Between running to my bathroom, sleeping, and attempting to stomach some toast, I spend the next three days watching rubbish reality programmes in bed. Sooner or later, I accept the fact that any type of food I try is going to instantly speed up the throwing up process and, despite the fact I should be getting used to it, I want to slow or stop that process anyway I can. So, food and I aren't friendly these days.
When my dad finishes work each day, he tries to shovel soup and toast in my face. At first, I pretend to eat it, throw the toast in the bin or the crisps in my drawer, until I no longer have the energy to lie and he hasn't got the energy to pretend to believe me. Instead, dad makes sure to open and close my windows, refills my water bottles, and uses the remote to tell Netflix that I'm still watching. Other than a few grunts here and there, I go the three days without saying too much and without thinking too much.
Throughout the days, I struggle to stay awake but during the night there's no getting me to sleep. I spend my time scrolling through Instagram and reading while avoiding the text notifications from a certain angry boy. Some of the messages are long, some short, and some are filled with just emojis. Most come late at night, it's like he knows I'm awake, but a few filter through in the day. I try not to open majority of them but I do see a few apologies (which shocks me) and a few filled with random content. I can't watch The Big Bang Theory without you. I just got the HP books, I'm going to catch up with you so we can read together. The red haired chess girl doesn't sit on your bench anymore. Luna, I'm sorry.
Luna's Dad
There's a knock on the door that makes me jump up from the couch. Like always, there's a spark of hope that the person I want to be here the most is stood outside. After a second, I tell myself I'm being silly and I shouldn't wish and wait for someone who isn't returning. Even though the sensible part of my brain knows the truth, I still feel a slight drop in my stomach when I see George stood in front of me.
Now, I don't know him that well and I try not to stare at him too much, worried he will see it as intimidating, but I recognise the signs of a person that hasn't slept much. His eyes are a little red, his face a little paler than usual, and - no offence - but his hair is a mess. And that's coming from a bald man.
His expression, I imagine, mirrors mine and it's one of disappointment. Like me, George was obviously expecting someone else behind this door. I sigh at the thought and wonder what's going on with him. I hadn't seen him in a while, maybe nearly a week, and I thought Luna's illness was reason for that but perhaps I was wrong. Surely, he would have been over here more often than this if he knew she was unwell. An alarm bell rings in my mind at the thought of something deeper going on between them. I know I can't really get involved, nor do I want to, but I can't deny my interest. Uh-oh.
"Uh, hey. Is Luna here?"
A polite, warm smile makes its way onto my face, "Hi, George. She is here but she's actually quite ill."
His eyebrows furrow at the knowledge, "What's wrong with her?"
"Oh! Oh, nothing bad," he nods at the reassurance, "she's just sick, hasn't moved from her bed since Monday."
Waiting a second, he scratches the back of his neck while asking, "Could I see her?"
"I'm sure she'd like that," usually, but when he goes to take a step forward I continue, "but she's sleeping."
The light in his eyes drop and I witness the hope leaving him once again. Something definitely happened between them. "Alright, okay," he nods slowly while taking a few steps backwards, "I'll just see her... whenever."
Without saying goodbye or waiting for one, he turns to get into his car before quickly leaving. Well, now I'm just invested. What happened between them? What did he do? Despite the events, I feel a small smile creep onto my face at the look on George's face when I said he couldn't see my daughter.
Just friends. Yeah, right.
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A shorter chapter but the next will be super long so ENJOY!