Never Met a Girl Like Her | ✔️

(10)

L E O N I E

Jess and Amy didn't hang around for a lot longer after we'd eaten and reminisced on a few more humorous memories. The more that we talked about the night that we'd had, the more that surfaced. Such as the fact that I'd done several shots out of Martha's - the red headed roommates - cleavage. Or the fact that Jess decided that she could now twirk and demanded the whole rooms attention so that she could shake it.

Embarrassing to be honest.

She thought so too from the way that she sunk into the sofa and covered her face with her hands, willing the truth to evade her. It wasn't that she couldn't dance. It was just more to do with the fact that she was drunk. Therefore, all of her movements were lagging and not quite as fluid as they might have been if she'd been in control of her limbs.

After the girls left, I remained on the couch with the food that they left behind, a comforter and Netflix. The weather had taken a turn and it seemed that my hangover had been blessed with a mild storm. Rain pelted the window outside and I watched it more than I watched the drama unfolding between Stiles and Scott over that evil but oh so gorgeous Theo Raeken.

The rain bothered me unless I didn't have to leave the apartment. And then it was welcomed. I didn't feel as guilty for squandering inside like a hermit if the weather turned to shit. Which it didn't do all that often. That didn't stop me from squandering inside like a hermit. But it did allow me to do it guilt free.

Not even the state of my bedroom persuaded me to do something productive after I showered and changed into a pair of sweats and an 'I heart Daytona' t shirt that I'd bought from the broadwalk gift store this summer. There were clothes spread from asshole to breakfast. The bed was a mess, the drawers were open. But the need to clean further than the bathroom evaded me. As long as I had glistening shower walls and a toilet bowl clean enough to eat off, I was satisfied.

It was around six in the evening when Mom came home with her travel case wheeling along behind her. Her hair was pulled into a half up, half down style and her pencil skirt and blazer were pressed and sophisticated. It was hard to believe that she'd just been on a flight for the last ten hours. I had the entire house, the comfort of a sofa, room to stretch and I still looked like an absolute wreck.

She wheeled her bag in behind her and leaned it against the wall beside the corridor as she said hello. I remained curled up on the couch, hidden beneath the comforter so that she couldn't see the bandaged hand that would raise some questions on her part. It was going to be hard to hide it for long. But I needed some time to come up with a decent excuse. My brain just wasn't participating this evening.

Mom wondered in and gave me an achingly wide grin as she sat down on the coffee table in front of me. "How was your weekend?"

I shrugged with indifference. "I did a ton of meth. Met a biker gang. Fell in love with the leader. Married him. Set a rivals production warehouse on fire, destroying millions worth in cocaine. Have a hit out. Gang leader husband - cûnt killer his name was - was shot. Now I'm in hiding. How about yours?"

Her expression was blank as she stared at me. "Have you ever considered doing a writing major in college? You have a vivid imagination."

"You're right. I should turn my real life weekend experiences into novels. That's perfect," I yawned, a wide one that would have given her a nice view of the tonsils that I no longer had thanks to their removal when I was seven. Now that was a good time. I've never eaten so much ice cream. Ever. "Sorry. Just a bit tired. Haven't slept because of all the meth. Now, tell me Mom, how was London? Please tell me that you got some?"