

“Get up!” I yelled, peaking over at the toast and reaching out for some plates to put it on.

She lifted her head up just to retort back, “You know people are supposed to sleep in when they have a hangover?”

“Not when you're sleeping on my couch.”

Sunday came and went with more relaxing, though Bria was in a much better mood during it all. We caught up on sleep, watched our favorite movies, threw popcorn at the television screen when a character made a stupid decision, and generally dirtied my apartment.

When Monday rolled around I was up to my usual duties, avoiding any mess on the floor, sitting down, and chilling with Lappie resting warmly in my lap. Bria was fast asleep on the couch behind me, her heavy breathing the only sound filling the crisp morning air. I checked up on my fans and started to search for writing prompts. It had become my only solution to overcoming my writer's block, simply writing again. All were short stories or paragraphs on paragraphs of description that never could lead to a second chapter. The effort seemed useless, but I was out of ideas.

As my fingers tapped wildly on the keys I thought about the irony of the prompt of the day, Write for 15 minutes on the downfall of love the screen had read. The pure irony had put a smile on my face as I typed. Strangely enough, as a romance author, I had plenty to say on the subject.

Typically I would play music in the background while I wrote, something relatable to the particular chapter or a soft tune that could easily fade away in my focused mind. It helped to keep me on task and eliminated distractions. (Although, not as well as the week Madge disabled my wireless Internet.) I didn't dare play any music aloud while Bria was still heavily sleeping and was too lazy to get up and retrieve some ear buds. As a result, I found myself humming.

I knew the song by heart and was subconsciously humming the entire chorus and verses. The boppy tune was so familiar, but in my focus I couldn't pinpoint what song it was. It was only when I reached the bridge that I stopped myself abruptly. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to get that stupid melody out of my head, it was hard enough to forget all those years ago.

Every single lyric was forever embedded into my brain and despite my best efforts, I would never be able to forget it, where it came from and why I knew it so well. The lyrics floated on my brain like sea foam and wouldn't go away.

When I couldn't shake my thoughts away from it, I set Lappie carefully down and got up to get a pair of ear buds to drown out my own thoughts. The dining chair squeaked loudly when I rose from it, Bria's long body squirmed underneath her blankets as I creeped by and into my bedroom, carefully avoiding all the mess on the floor again. Those red pumps looked like they could stab right through a person. And don't even get me started on the Legos Bria booby trapped the hall with.