When I'd given Hadley the washing up bowl thing, he moaned about feeling sick for a while, then moaned about being dizzy. I sat there with him, my arm around his shoulders as I was torn between relief at not having to make either of us perform and growing concern for Hadley's health.
Eventually, he fell asleep like that and, since the evening was still pretty young and most places were still open, I'd gotten bored of sitting there while Hadley slept. I just tucked him into bed and put on a pair of sweats.
Of course time alone with my thoughts isn't the best thing for me, right now, but I comfort myself with the fact I'm not actually alone this time. So at least I won't have a panic attack.
I find myself wondering how Cayden's doing and if he's got his ribs sorted out yet. And then I find myself attached to a phone, ordering flowers for him. I felt the need to try and make up for what Alex did to him, even if he'd deserved it. Now I know what John had wanted, I was beginning to feel like I should never have agreed to come to visit Cay's family - it's entirely my fault that this has all happened.
"What would you like the card to say?" the woman on the other end of the phone asks and my mind goes blank. ‘No hard feelings'? ‘Sorry'? I dunno. What do you say to your most recent ex when you're the reason he's in hospital?
"Just something like get better soon... it doesn't matter."
"What name are you leaving on the card?"
"I'm not leaving a name," I say before I can think about it. Clever. Now how's he gonna know who they're from? She takes my card details and promises that they'll be there as soon as. I thank her and hang up, before going back to aimlessly wandering around my apartment, looking for things to do other than blame myself for this humongous mess. I have another shower, because frankly, I still feel kinda gross from what happened and I can't ignore the creeping and irrational suspicion that I somehow made Hadley feel sick.
Can't say I blame him. If I could take the mirror off the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, I would. I never was keen on my reflection before, but now I just feel vaguely ill looking at myself.
I pull the sweats back on and wander over to the sofa bed, flicking on the TV. I don't even sit down and watch it, I just want the background noise. Granted, commentators on boxing matches piss me off, but it's better than silence. I make myself a coffee that I don't touch, and I stare absently at the contents of the fridge, contemplating eating something purely out of boredom. And then remember just how unfit and fat I've gotten, and slam the fridge closed again.
In the end, I just lay down with Hadley and wait until I fall asleep.