The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)
Class officially begins on the 25th—two more days—but I’ve got the syllabus for my classes printed out and have been prepping for the course load. Such a fucking nerd, I swear.
My internship is great. As you know, I’m working with the football players and their team of trainers and therapists. If everything goes well, I’m hoping they’ll offer me a permanent position once I get my degree. Then again, it’s Michigan and it’s fucking cold, so we’ll see if I can hack it in winter.
I love you, Anabelle. You are undoubtedly one of my best friends, and I think about you every second of every damn day.
Anabelle
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, angling my head from left to right, studying myself. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are bright, but something isn’t quite right.
Hmm.
I lean forward, pulling down on my lower lids with my forefingers, checking my irises. Pat at my cheeks. Run a hand down the front column of my throat, poking at my collarbone.
Hmm.
“Hey, you almost done in here? I was going to freshen up my face.” Madison sticks her head through the bathroom door, giving me a thorough once-over. She’s done up and downright adorable. “You look pale—are you feeling all right?”
I frown at my reflection. “I look pale? Really? I thought I looked rather flushed.” I suck in my cheeks, grimacing at my fish face.
“Nope, you’re definitely pale.” Our eyes connect in the mirror and I can see that she’s raised her brows. “You don’t think you’re getting sick, do you? Three people in my econ class had the flu last week.”
“No…maybe? I’m just off. Everything is…off lately.”
“Do you think it’s depression? I know you miss Elliot, but it’s not like you were in love with him.”
She’s wrong; I was in love with him, and I want to point out that sometimes suffering through a love you never had is worse than suffering through one you did. Everything with Elliot and me was left unfulfilled.
“Anabelle, you had the entire summer to get over him and move on. It’s been more than two months.”
Three.
It’s been almost three months of summer break and I still miss him like crazy. Our letters back and forth mean nothing if he’s not here. They’re a weak replacement.
“I know, Madison, but it’s just not the same.”
“It doesn’t help that you’re sleeping in his damn bedroom.” She’s mentioned this a few times as cause for my melancholy. “You wanna switch?”
“Please, I wasn’t born yesterday,” I tease. “You just want the queen-sized bed.”
“True. The twin bed sucks—I can’t bring anyone home because it’s way too small to get laid in safely. Last weekend when you were having dinner at your dad’s, I brought a random home and he fell off the side while he was going down on me. It was so embarrassing.”
The visual of that makes me giggle. “I mean, he was already down on the floor, on his knees—couldn’t he just have kept going?”
She rights herself against the doorframe. “Dammit, you’re right! He totally could have!” Crosses her arms. “Shit, now I feel robbed of an orgasm.”
“He didn’t get you off after that?”
“No. He kept complaining about the bed.”
“Did he invite you back to his place?”
Madison makes a face. “For real? Like I’d screw him at the fraternity house. Gross, no. Nothing against those guys, but the Pi house is disgusting—no one cleans it.”
“It’s definitely not like the other houses on Greek Row.”
“Hell no it’s not—those houses are gorgeous.”
“Even the houses on Jock Row are fifty times better than the Pi house.”
We chatter, bantering back and forth until she has to leave, and I go back to scrutinizing myself in the mirror. There are dull purple bags under my eyes from fatigue, and my hair looks dull.
Something isn’t right.
Hmm.
Elliot: How you holding up without me now that you’re back in class? Haha.
Anabelle: It’s a struggle—this female roommate business is overrated **winks** She always wants to talk about feelings.
Elliot: Guess it depends on the female—I never had any complaints.
Anabelle: Flattery will get you everywhere.
Elliot: Not really—not from way over here.
Anabelle: Why is Michigan so far?!
Elliot: The car ride sucks—I don’t know if I told you that. Six hours in the car with nothing to do but think.
Anabelle: I’ve never driven any farther than my dad’s cabin in the woods, and that’s only a two-hour drive, tops. I should make you a playlist so you can listen to it when you come home for break.
Elliot: What would you put on it?
Anabelle: I’m not sure…probably all the songs I listened to after you left.
Elliot: You listened to sad songs after I left?
Anabelle: I never said they were SAD, weirdo. LOLOL.
Elliot: I just assumed they were.
Anabelle: Oh please, don’t act like you’re not missing me too.
Elliot: I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.
Anabelle: Then I guess we’re even.
Anabelle: Also, maybe some of the songs were sad…
Anabelle
“Anabelle, what brings you in today?”
I’ve driven myself to the health clinic across town after some convincing from Madison and a new insurance card from my dad. The nurse on duty flutters around the exam room, pulling up a chair for me and adjusting the reading glasses perched on her nose.
Rolling to the computer on the small desk inside the room, she peers down her spectacles at me, smiling.
“We’ll briefly go over your health history, then I’ll take your vitals.” The wheels on the chair squeak. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I figured I’m overdue for a pap. I haven’t had an exam since I moved here and I’m not feeling the greatest. My roommate thought I should come get checked out.”
She stares at the monitor, reading out loud from my chart. “It lists your primary reason for getting the pill was help with menstrual cramping and moodiness associated with PMS. Is that still correct?”
I nod. “Correct.”
Tap tap tap on the keys.
“This may take a little longer to complete than usual since this is your first visit to this clinic. Even though this isn’t your first medical exam within our network, we do consider you a new patient.”
“Okay, sure. That’s fine.”
Her fingers click away, entering all my information into their database. “Still taking a daily multivitamin?”
She waits for me to reply, hands hovering over the keyboard.
“Uh, not really.” More like, never, not at all.
Click click click.
Next, she takes my blood pressure and checks my temperature. Takes my heart rate, entering that information into the computer, too.
“I see you’re currently prescribed the birth control pill. Is that still working out for you?”
“Yes.”
I shift in the chair, straining to see my chart.
The nurse glances at the computer, confirming. “I’m going by what’s in the file your last physician sent over.”
“Sure. Right, sorry.” Nervously, I tuck a stray hair behind my ear.
She’s all business, plowing ahead with her pre-exam questions. “Any other forms of birth control? Condoms?”
I smile. “I’m not currently sexually active.”
“Any pregnancies?”
“No.”
Click click. “No spotting, bleeding, abdominal pain, or side effects normally associated with the pill?”
“Nope, but let me grab my phone to see the last time I had my period—I track all that in an app.” I pull the smartphone out of my purse, tapping the Aunt Flo app, swiping on my period tracker.
Stare.
Frown. “I had some spotting within the past two weeks and a fever on the twelfth. I haven’t added any cycles, though. Sorry, is that okay?”
“That’s fine. I’ll just make those quick notes.” Her fingers fly over the keys. “Any chance you could currently be pregnant?”