OBSESSED

54

My tube top had rotated so one boob was hanging out, while my skirt was hiked so high I could practically see my vagina falling out the bottom. God, I really was a mess when drunk.

Isabelle was no longer present when I made my way back into the bedroom. I gladly shed my nightlife skin, tossing the clothes into the hamper, and hobbled over to the dresser for something more cozy.

I was still jerking my sweatpants on when Isabelle came storming into the room. Her inky black hair was a bees nest that indelicately brought out the rings of dead mascara caked around her eyes.

"There is no coffee," she stated bluntly.

Giving her a look of disbelief, I finished pulling my pants on and shrugged a baggy shirt over my head. "There should be."

"Well, there wasn't. I looked everywhere."

"Uh huh."

She had the attention span of a goldfish, and I was well acquainted with her investigative skills. Spoiler alert: they weren't that great.

I shuffled out to the kitchen with her in my wake. She chattered on, but I couldn't hear her over the pain bouncing around in my skull.

"I don't think I'm ever going out with you again," I said. "I always drink too much and feel like shit the next day."

"Not always," she said. "And it's not my fault you mix liquors."

"That's a myth," I reminded her.

"Then drink more water, hoe."

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a new bag of coffee grinds from the cupboard above the sink. I handed it over to her. "Well, regardless, I feel like a skanky sorority girl. I'll be thirty soon, for God's sake. I can't keep partying all the time."

"First of all, it's not all the time. Secondly, you have four good years before thirty," she reminded me while pouring the grinds into the machine. "If you think you're old, just remember I'm a year and a half older. So don't insult me with your quarter life crisis."

"That insinuates that we're going to live to be 120," I said. "But, beside the point. You are further along than me in your life, anyway. You're practically married to Sebastian. You have a secure job with good income—"

"So do you! And you own your own house. That's way more advanced than most women our age."

I leaned my back against the counter and huffed. "That doesn't seem grown up enough. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be married by now and having babies soon. Where did that dream go?"

"Oh, no." Isabelle shook her head and squished my cheeks together with her icy hands. "We were all idiots when we were teenagers. Did anything happen the way we wanted it to? Hell no. You are doing way fucking better than you think, cowgirl. Don't worry about getting married and having kids."

She punctuated each word by moving my cheeks back and forth while I glared at her.

"Enjoy. Your. Tight. Pussy. Now. While. You. Got. It."

I bursted into laughter and she did the same, her hands falling away from my face.

After an hour or so of recuperation and coffee, Isabelle headed home. I fed Foxy and gave her attention so she wouldn't claw up my shit in revenge.

Then I decided to hunt down my phone from the room to call my mom. It had been awhile since we'd spoken and I felt like maybe a visit to see her could be arranged.

Only when I picked up my phone, all thoughts of my mother flew out the window. Two texts and a slew of random Instagram notifications filled my lock screen. Both from men I did not expect to be talking to today.

UNKNOWN: hey you😊it was nice seeing you last night. Interested in getting dinner Wednesday night?

JARROD: good morning baby. hope you've rested well. can't seem to get you off my mind. please let me know how things are going for you. I'd love to see you again, just one more time at least. I know I fucked up but I would never hurt you intentionally. Please come to your senses and talk to me. I miss you terribly.

I read Jarrod's message several times.

Just as I had salivated over each message and voicemail he sent, I couldn't help but study every word. He sounded so sweet and so caring.

Who was I kidding? He'd been actually sweet and caring with me in person. He was sweet.

But then that last bit at the end—please come to your senses.

I sighed annoyedly. Just because I rejected him didn't mean I was acting dumb.

In fact, I stood by the decision I made. As hard of a time as I was having getting over him, I knew I had to just suffer through it.

I didn't trust Jarrod. Period.

On the spare chance we could rebuild some semblance of trust, he had a lot of baggage. A psycho ex and a handful of family issues. If I was going to jump into a relationship, I should at least pick someone a little less complicated.

It wasn't worth responding to his message. If I did, he'd guilt me into meeting him again and who knew what he could talk me into. I might have been weak for him but at least I could acknowledge it.

I should block him. There was no sense in keeping his contact when I knew it would just bring me bad news.

So I did. Jarrod and all the weird shit he put me through the last few weeks . . . it was over.

I read back over the other text. Who the hell was that? I didn't remember giving anyone my number.

On the one hand, I wanted to ignore the text and write it off as a stupid, drunk decision. The other hand was curious to know who I gave my number to.

As much as I didn't feel ready to move on, maybe I should try something casual for once. Isabelle was right—I should enjoy my youth. And if I wasn't able to get Jarrod out of my head on my own, maybe losing myself in some spicy new sex would help.

Doubtful, but it was worth a try. If this was a flop, I'd just forget it and try again or give up for a while.

So I decided to dive headfirst into this decision, praying that my drunk self had better taste than my sober self.

LEAH: Wednesday sounds good. See you then