Dirty Diana [COMPLETE]

Dirty Diana: Chapter 23

Chapter 23 

Wednesday

Last night was a bust. The girl was cute, but she definitely had issues. Can't fuck girls like that or else you'll wake up to thirty texts in the morning and her asking when she can move into your place. I don't need any more unstable women in my life. Speaking of crazy, I did have a conversation with my mother before I left for work. 

She first asked me about the weather, and I reassured her there were sunny skies for the rest of the week. She has a phone that tells her all of this in addition to her religiously watching the news, but alas I was the weather expert in her eyes. Using that as an advantage, I did remind her that her sister lives where it hardly rains. She did pause for a second before finding another reason not to leave the house. She mildly ranted about memories, but I gave out some sappy advice about making new ones. I had to get off the phone at that point. If I spoke to her too long, I knew I would feel drained sooner than later, and the morning already sucked because of last night's shitty date. 

Man, she was really cute-- nice rack, long black hair, and long legs. But again, she was a little too crazy for my taste. Can't date someone who doesn't know what they want to do in life and admitted to being in five serious relationships and she just turned nineteen. Even I wasn't that scattered at her age. 

During lunch, I went to the refrigerator to get my food. Diana's weird ass was in the kitchen, standing by a microwave heating up food while on the phone. She stared at the countertop and didn't acknowledge me walking in. I'd say that was normal for a bitch like her, but I suppose the bent brows accompanied by her listening to whoever was on the phone appeared to ring more concern than lack of home training. I looked at her bent elbow and noticed a piece of medical tape suffocating a cotton ball. Did she have blood drawn?

"Mhm," she said. "So when should I expect the results?"

Whoa, what the fuck did that mean? Was she sick? Maybe she has chronic pain like my old college roommate did that made everyday activities a pain. 

"Okay, thank you," she murmured, hanging up. 

"Hey, uh are you okay?" I asked hanging onto the refrigerator handle. She stopped the microwave, and carefully pulled her food out. Then, she closed the little door. 

As she was passing by, she callously said without bothering to look at my face, "I sent two pdfs with Pascal's comments about the prototype you submitted." 

I curled my lips in and flared my nostrils. Of course, talking to Diana wouldn't make a shit day better, and of course, it didn't matter if you were sharing a concern with her. Maybe she's mentally ill. Pissed, I snatched my food out of the refrigerator to heat it and approached the microwave. 

Instantly, I gasped, "Wow, you're a fucking psychopath."

She didn't clear the remaining microwave time!