Missed Connections

Chapter 15 - Bloody Mess

I wake up the next morning in a tangle of limbs on the couch. Both Paisley and Tegan are still in dream land. Though, from the smell of things, it may still be liquor land. We clearly crashed somewhere between Duckie's heartwarming prom save and Blaindy making out in the parking lot. There are kernels of popcorn everywhere, including my super snack saver cleavage space. Ew.

I am so thankful that I shuffled over to the end of the sofa after our girl chat because I have less movements to make to get out of this tangled mess of limbs, snacks and morning breath. I am usually the earliest riser, and I don't want to wake the girls, but my God! I need to piss like a racehorse. My eye balls are practically swimming. Once free, I haul ass to the bathroom.

Not even two seconds in to the visit, I enjoy the crimson surprise of Aunt Flo coming to call. All my emotional turmoil (and über horniness) is vindicated by her presence. Yet, somehow I don't feel satisfied as one would imagine. That may have something to do with the fact that my toilet bowl now looks like a murder scene gone awry. Fuck me. Not even wanting to deal with a hopeful wipe, I jump straight in to the shower and try to shake off any residual bad feelings from the night before as I clean up my vaginal weeping.

I sigh to myself. This day isn't starting off the way I had planned at all. I was hoping to feel plucky and bring my chin up after the dredges of last night's emotional hangover. Shit. Goddam. Fucking periods are the worst.

And how do I explain this cramptastic development to Louis? Louis. My brain suddenly pings to life. Sonavabitch! I never sent a reply to Louis' super adorable and endearing text message! How could I be so stupid? He must been thinking the worst right now!  What am I going to do?

I hastily rinse off my hair and body, and nearly slip as I tumble out of the shower in my urgency to get to my phone. My brain is rhyming off commands in rapid succession. Take a left past the tampon box. Grab a towel. Do not pass Go. I launch myself out of the bathroom and across the living room at record speed. I cruise around the corner and practically break down the door of my room. Frantically searching, tossing objects all over, I finally espy my phone resting where I had left it on my bedside table. I had clearly abandoned it there before my pillow sob fest. Please let it still have power!

I grab it and instantly check two things: the time and my texts. 9:30. Respectably early. Not rising with the sun, but not sleeping half the day away. Brunch hour. Now to texts. I flip over to my messages icon and see Louis' beautiful words before me. Ev, you could be my unintended. Wow. My heart skips a beat and I smile. Now that some of the red haze of PMS is lifting, I am actually feeling excited.

I notice my palms have started to sweat and the butterflies in my tummy are distracting me from formulating a decent response. What can I say that will convey my excitement about our budding relationship, my ruefulness about last night reticence, and my want to see him again? This is more than just a slight pressure. The weight of it seems oppressive.  When in doubt go with simplicity?

> Hi

And I wait. I stare at the text bubble on the screen, wishing and hoping and praying that it goes through. That Louis didn't get mad as hell and decide to vindictively block my number because I jaded him. He does give off the impression of being a bit fickle at times.  A glance down. The message says delivered and I release the breath I didn't know I was holding.  But will he read it?  I sigh. A minute goes by. And another one. Then all of sudden the characters I have been desperately wanting to see appear.  Read 9:35 AM.

Yes!!!!!  I dig the phone into the palm of my hand as if manhandling the device will make  Louis to respond faster.

> Well, hello, buttercup.

> Louis!
> I can't tell you how sorry I am about not texting back last night.

> You Canadians, always apologizing.

> But I mean it. My roomies came home drunk AF. I had to play mom.

> Girls, boys, what kind of party was it?

> Um, wouldn't you like to know?

> Yes, I would.
> 8==>

> Well someone had a side of sass with their Wheeties this morning.

No response. Shit. I thought he was in to my witty banter. Elizabeth Bennett don't fail me now.  Still nada.  Crestfallen, I nearly toss my phone aside when I see another text pop up.

> What is green and has wheels?

What the...?!?

> Um, I don't know.

> Grass.
> I lied about the wheels.

Huh?  I am so confused. Is this some childish way of blowing me off?  I am so not down with games. I furiously type back.

> What the hell, Louis?
> I get that you might be mad, but don't be a dick about this. If you want it to be over just say so.

Fuming I stare at the screen.  Tears threaten to build up once more, but I fight them back. Fuck you bleeding uterus. You aren't winning any more battles either.  My phone buzzes receiving rapid fire messages.

> Bollocks! No, love, that's not it.
> Louis is in the shower.
> I'm his flatmate, Harry.

Pause.

> I was just trying to have a laugh.
> Please don't be mad.

Pause.

> Louis really likes you.

My heart melts. Whoever this little shit on the other end of the phone is, he's got some balls, but he also seems like a cutie. I might just have to meet him and show him what it means to respect a lady. And what a good joke is.  I reply.

> Fine. But don't pull that shit again, H.
> Can you have Louis message me when he gets out of the shower?

> Definitely.

Appeased, I let the conversation drop. Ok. Not tons of progress, but it's better than nothing. I just hope Harry is telling the truth. This nervous nelly routine isn't my strong suit and I'm not liking the fact that I don't have the upper hand right now. I need some distraction. I glance at the clock. 10:00. Still decently early, and the drunk skunks will need to sleep it off some more. Plus, I don't have to be at work until this afternoon. Maybe I'll go for a run.

Yeah, right. The thought of trouncing down the street with my tender chest bouncing up and down is not appealing. Not to mention and gushing incidents that might occur if I try and be too active. Crimson peak. Forget it. Kudos to you ladies in the feminine product commercials, but that blue water nonsense has nothing on real life.

But I do need a stress free distraction. I take a beat and throw on some shorts and a tank top, casually toss my hair up in a messy bun and grab my bag. Figuring I have enough charge on my phone to last the errand, I set out of my place in search of the medicine of the gods. Coffee.