Page 90 of Gone for You

Juvenile.

A big fat immature asshole who can’t stand up and fight.

What made it even worse? I lost my job. I’ve never been fired from a job before but apparently not reporting in for a few weeks (okay, five) makes them wonder about how much loyalty a person has to their company.

I pace the apartment, antsy and irritated with myself. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I tug on my shirt, pulling it away from my body so it’s no longer touching my skin. Even the thin material of my tank top.

“Do I have ants crawling on me?” I growl to absolutely no one because I’m. Alone.Alone might be the wrong term here.Lonelyis more like it.I miss talking with Ethan through the day, feeling happy and hopeful. Before I met Ethan, I embraced being by myself but he gave me a taste of something more. The little interaction I’ve had has been texting with Owen and Lily or my best friends. Otherwise known as: The food delivery people. The downside to ordering online now is there’s really no need for them to interact with me. They’ve learned to drop the food and run, run, run as fast as they can before I start whining to them. Bunch of whimps.

My pants are next, tugged off and tossed on the other side of the couch. Then comes my hair. Well, I don’t take it off, obviously, but I throw it up in a messy bun so it’s no longer falling over my shoulders.

I’m in my apartment alone. Only wearing my underwear and bra. My skin pale from hibernating inside so much, splotchy from all the scratching I’ve been doing. Dark bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. And I’m gaining weight. I panicked for a moment, wondering if I was pregnant but then my period came and I looked around my apartment, seeing all the empty pizza boxes and takeout containers. I look like a real treat.

I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure this is what wallowing in your own misery looks like. The article I was working on right before I got canned was a poll:What do your food choices say about you?So basically, based on my learnings from the research I was doing for the article, my earlier assessment is absolutely true.

Sad thing is, I know exactly how to pull myself out of it but yet, I can’t seem to. Stupid stubborn fear that won’t leave.

A booming knock sounds against my door. “Livvy Loo, I know you’re in there so open up before I use this axe I found on the ground and bust down your door!”

“Mom?” I whisper, eyes wide.

I lower my stance and dart around the corner on quiet feet. Lift my shirt and gag at the smell. See the mess that I’ve let my life become and lie down on the floor. She bangs on the door again and I army crawl to my bedroom. I have no idea why I’m behaving like a lunatic. It’s not as if she can see me.

But yet, just like every other decision I’ve made, I can’t stop the stupidity – or insanity. I quietly shut my bedroom door just as I hear a muffled, “Last chance, Livvy Loo! You open this door right now or I will break it in!”

“What is she? The big bad wolf?”

I pull the blanket off my bed and cover myself. The blanket that I stole from Ethan’s house the night I left because it’s warm and cozy and smells like him and I needed something that kept me linked to him. Ordidsmell like him, anyway. Before my stinky funk took over. I wrap my arms around my prickly legs and tuck my knees to my chest. The level of patheticness I’ve reached is ridiculous.

“How did I get here?” I whisper. “When did I turn into such an asshole?” I hit myself in the head. “Stupid.” Hit. “Stupid.” Hit. “Stupid.”

“I don’t know, but Mom’s here to make it all better. And you’re hardly an asshole. You just acted like one.”

I slowly pull the blanket down off my head and look up to see Mom crouched in front of me. She looks beautiful, as always. If someone saw us walking around together, they’d never know we were related. Dark hair, dark eyes, naturally tan skin.

Her voice is full of pity when she says, “Baby.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“Me.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, don’t sugar coat it or anything,” I grumble.

She places a hand on my knee. “Oh honey. You know it’s not going to help anything.”

“What isn’t?”

“Me lying to you. You wallowing.”

“I amnotwallowing,” I say, incredulously. But I am.

“If I was in the south, this is where I would ‘bless your heart.’.”

“It’s hard to believe you live alone,” I sass.

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