If my grip tightens any more, I'm sure the bag of carrots clutched in my fist will pop, bright orange will fly in all directions. I've eaten through about 20 bags of carrots in the last 10 days, and I'm gonna go bankrupt from buying them. It's funny, since I usually receive money in the mail every week from Moonsie. I wouldn't be on a carrot-craze if it weren't for the infuriating behavior of the one and only Michael.
Not a word has been uttered between us yet and still, he's like a recluse, or a hermit or something. I don't know what's suddenly wrong with him, but again and again in my mind, I keep thinking he regrets his actions. He regrets ever being in this relationship with me, letting me in, buying me Vegetable. And so, every time he comes up in my mind I eat carrots, imagining that every crisp crunch of the carrot between my teeth is his head.
At the same time, I'm not really mad. I just want him to behave like he does when we're alone, instead of bolting in the other direction every time he sees me coming.
I need him for moral support. Will isn't letting up with his annoyingly flirtatious behavior, and he knows there's no way I'll ever refuse one of his surgeries, so he uses that to prey on me. His stupid gifts of gummy bears, coffee, and surgeries are slowly eroding my wall of willpower. No pun intended.
The calls from Moonsie are an everyday occurrence now, and as the holidays approach I can't help but be excited to go home and take care of her. In one of her calls, she told me our next-door neighbor, a middle-aged man named Brock, is taking her to Cancun on one of his business trips. I just laughed, when really, inside, such a ridiculous claim worried me once again about her mental health.
Before I do rupture my twenty-first bag of carrots with my intensifying anger, I throw them into the passenger seat of Vegetable, and place both hands on the steering wheel. I can't stand this radio silence between Michael and I, and I won't let it go on any longer. It's a Wednesday, and I'm not supposed to leave campus, but I'm going home for Thanksgiving tonight anyways so I don't care. If I don't clear the air between us now, it will weigh me down the whole time I'm at home.
I turn the key in the ignition, and Vegetable purrs to life, my Queen mix tapes suddenly filling the car with the sound of guitars, drums, and the melodious voice of Freddy Mercury. I love that Michael made the mixtapes for me, it means he had to listen to them, and he remembered my favorite songs. It's the little things like that, they're the only things that push me to want to continue to pursue Michael.
I press down on the gas pedal, hard, and the closer I come to Michael's place the angrier I become. Who does he think he is? He thinks he can just lead me on, buy me a damn sports car and then just disappear? Scribble in his notebook all day long? It doesn't make sense! He spent all this time chasing after me just to ignore me consciously?
I slam on my brakes right in front of his house, shut off the car, and stalk up the driveway with my fists at my sides. There's a long limo parked at the curb, I guess he's about to go out for a night on the town or something. Looks like he's gonna have to change plans.
I pound on the front door rapidly with both fists. My blood has heated to a boil, all I see is red and I can feel the heat burning the back of my throat. Sometimes I wish I'd never met Michael. It was the best and worst day of my life.
"Michael! I know you're in there!" I screech like a mad woman, pounding harder and at double the speed. "I'm not letting you ignore me anymore!"
The door opens finally, only a crack, a pale-faced Michael looking out at me from the small space between the door and the frame. "What is it?" He hisses, turning to look behind him for a moment.
"Hello! Hey, it's me, I exist! You know, that new little charge on your car insurance bill every month!?" I spit, completely enraged by his response to my presence. We haven't talked in ages, and his greeting is 'What is it?' Is it pathetic that all I wanna do is feel his mouth on mine, or his arms around me? If he'd greeted me in a warm way, my anger would've dissolved quickly, Michael has ways that are mysterious even to me.
