Calling All David Ryans

Chapter 7

                                                                                       VII.   

A/N: Sorry to any guy readers for this chapter.  You'll see what I mean.  Also, sorry for any mistakes I have yet to edit.

I laid on my back, looking up to watch to watch the overhead ceiling paint shadows across the white sheet of my ceiling.  Next to me sat an empty box that once held chocolates.  Wrappers spread out about me like flower petals floating across a still bank of water.

A groan rang out of my throat as a new ache pierced through my body.  I rolled over to one side and curled up into fetal position.

I needed a heating pad and more chocolate.

The firmness of my hand pressed into my forehead as I stretched out again.  The chocolate was not coming.  My body coiled up in disgust at that horrible thought.  That thought was a fact though.  Nothing could get me down the apartment stairs while I wore a blue fuzzy robe and bunny slippers.  Changing did not sound appealing either.

I had access to the heating pad, but the very thought of getting caused another groan.  That night allowed me to be lazy.  That night was a time to wallow in self pity.

The pain, however did not subside and instead resonated into an ache, a sharp pounding ache.

The need for pain killers forced me to take action.  I rolled up from the bed.  My features scrunched into a cringe, I needed to change my pad.

I emerged from the bathroom and then headed to the kitchen to start my search for the much desired painkillers.

My hands rummaged through the medicine cabinet, tipping over bottles of medicine, packages of band aids, and whatever else happened to stand in my way.  The painkillers were not placed there.  I slammed the door closed.  The frantic search for the pills had begun.

"Who moved them?" I shouted.  My voice seemed to reverberated through my ear drums.

No response to the question came.  Not that I expected one.  Everyone was gone.  Christian had said goodbye and wished me good luck earlier that day.  I left David to simmer with his thoughts in the small hotel room and Maggie was out courting a jerk that I did not approve of.

Still, the solitude of an unanswered brought a whimper to my lips.  Perhaps I was selfish, but I wanted someone stay there.  I wanted someone to take care of me.

I looked like an alcoholic searching for the bottle, a drug addict in search for their cocaine, a chocoholic in search for a truffle.  My hands shook.  A reflection within the stainglass refrigerator told me me that my hair settled into chaos, my skin had a grown a pasty white color, and my had widened with the oppressive will of my search.  

"Why me?" I mouthed to my reflection, my eyebrows tugging downwards to create a pitiful look.

With a weak effort, I yanked the refrigerator door open, hoping, by some stroke of luck, that the pills had been misplaced in there.

A quick glanced determined that, indeed, the pain killers did not lay there, in the cold.  The kitchen, now, only had one spot left unexplored.

I darted over to the sink and I threw open the doors that belonged to the cabinet underneath.

My scream of frustration echoed through the kitchen.  I had finally reached the object of my search and the person who was behind this cruel joke. 

There, amongst the cleaning supplies, sat the painkillers on top of a heating pad with a small note attach. 

It read: "Are you looking for this, Divy?  Love, Maggie."