3 AM – Part 2


For Part 1 – Click here.


3 AM

I wake up suddenly. It’s one of those dreams where you feel like you are falling and about to hit the ground. Bam! I am sure you know what I am talking about. Apparently almost everyone has had this dream at some point.

It has been two weeks since I got hit.

I am home now, on sick leave…it still hurts when I more around but I am on the mend…well at least as far as my broken bones are concerned.

My heart and mind…not so much. I check my cell phone. There’s a shitty message from you from last night : ‘Hope you are feeling better.’

I snort loudly to myself. Hope I am feeling better? I wonder where you are. I wonder, why when I was sick all of this time – you couldn’t find even five minutes to come and see me? How about calling me?

No, all I get is one shitty message per day, asking me if I am better. At 10 PM sharp. Well done boy, you’ve done your duty of expressing your concern. Thanks but no thanks.

Exhaustion takes over and I fall asleep, despite my determination to stay awake and feel sorry for myself.


11 AM

My body hurts. I get up slowly, trying not to stretch anything that would hurt more. As always, I’ve forgotten to take the painkillers. They weren’t supposed to be good for the liver, were they?

I check my cell phone again. Not a peep from you.

I slowly make myself a cup of coffee and call my mom, who lives a million miles away. I reassure her in my fake peppy voice that I’m okay and no, I don’t need her to fly down and take care of me.

I end the call quickly.

I feel a lump forming in my throat and I have a split second to decide whether to bawl my lungs out or to swallow it with another sip of coffee. I choose the latter. For now.

I run my hands through my hair and realize that I haven’t washed them for over ten days now. Yikes. Maybe I could go to the salon across the street…if I could hobble across in my current state. I dismiss it as a bad idea.

My door bell rings. Pidiiiiing! 

Half of me is hoping that it’s you. But it’s not. It’s my neighbor, Bart.

I see his ruddy red face through the peephole, trying to contemplate whether I want to deal with his annoying cheerfulness but he doesn’t leave me with much of a choice.

‘ Sandra! I know you are in there! Open up.’

I take a deep sign of exasperation and put on a fake smile, ‘Heeeey!’


To be continued.

 

 

 

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