I don't want to feel

Chapter 29

I checked the time on my watch for the umpteenth time to see that it was one minute later than the last time I had looked, 7:53PM.

“One more song.” I said to myself.

I looked at the list in front of me and selected a new song.

“Yeahhh. This one is perfect!” I commented in a slightly slurred voice.

Oh, oh, I’d better have another tiny sip of beer… I need to keep my throat well hydrated, don’t I?!

I took two huge gulps of what would be my fourth can of beer, tonight.

I pressed PLAY and the music started.

I knew the song by heart so I didn’t need to read the lyrics that were unrolling on the TV screen.

“When you were here before

Couldn't look you in the eye

You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

And I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special”

The bell rang just as I was about to belt the lyrics of the Chorus.

I put my hairbrush – aka my microphone – down just for a second, while I pressed the PAUSE button on my TV control, and danced to the front door, hairbrush in one hand, and beer in the other.

Needless to say, I struggled to open the door.

I started giggling at myself.

You can’t even open a freaking door, what a loser…

I then had the most brilliant idea ever. I simply put the handle of the brush/mic in my mouth…

I’m a freaking genius!

 That’s how Martin found me when I finally opened the door.

“Hematn!” I greeted him and started giggling uncontrollably at how I sounded.

His mouth curved up into a half smile, as he started nibbling on the corner of his bottom lip, all the while shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

As he still hadn’t said a word, I tried again.

“Woaufmatn?” It once again made me giggle but it was nothing to Martin’s sudden laughing fit. He was laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes.

After a while, he managed to calm down and he asked me,

“What the frying heck are you doing with a brush in your mouth?!”

“Inoabsh.” I answered, pissed off that he’d mistake my amazing mic for a simple brush.

He started laughing at my words once more, but not before taking the “mic” out of my mouth.

“You were saying?”

“It’s not a brush, it’s my mic…”

“Ok… I have a feeling this party is going to be interesting…”

He was still shaking his head slowly.

“I’ m actually in the middle of one of my favourite songs ever,” I grabbed his hand, “Come and sing with me.”

I then proceeded to drag him to the living room.

I showed him the pile of bottles and cans.

“Help yourself. Cool beers and soft drinks in the fridge, as well if you want.” I told him as I took a new gulp of my beer.