False Hope.Mature

The next day passes slowly. I feel like I am wading through treacle, unable to get anywhere or do anything at anything other than snail's pace. I end up whiling away the hours slumped on the sofa, now my prison, watching re-runs of Friends. 

I glance at the door every five seconds, jumping up at every little sound, praying that it is her, praying she has come back. The clock ticks slowly, the seconds seeming to torment me, deliberately lasting donkey's years. 

I am lying on the sofa, listening to the canned laughter of an achingly old episode of Friends and contemplating getting a sandwich, when the sound I've been waiting for finally comes. One ring on the doorbell and up I leap, turning the telly of on my sprint to the door. I open the door quickly, throwing it wide, and there she- 

Oh. Its Joy. 

"Oh.. Hi Joy." I say, downcast. "Did you want something?" 

"Jesus Donny, it's been a day and you're a complete fucking state!" She comments as she walks through the door. "You haven't shaved, you haven't showered, clearly, you're not dressed at three in the afternoon and was that a rerun of friends I heard?" 

"Yes." I sigh. "What do you want, Joy?" 

"Wow, you really can't live without her, can you?" Joy smiles, walking around the room. Already there is a small stack of dirty dishes by the sink. Yesterday's clothes are dumped on the floor, and the washing basket, brimming with the  scent of Eilidh, is knocked over, it's contents spilled across the floor like a stain. She peers nosily into the bedroom, where the bed is unmade, and there are several tell-tale stains. 

"Joy. What you you want?" I snap, getting more irritated by the moment. 

"Only to find out how you're coping!" She gives an evil smile that tells me everything she has seen here will be reported back to Eilidh. 

"What's the real reason you're here? To spy and pry for Eilidh? Or what?" I spit through gritted teeth. 

"Eilidh asked me to pack her a suitcase. She's going to be staying at mine for a few more days." My heart sinks to the soles of my feet and I sink to the floor, my back against the wall. 

"Take it. Take all she needs. But.. don't come back. I need some time. To.. think." I say slowly. She does so, packing my blue wheeled case full of bras, pants, dresses and tampons. Then she leaves, with a cry of:

"Bye desperate!" It is all I can do not to slap her. Instead, I curl on the ground and weep, unable to stop. 

I need her. I need her. Why won't she come back? 

The End

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