Roomie Wars Box Set

On the drive home, the weight of today exhausts me. I rest my head against the window and close my eyes again, not wanting to talk about what happened or how foolish I was to be so careless in the water. All because I was trying to impress Rob because my confidence’s shattered, and just once, I wanted to feel wanted by another man.

I doze off for most of the ride home opening my eyes when we’re parked in front of our apartment. Drew rushes to my door and opens it, reaching out his hand.

Offering a weak smile, I tell him, “I can walk.”

“It’s three flights of stairs.”

“I know. Remember? I’m the silly one who thought it would be a good idea to rent this apartment thinking the view was spectacular.”

“And how many times do you sit on the balcony?”

I manage to laugh, but it’s followed by a violent cough. Drew’s watching me, worried, and to rest his paranoia, I latch onto his arm for support. Okay, three flights of stairs could be compared to walking up Mount Everest. With no energy, I feel weak and ready to sleep again, unprepared for the physical toll today has taken on my body.

We enter the apartment, and immediately, I want to lay on the sofa and rest my eyes and body. Drew suggests I take a long shower to remove the sand off me.

In the shower, the hot water relaxes my tense muscles, and the struggle to keep my eyes open becomes too hard. There’s a knock on the door, and Drew asks me if I’m okay. I yell back and shut off the water, dry myself, then change into my tee and boxers. My hair’s soaking wet, so I run the hairdryer for a few minutes, still leaving it slightly damp.

As soon as I open the door fully dressed, Drew’s standing at the entrance blocking my way. With his arms folded, he presses his lips together, almost biting his tongue. He must have taken out his contacts. He’s wearing his glasses, his eyes narrowing underneath his lenses.

“You weren’t singing,” he thunders.

“I’m tired.”

“Well, if you were singing, then I wouldn’t have been panicking for the last fifteen minutes.” He motions with his hands in frustration. “I was this close to breaking the lock to see if you were okay.”

“I don’t lock the door, you goose. Besides, if you came in, you wouldn’t have seen anything you haven’t seen before.”

“That’s different,” he mumbles awkwardly, scratching his stubble and avoiding my gaze.

I shake my head at his awkward demeanor. “Oh yeah, shaving my vagina is totally different.”

“Can we not talk about that again? I made you some soup.”

“Sure, I’ll stop the vagina talk as long as there’s some pizza on the side.”

“Continue with the vagina talk.”

Crap. He called my bluff. I don’t care for vagina talk either.

I slowly make my way to the kitchen not wanting to admit I’m starving, and Drew’s soup smells like heaven. After devouring two bowls, heaven’s an understatement. Perhaps I have been eating way too much pizza.

“What’s in this again?” I ask with slight hesitation.

“I never told you. Some things are best left a mystery.”

Great, some healthy concoction that will probably give me the runs. Pizza doesn’t give you the runs unless, of course, you ordered from that dodgy wannabe Italian chef around the corner from the apartment.

We both sit silently at the table finishing our bowls without saying a word to each other. The kitchen’s small but large enough to fit a round table in the center with four chairs. The apartment was built sometime in the sixties and still has this retro feel to it. I love the charmed it oozes but Drew often complains it’s not modern enough. Since he enjoys cooking, he has every right to complain about the rundown stove with only two burners that work and the oven that can barely fit a roast. Again, this is the beauty of pizza. It gets delivered to your door with no cleanup necessary.

Drew stands up and collects the dishes, then walks over to the sink and runs the tap. The gentle fall of the water makes me yawn, and he’s quick to notice that my head has almost fallen onto the table.

“You look tired. Let’s get you to bed.”

I’m not about to argue. He walks me to my room, and as soon as I’m under the covers, the battle to keep my eyes open is too much.

“Stay with me… till I fall asleep,” I beg softly.

Drew lies beside me on the bed and rests with his arm propped up stroking my hair out of the way. It feels nice. It feels like home. When the exhaustion creeps in, I begin to sob. “I thought I was going to die.”