I can’t explain my thought process over the next few days: I went from anger to sadness to pity and back full circle to pissed. It was unreal. Her behavior, that is. Yes, I’m still talking about Deluded. Once our festivities were over for the evening, I rolled over and tried to go to sleep, hoping she’d do the same. That night was the only night I slept in my own bed during her stay. I had no choice: I was already naked and how do you explain to a not-quite-sane individual that, sure, we just did it, but I don’t want to sleep in the same bed with you right now. I figured I’d save that conversation for the next day.
It’s a good thing I was in my bedroom, because she decided that a few hours of sleep were enough for her and at 3 a.m., she was up, wine in hand, on her laptop – naked and back in my fucking dining chair. Unfortunately, I’m a light sleeper, so for the next several hours I took note of her activity.
- Loud music – no consideration for the fact that I was asleep. At least, supposedly asleep. And that I had to be at work at 8:30.
- Loud laughter – I guess wine makes everything funny in the wee hours.
- Bumps in the night – She got pretty tipsy, having taken more Ambien and chased it with wine. She dropped her toiletries bag in the dining room, fumbled through the fridge.
- The only thing I could think of was – how do you disinfect furniture?
I couldn’t sleep for the life of me. I was so irritated, my heart rate was astounding. I could see me having to go to the hospital and explain to the doctor why I had a heart attack. Why didn’t I get up and say something? Again, I had no idea as to an addict’s reaction. In case you haven’t been taking notes as I did, she’s an addict.
By 6 a.m., her Ambien was kicking in and she bumper car’d her ass to the bedroom and climbed in next to me. I knew what she was going to try to do before she did it. She put her arm around me and started playing with my nipple. Unless I really want you to do that, it’s the absolute worst sensation in the world to me – almost painful. And instead of yelling, ‘leave my nipple the fuck alone’, I did the nice thing and gently took her hand and rolled over, my back to her. I don’t normally have the patience of a saint, but I figured this was to be a lesson in survival until I put her crazy ass back on the plane to Chicago.
Walking out into the living room, dining room and kitchen an hour later was surreal. It could have been the lack of sleep, the memory of what happen the night before or I might have still been asleep. But no, this broad had really wrecked my place. Her spilled bag of toiletries was all over the dining floor. The kitchen counters were covered in random items from the fridge – all still open and/or spilled. The living room still had remnants of our tryst, so I’ll take some of the blame for that. I silently jumped in the shower, shaking my head – what had I gotten myself into? I left for work, saying goodbye on the way out with no response. She was out cold.
All morning at work, I was frazzled. I couldn’t believe what was happening at my place and I had no idea what to do about it – if I should do anything about it, to be honest. I had friends on alert, in case they didn’t hear from me at certain intervals. How insane was this? I sent her an email and an IM with my work number to call when she got up. No response. I had no idea if she was still passed out or if she was pissed that my affection was stale, at best. I can only fake it so well, you know?
I finally got an email back…at 3 pm. She slept almost the entire day away. I was relieved and irritated. Relieved because that was less time for her to cause some more damage. Irritated because she lacked so much drive, ambition, motivation…who wants that in their life? When I thought about what a future with her might entail (just for shits and giggles), all I came up with was a permanent anchor, digging in her heels and holding me back, driving me insane in the process. Ugh, it still makes me nauseous. Once she was awake, it was apparent that her craving for her prescriptions hadn’t waned. I received a new IM every 20 minutes or so. She still refused to use her computer to call the pharmacies. She was the biggest fucking baby I’d ever come across, absolutely helpless and useless. Just when I thought she couldn’t get any more unattractive…
I got home around 5:30. Everything had been picked up, thankfully. But, alas, no frozen pizza. I had already decided that we should go out somewhere. A change of scenery would break the monotony and hopefully keep her mind away from any more thoughts of sexual activity. There was no way I could go through that again and I hadn’t yet thought of a proper excuse for saying no. She beat me to the punch on the dinner idea, though. She was tired of being cooped up and couldn’t we go out to dinner? Sure. What do you feel like? She suggested Indian. I searched for restaurants while she got ready. I didn’t want to go anywhere where people would recognize me. I had already gotten a reprieve from attending a company event with her the night before. I didn’t RSVP a +1 so we couldn’t go. She had the nerve to say we should crash it because it’s not like they would turn us away. I couldn’t seem to get though her thick brain by saying – I have to work with these peopleafterthe party. Don’t you think that might put me in an awkward position? Of course, she didn’t care. I still refused, so I’m sure there was some attitude thrown my way for that.
As for dinner, I found a place. She comes out of the bathroom all dressed up. I can’t say that she looked good, nor did she look bad. I don’t know. Let’s just say she’s six years younger than me, but easily looks five years older than me, at least. Her wardrobe didn’t help. It was a cross between someone going to a funeral and that of a flight attendant. And once again, too much makeup. Did I mention that half of her makeup ended up on my fluffy white towel? Yeah, let’s discuss her hygiene for a minute. When you wash your face, it’s supposed to be clean, right? Part of the cleaning process is not wiping it on the towel. That’s a crossover into the drying process, which happens once things are clean. Then there’s the body wash. There was a travel size tube of this shower gel by Fendi. I don’t really care about a name, but apparently she did because she bragged about this stuff prior to her visit. It was a horrid stench. It smelled just how one would imagine a very cheap hooker to smell. And it permeated my entire apartment after every shower. So did her number two’s, which wouldn’t have been a big deal (duh, we all have to do it), but at least if you’re sharing quarters with someone, close the door and leave the fan on. It’s only polite. I had to freaking open the door to the balcony…in January!
By the time we left, I was already over it. We got to the place I found, only for it to be closed down. Of course! So we went to a nearby Mexican restaurant. She perked right up, ordering a margarita and a separate shot of tequila. Great! This should be fun. I’m not even surprised at what happen next. We were in a booth and there was another couple sitting right behind her. The gentleman leaned back into the seat and it moved. Seeing as how it’s Oscar night, it’s only appropriate that the Oscar go to…Deluded! She made such a scene: the sharp intake of breath, wide eyes, arms raised in the air, sitting bolt upright in her seat, almost in slow motion and it seemed to have lasted forever. The couple turns around and we’re all staring at her. I was convinced that an alien was going to pop out of her chest at any moment. It was that over-the-top.
I played as neutral as possible – it was an accident, the seats are old, let’s switch. After the man apologized and his girlfriend choked back her laughter, Deluded agreed to switch to another booth. I convinced her just to switch sides. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Obstacle #1: done, whew. Food arrives. She scarfs it down like it’s going to run away. I’m impressed, actually. She needs to eat. Of course, she brings up how she still needs her Adderall because her appetite is back and the last thing she needs is to eat and get fat. I opened my mouth, but didn’t really have a response for that.
All of a sudden, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She’s gone for a while. I almost send the waitress in after her…I really didn’t want to go in there. Finally, Deluded comes back and there’s spittle of some kind smack in the middle of her shirt. It’s like the spittle formed a glaring ‘B’ on her chest. I knew she threw up. I asked if she was okay. She said she was fine. I told her that her shirt was wet. She looks down and quickly counters with: ‘It was salsa. I had to clean it up.’ We both knew there was no salsa on her shirt before she left for the bathroom. But I wasn’t about to open up that can of worms. I was done playing therapist.
The couple from the next booth get up to leave. The man who bumped her seat, being the gentleman that he is, apologized once more. Her response: ‘Oh, it’s okay. I’m not from here, so I’m a little quick-tempered.’ We all looked at her with that, ‘is she for real’ face. They kindly left and I was alone with Deluded.
She moved to my side of the booth and started rubbing my leg. It almost burned. I’m a person of absolution – I either really like something or I can’t stand it. I couldn’t very well scream at her, but I couldn’t exactly endure it. I’m not one for PDA anyway, so that was my excuse to get her to stop. She did. And then the conversation got around to porn. I knew it. She had another confession.