It had been six days. Six days of that cocktail of distance and complete absence. To take that taste out of my mouth, cocktails were on the agenda for the girls and I.
I had spent the previous Saturday engrossed in an X- Factor style sob story and the arms of plenty of promises. “I really like you!” were the words I was hearing that night, and although they were music to my ears, tonight I was on the hunt for something stronger – likely a Beyoncé classic or the Nightmare on Elm Street theme tune.
Pink gin in one hand, Snap Maps open in the other, I knew he could pop up anywhere at any moment, given our lack of late bars. Strutting around the corner, into the place my best friend calls “The Orgy Room,” I was not surprised to find him there. It was the room of one too many, fumbling hands, and bad decisions – maybe “The Rebound Room” would have been a better name.
I stared at him in disbelief, as he engaged in an angry game of tonsil tennis with a girl who most definitely was not me. The most distressing part was the fact that a Nandos date was one of his promises, and this lack of Nandos was getting more cheeky by the minute. On top of all of this, I had left a sock in his bedroom. A favourite sock lost to the fuckboy abyss, I was too many gins deep to take this one sitting down.
High heels shooting fire, I stormed over to them both – her blank face staring at me in confusion. “You can drop my sock off any evening this week.” I stated. He stared at me, in silence, completely baffled. I did feel sorry for her though, she was innocent in the crossfire, just the me of this week.
I stormed back out of the orgy room, one sock and one slimeball lighter. And no, I never got my Nandos, or my sock back, but he did manage to pull a cheeky forehead kiss out of the fuckboy abyss in a pub last year.
