MY BELOVED POISON

TEN

I had Diarrhea, I was constipated and then took a laxative. It should have worked within 8 hours but now 1 hour later I'm on the toilet crying as I clutched onto the walls .

I was in the half bath a little ways from the shower drain .
My shower was basically a toilet with a shower drain not to very far. I would stand and shower while looking at the little toilet propped in the corner of the bathroom.

For the life of me nothing came out and I just felt like heeving over the bathroom. Was it the fact that I successfully evaded the landlord , or the fact that it had been 3 days since King's visit. Or the fact that I had called in sick afraid of facing king or maybe it was the fact that I never called even though I had already saved his number.

The number just mocked me and you would be surprised by what I saved him as. ❤crush , the name flashed on the screen. It wasn't like he would go through my phone. Right?

I mean can you blame me. He was so tall, so big, in all aspects. Trust me I know. That print really vouched for me. I just wanted to climb up his body and have his babies.

The cold sweat trickled down my neck again and my stomach contracted painfully. I shouldn't have taken the laxative.

As I sat there, feeling utterly defeated, a knock suddenly echoed through the small bedroom. The bathroom right by the front door on the left. My heart raced, wondering who could be at the door at this hour. I tried to compose myself, wiping away the tears and sweat from my face as best I could.

"Hello?" I called out tentatively, my voice shaky. My stomach contracted again but nothing came .

"It's me, your neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins," came the muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Are you okay in there, dear? I heard some noises and wanted to check if everything's alright."

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. How could I explain my current predicament to Mrs. Jenkins, the sweet old white lady next door? How could I tell her I was taking a poo and nothing was manifesting? I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts.

"I'm... I'm fine, Mrs. Jenkins," I stammered, my voice still quivering. "Just not feeling well, that's all."

There was a moment of silence, and then Mrs. Jenkins spoke again, her tone filled with concern. "Do you need any help, dear? Is there anything I can do?" She was do sweet.

I hesitated, torn between my pride and the overwhelming urge to accept her offer of assistance. But then what could she do , imagine she calls an ambulance and they have to pry me off the toilet because I can't walk. Or worse , I die and now on my tombstone it says death by poo.

Finally, I swallowed my pride and spoke up.

"Yes, actually," I admitted, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "I think I might need some help getting to the doctor. Could you... could you call me a cab?"

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Jenkins replied without hesitation. "I'll call right away. Hang in there, help is on the way."

As I listened to her footsteps retreating down the hallway, a sense of relief washed over me. Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all. With Mrs. Jenkins' kindness and support, perhaps I could get through this rough patch and emerge stronger on the other side.

As I waited for the cab to arrive, I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt gnawing at me. Mrs. Jenkins had always been there for me, offering a helping hand and a listening ear whenever I needed it. And yet, here I was, burdening her with my own troubles once again.

But as the minutes ticked by, I realized that I couldn't let my pride stand in the way of accepting help when I truly needed it. Swallowing my guilt, I focused on getting myself ready to leave the house.