luck for the night - rl.

39. eighteen minutes.

The two days before Remington's arrival, I let myself sulk in the darkness that got brought along with being banned from Inner Beauty. I ate instant ramen for every meal, let the house become a mess, with dirty dishes and laundry piling up.

Remington had been texting me every day, checking in on me, sending me updates about his days, and of course, countless cheeky mirror selfies. I had been responding as little as possible, not knowing what to do or say with the warmth that fluttered into my chest whenever I saw his name light up my phone screen. Every text, every picture I sent, I was terrified. Terrified he would somehow figure out how I felt. But I was even more terrified of accepting him into my life. What else would fall apart if I claimed this luck as my own?

Too soon, it was the fated day Remington would arrive at my front door. He had bought a plane ticket, rented a car, and earlier that morning, sent me a text he was on his way to the airport. Ever since that moment, my heart had been racing.

Singing along to my favourite song at the moment, Something Stupid by Lola Marsh, I got dressed, wearing a pair of cute but comfortable black trousers and an oversized band shirt that I was pretty sure belonged to my dad when he was my age.

Walking into my small kitchen, I grabbed a mug from the shelf and started the kettle for a cup of tea. I made myself a nice breakfast, eggs on toast, before entering the living room and sitting down in my favourite chair. But looking into my living room, I scrunched up my face. Had this place really become this messy, this dusty in a couple of days?

I sighed, thinking about the past weeks. I hadn't been in here much, and when I was, I did not care about cleaning up after myself, because however many hours, or days later, I would be leaving again. Add to that the couple of sluggish depression days that had occurred, and you got yourself a mess that even Grover would be proud of. Food packaging littered the coffee table, together with a pile of dirty dishes. Dust was on the plants, the wall of bookcases, and the floor was in dire need of a vacuum.

I ate my breakfast quickly, every bite somehow making me think of Remington. What would he be eating for breakfast today? Was he as excited to drink tea together as I was?

I reached for my phone on the coffee table, eager to see if he had sent any messages that answered my questions. Of course, our chat was awfully quiet since his last text, only twenty minutes ago.

taking off now, see you soon:)

So I put my phone back down, knowing that there was nothing I could do except wait for him to arrive in London, make his way to Bristol, and then to my flat. Well, nothing except cleaning the place until every surface was squeaky clean.

Still playing Something Stupid on repeat, now blasting it on my record player that also had a Bluetooth system, I distracted myself all morning with the mundane task of tidying up. Bringing all the dirty dishes to the kitchen, loading them in the dishwasher, which I was extremely thankful to have right now, picking up clothes from my bedroom floor, and for once, actually putting a load into the laundry machine. I wiped the dust off my bookcases, watered the plants, and lit some sage to clean the place of negative energy.

Not even two hours later, my apartment was unrecognisable. Right when I grabbed my phone, A message came in. Remington's plane had landed. My body seemed to go into shock. My heart beating loud, arms and legs frozen in place. God, I need a cigarette.

I spent the rest of my morning on the balcony, smoking the occasional cigarette in the early March frost. My attention was fading, my brain overcome with the thought of Remington (Remington!!) being in my apartment soon, sitting on my couch, sleeping in my bed.

Then, my phone started ringing, and my heart jumped, seeing the name that appeared on my screen. "Remington," I said after picking up, more breathlessly than I'd like to admit, excitement rushing through my body.