Ruminator. That’s what my bestie…or rather, ex – bestie called me. I liked the sound of it. It kind of rhymed with Terminator. Made me feel bad ass.

I took a swig of beer from bottle number…who knew? I looked over to the left, there was somebody in my bed. I really couldn’t remember who. But he snored which meant that I was out of there. I had a hazy idea of how he landed up there.

NO. I didn’t invite him over. You see, me and a couple of my ..er…my drinking buddies (for lack of a better word) were hanging out. This guy, he said…he wanted to piss so all of us stopped at my place since it was the closest and then carried on to the next bar down the lane…I guess he was so drunk that he passed out on my bed.

Leaving my own apartment to run away from a snorer? Yeah well, I live in a fancy, studio apartment which didn’t have anything precious unless he decided to wreck it while leaving…

I chewed on my lip, scribbled a ‘let yourself out’ note, grabbed my keys and walked out. To where? To my other house which was around twenty minutes away on foot. So I decided to walk. I wasn’t drunk enough not to walk.

Yeah yeah…call me a spoilt, rich daddy’s girl. I wasn’t any of that. I hated my dad and all I had, was from my own hard work. I was a lawyer, currently on sabbatical following a very nasty divorce but hell, I was loving it.

My ex – husband’s house was ten minutes away. God, I hated his guts. He actually had the gall to tell me he still loved me. I’m pretty sure that he did.

I walked slowly, taking an occasional swig from the bottle. He did but it wasn’t of any use. You see, I was damaged goods by the time he & I had started dating.

Yes, I was.

I hadn’t realized that till after the shotgun wedding but anyway…I was home. I wearily climbed into bed and before I knew it, I was asleep.


To be continued…

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