Friends With Benefits [H.S]

Part 22

The idle din of the nattering television was a welcome sound in my apartment these days.  I had it on pretty much twenty four seven lately, because it was easier to deal with than the undisturbed silence of being alone.  It was a sad reality that today was no different to any other in that respect. 

I was all alone on my birthday.

I didn’t feel old enough to be seventeen.  That sounded very mature, very grown up and I was neither of those things.  The last week had proven that, as I sat around doing absolutely nothing, bar staring glassy eyed at yet another crappy TV show.

I watched Jeremy Kyle a lot.  I’d gotten to know the entire cast of Made in Chelsea and The Only Way is Essex.  It seemed the British had a rather great talent for making atrociously awful TV shows that somehow whiled away the hours  effortlessly.  I liked staying in bed all day.  I liked painting my nails into different patterns in the evening, then cleaning it off the next night and starting again with a new design.  I liked trying on the maternity wear I’d ordered off the internet and watching how the specially designed tops flowed over my tummy effortlessly, concealing my evergrowing bump from the public as of yet.  I went window shopping with the girlfriends a few more times, and despite my initial embarrassment, I eventually felt a strange sense of contentment when they pointing out tiny baby socks or and little booties, and prams adorned in lace.  They seemed aware of my reservations, giving constant encouragements.  “You’re kid will be more spoilt than Suri Cruise!  It’ll have the best of the best!  And imagine Harry’s eyes and your nose in a little face…”

Eventually, I found myself enjoying their comments.  Just the slightest bit, but still.  I almost felt proud.  It gave me hope, because if they could accept it, surely the rest of the world could?

Tensions had definitely eased between Harry and me.  All it had taken were those few texts, and a phonecall the next day to apologize properly, both me and him.  We were still a little cold, but it was nice to know we were no longer at war with each other.  It made everything feel a lot more secure.

The girl on the MTV entertainment news nattered on now about how such and such had broken up with whats-her-name, the new movie so-and-so was currently filming.  I was still in my pyjamas, channel surfing, sleep still in my eyes.  It was afternoon now and I was only just having breakfast, if you could call it that.  Toaster waffles with three scoops of vanilla ice cream with chocolate and caramel sauce and sprinkles.  A tall glass of hot chocolate and cream topped with tiny marshmallows, all to be washed down with a tube of sour cream and onion Pringles and a packet of oreos.  The cravings had hit me like a brick wall this week, and sugar was the header on my list.  Chocolate was my foremost pleasure, though I felt guilty for binging so much.  I was trying to make the most of my time without Harry, who would surely tell me off and force me to eat shitty weetabix or something equally drab and crap.  What would piss me off so much about his stern advice was the fact that he would be right.  I’d gotten a leaflet about a healthy diet during pregnancy from the doctor, but the smell of anything sweet and creamy was like cocaine to a crackhead for me.  So for as long as Harry was away, I planned to take advantage and fully enjoy stuffing my face. 

The television droned on, story after story about the elite and their lives.  Some of them I’d met once or twice, despised, and now felt a smug twinge of satisfaction at hearing about their downfall from grace in some messy breakup or flopped movie.  I immediately felt despicable, however, given my own condition.  I was hardly the epitome of a star – knocked up at seventeen.  Sometimes I thought that the world would be better off if people worried about their own lives rather than those of the rich and famous.  But then again, maybe it was just human nature to idolise certain individuals, as a sort of life goal, and inspiration.  Whether it was to make yourself feel better about the state of your own life – people like those I saw on Jeremy Kyle – or the seemingly perfect.  Models, singers, actors.  And yet, despite putting them on a pedestal and believing they had everything, we needed the reassurance that they were not as polished as they appeared from the magazines which reported their divorce or drug addiction or diet plans.  They were like everyone else at the end of the day.  Nobody had it all…not really.