Daylight [Breakable Heaven #2]

11. It wasn't all your fault

Mondays are the worst. I hope the person who invented Mondays is currently burning in hell, since hell is probably the correct word to describe the day I've had.

On paper, it wasn't supposed to be this bad, but then Floriana was sick—or so she says, I strongly suspect she just enjoyed a longer weekend to our expenses, and it isn't the first time it happens—so the other teachers had to cover as many of her lessons as possible, because she had three test preparations that need to finish by next week. What is with people always waiting for the last possible minute to take the damn English certification required for college graduation? Anyway, Rory, Giselle, and I had to take on Floriana's lessons, and then Giselle, who's pregnant and suffering from intense sickness, almost fainted after having puked her guts out, so she was sent home as well. The result was that neither Rory nor I had the time to take a break worth of this name, and by nine-thirty, we were both exhausted, and we headed home separately, too tired to even entertain the idea of spending the night together. I know that spending the night together doesn't necessarily mean we must have sex, but really, when has it ever happened that Rory and I shared the same bed without jumping each other's bones?

The problem right now is that I am too exhausted to put something together for dinner, my stomach is growling because I didn't have a proper lunch, Jean is out at her drama class, and there's nothing here that can be eaten straight out of the fridge or microwaved. I blame Spain and its more-or-less healthy food habits for this: in the US, I could always count on microwavable mac and cheese, or instant ramen. Alright, maybe I could actually cook something fast and easy, but my mind right now resembles a breakfast scramble and I don't know what kind of damage I could get myself into if I attempted to put some food on the stove. Should I order pizza? It would be the fourth time in a week, but do I really care right now? I wonder what Rory is doing, if she's eating salad directly from the bag or if she's found the energy to actually cook something healthy.

An incoming text message lights up my phone. It's not Rory complaining about being too tired to cook. It's Lilian, asking me what I'm up to.

- Debating whether to starve or to order pizza AGAIN because this Monday really kicked my ass and if I attempted cooking anything I would probably burn the fucking kitchen down. What are you doing on this fine evening? -

Her reply takes only a minute to arrive, which surprises me, considering Lilian has never been one to type fast, or be particularly skilled with anything technological.

- I'm bringing you dinner. Be there in 10 -

Now, I know I should text her back and tell her not to bother, but I am way too hungry and too tired to do that, so ten minutes later sharp, I buzz her in, with a metal concert raging in my stomach, wondering what Lilian is bringing me. Not that I care, I would eat anything right now.

"Empanadas," she announces, waving a bag in front of me. "I was getting it for me when I texted you."

"You're a lifesaver!" I exclaim dramatically, grabbing the bag from her hands and going to the kitchen. "Come on, let's eat at the counter."

"I don't have to eat with you, if you'd rather be alone. I asked for separate bags, so I can go back to my hotel and eat there. I just didn't want you to starve," she says, and I really appreciate it. She's not trying to impose her presence and she hasn't used the nice gesture she made for me to trick me into spending time together.

"That's fine. Cold empanadas aren't really palatable. Just don't expect a brilliant conversation from me. My brain cells have probably committed suicide around five this afternoon, when a student asked me if writing e-mails was part of the exam after we had just spent one hour working on them... during a test preparation!"