I know I shouldn't text him, but I want to talk to him. He is exciting and funny and oh so gorgeous. Those thick locks of hair flirting with his eyes are my kryptonite...
"It's the private jet and shirtless pictures," the bitch interrupts my musing.
"Don't listen to her Mia; she's just salty. Don't text him, he upset you last time, and we deserve better," the inner voice tells her.
"Text him, Mia, be bold. You can't spend the rest of your lousy life alone drinking champagne while the rest of the world parties away," the bitch tells her.
Holy fuck, I blink hard at the conversation going on in my head. The more I drink, the more mellow and soft inner voice will get, and I just know that the bitch will take over. Imagine drunk Mia with the bitch. I can already taste the recipe for disaster. Any rational person would keep the bottle down but not me and definitely not today.
The bitch gives a wink, and I smirk at her, chugging some more bubbly. What do I have to lose? Why was he such a dick to me anyway the last time we met?
"He has a girlfriend..." inner voice whimpers, but I hear her. Her voice echoes in my head and I promise her that I will not flirt with or hit on Mr. Scrumptious. I just want some attention with a side of thoughtfulness.
And some fries. I am craving some sizzling crispy fresh-cut potato fries. Why does my brain connect Kent to fries? It's bizarre how strangely the mind works at times.
"Mia, you can't eat fries. Grab an orange instead," the bitch says, and I don't argue. Both inner voice and bitch want to make sure I am healthy, and that's almost touching. I would appreciate it more if I wasn't starving. I learned in 11th grade that oranges have fewer calories than apples and more fiber, so I pretend that I don't like apples anymore.
I hope one of these days the smell of freshly baked apple pie leaves my head. Isn't the crunch of the golden crust on top of the pie delectable?
Whenever I am famished, and it is past dinner, I just drink some peppermint or chamomile tea. I take a mouthful from the bottle and guzzle it down. I take out my phone and text William.
"Hi,"
I wonder what multi-millionaires do on Sundays. He doesn't respond in five minutes, and I am starting to feel stupid. Why did I have to text him?
I scout for my green towel and my pajamas. I feel filthy, and the warm water will hopefully calm my nerves that are starting to go jumpy. Why won't he reply to me?
Is it weird that I wish he liked me even though I know there is no chance that he would? I tie my hair up in a bun and hop in the shower. I wish I wasn't letting a man move me so much; I never wanted to be one of those girls.
The warm water of the shower makes me want to cry. I don't like knowing that Kent has a girlfriend. I don't like that Hannah won't spend the first day of moving in with me. I wish I weren't all alone right now. I don't like knowing that I have been working like a dog all day by myself. I hate knowing that college is over. I don't want to grow up; I am not ready to be an adult. I inhale all my emotions and realize that I forgot to bring body wash with me. I need to find the closest Walmart and get some basics for the house.
We don't even have a shower curtain, and there is water everywhere on the floor, but I really give zero fucks. I hope Hannah slips on the water. I carefully walk out of the shower and recheck my phone.
No reply from Kent. Matt wants to know what's up but I don't feel like talking to him right now. He is too rosy glassed and happy chappy for me right now. I am feeling Amy Winehouse-ish.
I walk out of the bathroom and crash into two naked bodies going at it. I scream involuntarily, and they look up, mortified.
On my first day in my dream city on the floor is my best friend fucking one of the guys that helped us move in. I turn around and go back to the bathroom.
So, my life will not change at all. Just a different city and a smaller room but I will still wake up and go to sleep around random guys fucking Hannah.
"You're just jealous cause you ain't getting some girl," the bitch says, or is it drunk Mia? I don't even know right now. I tie the towel around my hair and put on my pajamas.
How does Hannah get guys after guys going to Pluto and back to please her and I can't even get a text back? Was the bitch/drunk Mia, right? Am I jealous of my own best friend and her control over men?
I blink back the tears threatening to escape my eyes. I don't understand why I am crying over something so silly. I can't fathom why I need to feel validated by a guy when this kind of girl was never me. I just... I don't... why am I crying?
I hear the guy outside leaving, and Hannah is soon knocking on my door. I am still sitting down on the wet bathroom floor crying my eyes out because I still feel like the designated ugly fat friend.
Do you ever stop feeling like you aren't enough?
"Mia are you okay?" Hannah yells at me from outside the bathroom. I ignore her and stand up to look in the mirror. My face is crimson, and my eyelids are puffy. I wipe my snot sloppily and try to look acceptable. What do I tell her? Why was I crying?
My phone rings and I know certainly that it's my mom. She always does this; whenever I ignore Han, and she is worried about me, she calls my mom. I immediately answer, only realizing after swiping the green part that I have my mother's number saved on my phone and she doesn't have a private number.
I hold the phone near my ear and don't say a word. There is only one person I know who has a private number.
"Mia?" he says and why have I missed this husky, velvety voice that reminds me of chocolate and Hennessey at the same time. I think I just answered my own question.
"Mr. Kent," I rebel, feeling brave.
"William please,"
"Can I call you Liam?" I ask, my voice sounding condensed and heavy. Why did he have to call me right now?
"Are you okay?" He asks, making me beam. I know he has a girlfriend and he is out of limits, and he is millionaire extraordinary but how do I fight the effect he has on me?
And how do I win?
"Just fighting a bad cold," sober I can't lie about surprise birthday parties, but when I am drunk the bitch automatically takes over. It's like she has a mouth of her own.
"You sound congested," he is disturbed by my fake admission. I like that so much that I do my own mini twirl. What is wrong with me?
"Why were you so rude to me the last time we met?" I ask. You know the expression think before you speak? I did not even think as I spoke. It is only now that the worlds are out of my mouth do I want to cut the call, flush my phone and move to Djibouti. Possibly for good.
"I am sorry if that's how you felt, it wasn't my intention at all," he says in such a well-rehearsed business-like tone that I can feel the pretentiousness of his words making me itch.
"I would respect you more if you tell me the reason. This playing dumb is so last season," I should book my one-way ticket after this call. Might as well call it a night, right?
"How is your picture-perfect Barbie doll girlfriend doing?" I continue. As I said, what drunk Mia does is her business.
"Give me a second," he says, and I can hear somebody mumbling something uninteresting around him. Maybe he is sitting with her.
"Please watch your tongue and just quickly keep the call," I tell drunk Mia.
"Sorry for the disruption, I have a hedge fund operating on instructions at priority," he says, and these big words sound not fun at all. Why isn't he flying his private jet or boozing around?
"You are such a boring old man." What!? Now I know how my inner voice feels. Drunk Mia is giving me a taste of my own medicine.
"Are you drunk?" I can gauge the surprise in his voice. Good. I can be wild. He should know that.
"I am tipsyish."
"What have you been drinking?"
"Champagne."
"How many glasses?" I wish he had asked me why so I could tell him for my homecoming and then he would know I am in New York and then we could meet up.
"Please calm down and answer his questions without embarrassing me," I prompt drunk Mia.
"I have been drinking from the bottle,"
He is chuckling, and I like the sound of it. If champagne had a sound, I think it would be this.
"Please don't...." I beg drunk Mia not to say what I can foresee her uttering.
"I like your laughter," Oh! God. I am never drinking again.
"Thank you; I haven't heard that before," he says but I think he's lying. He knows his laughter is appetizing.
"I've had the worst day possible."
"I would like to clarify that no, I don't say that. Drunk Mia does, and she and I are not the same people. CLEARLY." I add on.
"What's wrong?" he asks, and his voice just sounds like taking a bite out of fudge brownie. I need some food.
"I had to move stuff, organize the place and people kept abandoning me and I had no help. Just a big ole mess. You don't want to hear a drunk girl rambling on about her dream city just shitting on her," I warn him.
"But I do," And just like that, I felt my heart skip a beat. Forget diamonds or dick; sometimes a girl just wants a guy to listen to her.
"Why?"
"I like listening to your ingenious opinions," He finds my thoughts original, and after this call, I am going to look up ingenious and ravel in my greatness.
"Would you like to listen to them some more as you take me to an ice cream parlor?" I hope he'll agree; I really want good ice cream.
"Of course, I will, where do you stay?"
"1012 4th Ave, Brooklyn, Williamsburg somewhere," I think this is my address. He is laughing on the phone again. I pause my train of thoughts and listen.
"Why are you laughing at me?"
"1012 4th Ave is only in Brooklyn," he says and chuckles some more. I don't get the joke.
"Where are you?" Even if he said he was 2 blocks away from me, I wouldn't know the way.
"I'm in midtown. I'll see you in 25 minutes,"
What happens when drunk Mia and William finally meet?