‘Emily, I’m sorry I startled you and in turn caused you to break your phone. Please accept this gift as my way of an apology. Noah.
P.S. My number is already saved in your contacts if you ever feel like giving me a call?’
Wow. Just wow. I have no words. Absolutely none.
I read and re-read his little note over and over again, thinking that eventually it will disappear and I imagined all of this. This stuff just doesn’t happen to me, like ever. If I wasn’t super mad at Rachel right now, then she’d be the first person I’d be calling to give all the juicy gossip too. But I am mad; I’m super mad and I don’t want to say anything to her in the heat of the moment that I might just live to regret or can’t take back. No, I think I’m best to sleep on things before I speak to her. We’re definitely going to need a calm and relaxed environment when I start grilling her.
~*~
I press my home screen to see that my brand new, shiny, toy is fully charged and ready to go and to make things that little bit better and easy for me, what with iCloud being so flipping awesome and because I’m a lazy and forgetful cow, everything that I need has automatically transferred over. Everything plus one additional item…
… Noah’s number.
My thumb idly hovers over his name, but I can’t find the courage to hit the call button. Plus, it’s gone 9 pm and now might not be a sociable time for him to chat. He could be doing anything. Probably something much more exciting than waiting for little old me to call. What would I even say to him anyway? Knowing my luck his note was more than likely added as a polite touch.
“But why would he leave his number in your contacts, stupid?” My inner bitch comes back to life at just the right time. I guess she does have a point. Maybe it’s because he genuinely felt bad for me because my phone went to shit right before his very eyes.
I guess I could always send a text. There’s no pressure that way. I’ve been polite in responding and thanking him for my new phone and then the ball’s left in his court if he wants to pursue things any further.
I blow out a deep, frustrated breath. It’s like being back in bloody high school all over again when I didn’t know if James Johnson really liked me or not, or if it was all just some silly bet that he had with his mates. I give my head a big wobble and begin to type. You’re almost thirty for crying out loud Emily. It’s about time you started to act like a fully grown adult at times.
‘Hey, Noah. It’s me, Emily.’ Crap, is that too formal? Who cares, it’s just a text. Get a grip. ‘Thank you very much for the phone. It’s beyond generous and you really shouldn’t have. I really appreciate the kind gesture, though.’ I read it over and over again, before finally adding ‘I really enjoyed the other night, hopefully, we can do it again sometime soon?’
I hit send before I can back out of it and I try my best not to focus on my blank screen. It’s only been a minute and I’m pretty sure that he’s got more important things to do with his time than to sit around waiting for me to contact him. To my surprise, almost instantly my phone beeps to life in my hands and when I look down there it is, a message from Noah.
‘I’m glad you like it and you’re most welcome. Tomorrow, 8 pm. Be free.’
Well, that’s a bit up front, isn’t it? Be free? Not are you free, but be free. Does he think I don’t have anything better to do with my time? Not that he’d be wrong, but still. Does my body language scream out ‘loner’ to the people around me?
Yes, there’s no denying that Noah is hot as hell and yes, there’s also no denying that I really enjoyed spending time with him the other night, but I really don’t like it when guys become full of themselves. It makes them become obnoxious and arrogant pricks and I really don’t like wasting my time on them. Bloody be free. The absolute cheek of some people. He’s starting to sound like Matt.
“But he looks just like Chris Hemsworth so he can be as arrogant as he likes.” Oh, there she is again, piping right up when I really don’t need or want her to.
Yes, yes, he does and I know that I’m screwed either way, but one thing I don’t want is to come across as easy because that’s one thing that I’m not and have never been.
“You were with Matt, so what’s the difference, Mother Teresa?”
Ignoring my nasty, unwanted inner bitch I type out a quick reply. ‘Tomorrow? Let me check and get back to you. Emily. X’
I don’t want any man to think that they can just click their fingers and I’ll happily just come running like a flaming poodle. That will never happen, ever. I’m my own person and I fully intend on staying that way.
Without a doubt, today has definitely been one hell of a crazy arse day. What I need now is a good fumble with Vinnie, leading up to a delectable stress relieving orgasm and a good night’s sleep. Everything feels so much better after those two, somehow.
Knock… knock… knock…
“Go away.” I shout out while dragging my quilt over my head to block out the noise. Who in their right bloody mind starts hammering on people’s doors at this ungodly hour? All I wanted was a little lie in, but oh no, it looks like that’s not about to happen.
Knock… knock… knock…
The tapping continues and it sounds like it’s beginning to get louder and louder. Annoyingly, whoever’s out there isn’t about to let up anytime soon. Unwillingly admitting defeat, I throw my covers back begrudgingly and drag myself up and out from beneath my cosy hideaway.
Last night’s binging session is laid out all around me, reminding me just how much of a fat, depressed, lonely old pig I really am. Half a bag of family size Doritos stare back at me along with numerous empty Galaxy wrappers and a share size Malteaser box. Seriously, I have no shame at all. Not one little bit.
Do I feel guilty? Hell no, not a chance. After yesterday I believe I earned every goddamn calorie and then some. The way I see it, it was a little treat and we all have to indulge every once in a while, otherwise, what’s the point to life?
I swing the door open just before my unwanted visitor is able to hammer on it again, catching her with her right arm slightly raised, ready to go for gold.
“Fucking hell, you look like shit.”
“You’ve seen better days too.” I snap back as the slimline creature snakes around me and enters my home. Why, oh why did I have to answer? I should have just stuck my headphones in and pressed shuffle on Spotify.
“Now that’s not very nice, is it?” Smiling gleefully, Rachel continues to delve further into my house and the sucker that I am, reluctantly follow suit. “What happened to you calling me yesterday, you promised?”
Unable to bite my tongue much longer, my inner bitch rears her ugly head and explodes out of my body. “What happened? I’ll tell you what happened Rachel. Fucking Scott happened.” I watch her carefully, waiting for the guilt to creep across her perfectly contoured face but it doesn’t happen. Instead, she just looks at me like a gormless person, albeit a beautiful gormless person, but still, gormless all the same. “You know, Scott-Scott.” I add, hoping this will make something click in her head.
“Who? Oh… is this some new guy that we need to discuss? I’ve got to admit Emily, considering you were totally against this online dating malarkey, you ain’t half working through them. Girl, you’re on fire. I’m super proud of you.”
“Rach, I’m really not in the mood to play games. Of course, you know who I’m talking about.”
“Nope, honestly doll, I haven’t got a clue. But, as soon as I’ve made these latte’s you can bet your pert little bottom that you’ll be telling me all about him.”
“I’ll take the latte, but not your bullshit.” I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear me.
“Excuse me?” Rachel squeals and spins right around to face me. “What did you just say? Why are you being so nasty to me? What have I done?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to tell me why you would go behind my back?” I stare her down, waiting for her to crack ever so slightly but she’s still look
ing at me like I’ve lost the plot and I’m blowing my shit for no apparent reason. This is typical Rachel behaviour. God knows that I love her dearly, but at times she doesn’t half do things without thinking them through properly.
“Go behind your back? What the hell are you talking about? You were fine when you left yesterday. What’s gotten into you?”
I take a seat at the kitchen table and drop my head into my hands. Everything is just getting too much for me. Why does my life always seem to fall apart, I mean look at me, I’m single, almost thirty and I’ve as good as lost my job. Not only that, but my best friend clearly feels that sorry for me, she had to set up an online dating account to get me a man. Talk about a major confidence boost. “Rachel, do you really need to lie to me? Did you ever think that I wouldn’t find out?” Of course she did. That’s why she’s gone out of her way to do it.
“Take this. Now I’m going to tell you this once and once only so make sure you listen carefully. I haven’t got a flaming clue what you’re going on about so you need to quit the bitch act and tell me what the hell’s going on here, otherwise I’m going to turn around and walk right out of that door.” She says and slams my latte down in front of me. “And I won’t be coming back until you sort yourself out.” I look up to see that she’s staring me down.
I match her bitch face with my own and say, “POF. Plenty of fish… does that ring any bells?”
“Oh God, you haven’t gone on there have you? I thought you were only just getting to grips with Tinder.” Rachel sits down next to me and her expression softens. “You don’t need to get greedy you know.” Her hand gently rests on my shoulder and she gives it a little squeeze. “Oh Emily, what am I going to do with you?”
“Rach, come on. Please don’t play games. What you’ve done isn’t fair and it’s completely uncalled for.”
“What do you mean, what I’ve done. Just because I helped you get to grips with Tinder doesn’t mean you can blame everything else on me too.”
“I know you created my profile.” I say flatly and it breaks my heart to see her next to me, still lying to my face. Maybe she was doing it out of the kindness of her heart, trying to give me a little shove, but the fact that she’s still lying to me hurts more than anything else. I thought we were better than that.
“I haven’t created anything. You need to start from the beginning, Emily. I don’t know what’s running around in your little head, but I really don’t like where this is going.” She snaps and her pretty little face becomes all prissy.
Well here goes. Hopefully, I can keep my calm because I really need to get this off my chest. If not, the anger is just going to keep building and building until I explode and there’s nothing left of me apart from an empty shell in a nut ward. “Yesterday when I was on my way back from the Doctors I went barrelling into some guy. Usually, I would have muttered a quick apology and been on my way, but… well, I just couldn’t.”
“Why not?” She says encouragingly.
“I couldn’t because he said he knew me. He knew my name and everything, but I didn’t know him. I’d never seen his face before in my life. I really thought he was going to kidnap me or turn out to be some kind of hit man or something. It was horrendous.”
“Emily people mistake other people all the time. It’s no big deal. I don’t see what you’re getting all worked up for.”
“It’s no big deal? Rachel, are you even listening to me? He knew my name and to make matters worse, he shoved his bloody phone in my face and there I was, staring back at myself.” I pause briefly, just to take a sip of my drink before continuing. “The guy had pictures of me on his phone, which by the way I’d apparently sent to him amongst other things over this dating thingy majig.”
“But you didn’t?” Rachel asks and she looks just as confused as I feel. I’ll tell you one thing, she’s got an absolute corker of a poker face.
“No, I didn’t. But I think I know who did…” I probe again and I wait for her response. “Don’t I?”
“Who… wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You think that I’ve been sending things of you to some random guys? Fucking hell Emily, what do you take me for?”
Oh, she looks majorly pissed right now and a small part of me wishes that I didn’t say anything. Maybe Rachel didn’t set anything up. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and I’ve gone out all guns blazing without asking questions first. “It has to be you.”
“Why, because I’m an evil vindictive bitch like that? Emily, you’re my best friend. Why the hell would I go behind your back like that? Do you even know me at all?”
“I don’t know, do I? Why do you think I’m so angry?”
“You’re angry? You’ve got no idea how I feel, let me tell you.” Rachel shouts back at me without even pausing for air.
“But you’re the only one who knows all of my details and I know you’re obsessed with all that online dating stuff. You were so excited when you set that other one up.”
“Yes, I enjoy it. Yes I have lots of fun on it and yes, it kills time when I’m bored shitless, but to do that to you without you knowing? That’s not my style at all. Have you even had a look at the profile to see what’s on there? Is it my writing style?”
No I haven’t. Maybe that’s the first thing that I should have done. At least that way I may have been able to decipher if it was Rachel’s writing style like she said. God, now I feel like such a muppet. I shake my head at Rachel, unable to talk and even though a small pitiful smile breaks free on her lips, I can still tell that she’s super mad at me. To be fair, I’d be pretty mad at me too.
“Do you really think that I’d write something like that?” Rachel asks, trying to control her breathing between fits of laughter. There’s no stopping her. She’s physically howling like a bloody banshee. “Oh, honestly Emily; this is absolute gold. I didn’t do it but I’ll tell you what, I’d bloody love to shake hands with whoever did.”
“I’m glad you’re highly amused.” I reply. What a cow. She’s still laughing and I give her a hard-ish jab to the side. Bitch. She’s supposed to be on team Emily, not team Emily wannabe.
After I’d refused point blank to look myself up on this ‘Plenty of fish’ thingy-majig, Rachel went straight in, all guns blazing and fired my Mac Book right up and off she went on her merry bloody way. It took everything I had to finally sit down and take a peek. Jesus, it’s absolutely mortifying, to say the least. Ultimate cringe and it’s making me want to vomit.
Where do I start? First off, I don’t know where my profile picture came from or who took it, but I really couldn’t look more slutty if I’d tried. It must have been photoshopped or something because never, in the history of man have I ever worn a red lip. I might be pale, but that colour just makes me look ill. Plus. my lips look like they’ve had one too many rounds of a collagen injection. However, on a more positive note, my tit’s look pretty impressive and my eyebrows are on point.
Now, if I was a man and I had a fully functioning penis; out of ten I’d definitely give myself one.
It’s not the picture though that’s got Rachel howling. Oh no, she fully approves of that. No, it’s my bio that’s the highlight of the day.
The crap that’s written on there is so unbelievable that I have to keep reading it over and over again, to try and allow it all to sink into my frazzled brain. It reads:
‘Hi, I’m Emily, my friends call me Em but I’m more than happy to be anything that you want me to be. I like my men just like my wine; mighty fine and thoroughly matured.
My hobbies include practicing the Karma Sutra as often as physically possible. It’s so much more entertaining than your average yoga session and much more beneficial to your mental and overall health.
I’m a very active person, in every way possible and I’ll happily keep you entertained for as long as you can handle…’
It doesn’t end there, though. It just goes on and on and on. I bet I’ve had some right nut jobs trying to hook up with me on here.<
br />
“Hey Emily, there’s a mobile number on here you know and it’s not yours.” Rachel gasps and excitedly points to the screen. “I think I’ll give it a call and see what happens.”
“But it’s not me, you nutter.”
“No shit Sherlock. But, think outside the box for a minute bright spark. Whoever is behind all of this is obviously contacting them through this number.” Her eyes grow wide as she waits for the light to come on and it click. Finally, it does.
“Oh…” I say when my poor frazzled brain eventually registers what she’s saying. “Bloody Karma Sutra, though. I’m lucky if I get any missionary action.”
“Well according to this little beauty, you’re quite the sex guru. You little naughty minx, you.”
“Oh piss off and get off your high horse. Is it wine o’clock yet?” I ask loudly and she shrugs casually at me.
“I guess it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
I’m dressed and I’m almost ready to face the big bad world outside. Not that I’ve really got much choice with Rachel by my side, egging me on every step of the way.
I feel dreadful, I really do. I feel like such a nasty cow for automatically assuming the worst and straight off going mad at her like that. To be fair, though, in my defense I’ve had quite a lot to deal with over the past couple of weeks. Actually, scrap that, the past twelve months have seen better days. But onwards and upwards as they say. That’s the motto that I’m going with right now. Surely one of these days it’s got to get better, or a little bit easier.
I find Rachel exactly where I left her about forty-five minutes ago. She’s not moved an inch. Her small delicate frame is still hunched over my Mac Book and she looks thoroughly engrossed with whatever it is that she’s reading.
Heartbreak's A Bitch! Page 10
