And his conviction is so strong, so unwavering, that I am completely swept away in it.
I lie back on my bed, tablet in my hand.
No lie, this is an unexpected blessing – one more thing I can do while I wait for this stupid cast to come off my leg.
I scan the screen for the movie star, but he’s nowhere to be found. The wife though, I see her walk into the living room, something rolled up under her arm.
She’s got her long, blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, she’s dressed in a vest and tight leggings.
She unrolls the thing she’s holding onto the ground, and starts stretching.
Long limbs, a curvature that urges.
It’s weeks since I had sex.
My monkey wakes up and goes, OOK, and here it is, another welcome escape from the mind-numbing monotony of my existence.
The movie star is sat down at the dining table.
The wife places a plate in front of him and sits down in the chair opposite.
The movie star has a mouthful, chews, and swallows.
He puts his fork down, says something to his wife.
She looks at him, says something back.
He gets up, walks over to her, and pushes her off her chair and onto the ground.
He points his finger at her, shouts at her.
You look tired, says Charles.
Did you get any sleep last night?
I look up from the tablet and I say, Not really, no.
He says, You’ve been watching those two all day and all night for a week.
He gently removes the tablet from my hands and he says, Maybe I should take that now.
I am recovering in a luxury penthouse, but I don’t care what anyone says, a prison is a prison.
I spend my days watching soap operas, watching the neighbours, watching the movie star and his wife (now only when Charles is with me, though).
I always think about calling Mia. I want to talk to her about us, but chicken out because it’s just too much.
What would happen if she told me that was it?
That I’d messed up too bad and there was no way back?
I don’t know if I could handle it.
But now? At this point, I don’t give a fuck. I just want to go home and get her back.
I take painkillers that don’t work.
I brush my teeth, wash my face.
I shimmy into bed, lie awake in the dark for hours, fall asleep fully aware of not wanting to move my leg and hurt it more, and dream of weird things that I try to remember the next morning, but can’t.
No playing, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Week five, and I think I have gone insane.
T
WENTY
-N
INE
Ed says, Dude.
I say, Dude.
He says, Where have you been?
