Never leave me alone again. Chundered EVERYWAH xx
Lad Boy emerged in the room where I was sprawled out on the couch. ‘Did you seriously just text me from the same house?’
‘My head hurts.’ I groaned.
‘Way to make friends, dickhead! Did you throw up here?’
‘No, in the club.’
‘How did you get back here?’
‘Taxi. Typed the address into a note on my phone and shoved it in the driver’s face.’
He laughed. ‘Who paid for the taxi?’
‘Don’t know. I don’t think I did though. I only had about £3.40 in coins in my purse.’
‘Sounds like an average night in my world.’
I picked up my phone.
Langdon Text (2)
Unknown Missed Call (4)
Unknown Text (1)
Lad Boy’s friend was the unknown number and had texted to ask if I was okay and to text her when I got home. I texted her back quickly to apologise profusely and thank her for putting me in a taxi.
I opened Langdon’s texts, but first looked through the text history to figure out why he was texting me in the first place.
I had apparently called him, he didn’t answer, but then texted:
What’s up? I’m out, are you going to this party? x
I called him back repeatedly, too drunk to figure out texting mode on my phone, until he called me back. Seeing as we both appeared to be in loud clubs this was a bad choice. I sent him some vague text back that I don’t understand myself saying nothing in particular and at that point in the night I think I had made friends with the toilet and enemies with the club staff. That’s a lie, they were very nice and escorted me outside.
The texts I missed due to alcohol-induced sleep were at about midnight and close to two in the morning, respectively, saying:
I don’t know what that text meant, but see you soon xx
And:
Were are you now!just leaving my friends xx
He has a Blackberry, so unlike Russ with his old school Nokia, there’s no excuse for bad spelling or incorrect punctuation, like an exclamation mark instead of a question mark, and lack of awareness of a spacebar. Unless the message was myspacebarisbrokenx then one should really figure it out.
‘Ha. Langdon was coming to meet me, apparently?’ I yelled to Lad Boy, who was in the kitchen making tea.
‘Really?’ Lad Boy yelled back.
‘Yeah, but at two!’ I yelled as I texted Langdon back. I slowly said the words out loud as I typed. ‘Sorry. Got too drunk and passed out. Breakfast? Kiss. Kiss.’
‘Booty call!’ He sang out.
‘I could be having sex right now.’ I said in a more normal voice as Lad Boy came in, placing my tea in front of me.
‘There’s your disgusting tea.’ He finds the amount of milk I put in my tea revolting.
‘Taaaaaah very much.’ I said, sipping the tea. ‘Mmm. Milky.’
‘Sick.’ He took a sip. ‘Ahh! Hot.’
‘See? The more milk you put in, the cooler the tea, and thus the quicker you can drink it. I don’t have time to sit around and wait for tea to cool. I want it now, not in ten minutes when I’ve gone off the idea. I’ve got things to do with my life that are better than waiting for tea to cool off.’
He stared at me blankly as I finished my tangent. ‘You’re still drunk, aren’t you?’
‘I’m h-ammered.’ I said, nodding my head forward as I said “hammered.” ‘Chuck me those sunnies.’ He tossed my Ray Bans and I put them on. ‘Better … I don’t think I’ll be below the legal driving limit until next week.’
‘How did you get so drunk? I’ve never seen you get sick!’
‘I don’t know. I honestly can’t remember the last time I threw up from drinking too much.’
‘Henley?’
‘Dry-heaved. No vomcano though.’
‘You weren’t that drunk when I left.’
‘I didn’t drink any more after you left … I don’t think. I think we got to the club and I literally went to the toilet and just vommed my brains out. What started as a tactical chunder just ended up being me being sick for the rest of the night and shoved into a taxi.’
‘You complete horror show.’
‘I know, right. And that was the first time I had met about half of those people. They must think that my chat nav is well off.’
He laughed. ‘That was pretty stinky chat to be fair.’
‘Hi, my name i-bleughhhhhhhhhh … uhhh, soz.’
‘Can’t take you anywhere.’
‘I’m usually so well behaved.’
‘This is the first time you have been an embarrassment, true.’
‘It’s because you left. I was literally lashing out.’ He laughed. ‘Pun intended.’
‘Right, well while you recuperate I’m going for a cycle.’
‘How long for?’
‘Couple hours.’
‘A couple of hours?’
‘Yeah, that’s why I didn’t drink last night.’
‘Well what am I suppose to do?’
‘I don’t know. Call Langdon.’ He said, winking and getting up to go change.
I thought about it as he walked up the stairs. Hmm. Could do. Maybe he will make me breakfast again. It would be the opposite of last time, which was like “Oh, thanks for the sex, here’s some breakfast.” This time it would be, “Oh, thanks for the breakfast, here’s some sex.” I grabbed my phone and went to my recent call list, pressing his name.
A woman’s voice answered immediately. ‘I’m sorry, but the person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.’
I hung up. Balls. Now I’m just alone and still not having sex. Worst hangover ever. Probably best he didn’t show up last night. Nothing screams sexy like being kicked out of a club for being sick all over their toilets. Oh. Well. I wonder if his phone sends a text message when he gets a missed call if his phone is off. Why doesn’t my phone do that anymore? Such a good function if you miss the call, not so good if you incessantly call people until they switch their phone on. Ugh. Hungry. Stomach still hurts. Tea not helping.
I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a box of mini Scotch eggs. I ate one. Bad choice. That did not settle my stomach at all. Shockingly. Ooh, Lucozade. Or should I have Powerade? Both contain the word ‘ade’ which is close enough to ‘aid’ and thus should theoretically make me feel better. I grabbed them both and poured half of each bottle into a pint glass. Ugh, even looking at a pint glass makes me feel ill. And I didn’t even drink beer last night. Probably where I went wrong. Always. Drink. Beer. I know I drink way too fast, which is why more often than not I will drink something like beer or ginger beer or cider – although the cider can be problematic as well depending on the alcohol percentage. Weston’s has fucked me over a few times with their 7-9% abv. I drank the concoction. Slightly better.
‘Right. I’m off!’ Lad Boy said, bounding into the room.
‘Cute helmet.’ I teased.
‘You should probably just wear one of these around in your everyday life.’
‘Probs.’ I agreed.
‘Well, see ya.’ He said abruptly, kissed me on the cheek and left.
I made some more tea and grabbed the Lucozade and Sunday Times and headed back to my couch. It had become mine by sheer amount of hours slept on it in the past month.
After getting through the first section of the paper I picked up my phone. It had been an hour and ten minutes since I had called Langdon. I tried again, only to be immediately greeted by his answerphone again. I’m bored. I usually save Caitlin Moran’s column for last since it’s my favourite, but I pulled out the magazine and went for it prematurely, like an impatient child. I love her book, How to Be A Woman. My mum and I bought copies in the Heathrow airport on our way to our family summer holiday. It was momentarily uncomfortable when, whilst sat next to each other on the plane, I realised we were both reading about Caitlin masturbating and fantasising about the guy from An American Werewolf in London. Awkward.
I flipped through the magazine. No Caitlin Moran. That’s the Saturday Magazine. Shit. My phone buzzed. It was Langdon.
Just woke up feeling fragile x
It was almost two in the afternoon. I was too hungover to think of a witty retort to text back so I called him. No answer. What. The fuck. I frowned. I started texting, and when I text without thinking about it first, I ramble. Kind of like when I start writing a blog post without thinking about it first …
Why don’t you ever answer your phone? I feel un-amazing. What are you up to today? x
I messed around on Twitter. People talk to me. Help me through this hangover. A few minutes later I checked my email. Inbox, one email.
“Kairos Healthcare (@TipsForSobriety) is now following you on Twitter!”
Literally ironic.
I scrolled through their tweets.
‘Am I trying to do recovery alone?’ I read aloud to no one. Do I have a drinking problem? Pfft, I don’t know. I shrugged and moved on to looking at something funny, like David Mitchell’s twitter page and then David Mitchell’s article in the Observer. I love David Mitchell.
My phone buzzed again.
Was mid game of fifa apologies, im also feeling like shite!! going to the gym in a bit but nothing else, what about you x
His lack of punctuation was going to get on my nerves, I could tell. He’s also too keen with the exclamation marks. I find it hard to believe that anyone is that excited when texting. I finished reading the article, roamed around the house, rummaged through the kitchen some more, grabbed the rest of the Lucozade and went back to the couch. I picked up my phone and re-read his broken English.
I am feeling rough. Just drinking Lucozade and watching telly. Not up to much else today. Want to hang out later? x
About an hour later he replied.
You’re probably looking pretty rough too! later sounds good what you thinking ?xx
I thought for a moment. “I never look rough. And I’m thinking sex later. Kiss. Kiss.” Too much? What are the chances he shows his brother the text if I mention sex? What are the chances he tells Lad Boy if I mention sex? “I was thinking dinner and a movie.” Dull. “I want to strip your clothes off and –” No. Too much. Ugh.
My phone started ringing. It was Langdon.
‘Hello.’ I said, relieved I didn’t have to think of a reply to the text.
‘Hey. How’s it going?’
‘I feel pretty bad.’
‘I feel awful.’
‘Let’s argue about who feels worse. I threw up everywhere. Your turn.’
‘I smoked a lot of weed and have a massive headache.’
‘This game is boring. What are you doing?’
‘Walking to the gym. What are you doing?’
‘Still watching telly.’
‘What are you wearing?’
I looked down. ‘A hoodie and workout shorts. I like to look like I’m about to workout, but I’m not really.’
‘Could you at least try to lie and make things more interesting?’
‘I’m also wearing a bra. It’s pink.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘What do you want to do later?’
He exhaled. ‘I don’t know.’
‘We can go to mine, would be a bit of a train ride, or I could come to yours. Or, I could fuck off forever. Whatever.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t mind really.’ Great, another indecisive boy. Exactly what I need. I hate making decisions.
‘Well, do you want to hang out?’
‘Calm down, stalker. I knew I shouldn’t have given you my number.’
‘You’re the one who called me!’
‘Yeah, only because I have like nineteen missed calls from you.’
‘I called you five times.’
‘I know, I was clearly exaggerating.’
‘And I called you after you texted me. I don’t like texting, it takes too much time.’
‘Alright, I don’t need your life story.’
‘Did you call for a reason?’
‘Not really. You’re the person I call when I’m walking places to keep myself entertained.’
‘I’m not sure how I feel about that. Has this been entertaining thus far?’
‘I’m amused, yes. It’s like a game. I think when you call someone you should immediately ask them what they’re doing.’
‘How is that a game?’
‘Well you get to guess if they’re lying or not.’
‘Sounds shit.’
‘Fine then, why don’t you come up with a game?’
‘How about the come over and get naked game?’
‘How do you play that?’
‘It’s pretty easy, you just come over and take your clothes off. It’s kind of like the pants party game.’
He laughed. ‘I’m getting turned on.’
‘Oh yeah? What are you wearing?’
‘I’m naked.’ He said, very matter-of-factly.
I laughed. ‘You’re playing the game wrong. You’re suppose to come over and then get naked.’
‘Shit. I have really misjudged this.’
We talked some more about nothing in particular until he finally said, ‘Well. I’m at the gym. I’ll call you on the walk back.’
‘Great … can’t wait for more thrilling conversation like this one.’ I replied in a monotone, uninterested voice.
‘Bitch.’
‘Byeeeee.’
I hung up and started clearing the empty sports drink bottles from the room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Good Lord. I do look rough. My makeup was smudged around my eyes from not taking it off before showering and I just looked like a walking hangover in general. The idea of being in a gym nauseated me. I felt like a fraud in my workout clothes. I went to my bag and pulled out my makeup and returned to the mirror. I rubbed lotion all over my face and wiped away the mascara below my eyes, replacing it with concealer to hide what looked like two black eyes. I decided to wait until Langdon called again to put on any more makeup.
I read the paper some more and scrolled through SkyTV. About ninety minutes later I was bored and wondering how anyone could spend that much time in the gym. Langdon was probably just sitting in a sauna or something.
Another thirty minutes later my phone rang.
‘How was the gym?’ I answered.
‘I did like 400 kilometres on the bike, about 1,000 pushups and ran about fifty miles.’
‘Sounds pretty standard.’
‘I know. I was just like, I am so fit.’
‘You didn’t even really need to go to the gym.’
‘I really didn’t. But seriously, did about three minutes on the treadmill and thought I was going to be sick, so got on the bike, got off after about five minutes, went to do weights and got bored with that pretty quickly.’ I laughed. ‘So what have you been doing?’
‘You know … stuff.’
‘You’ve been watching telly the entire time?’
‘No … Iiiii also read the paper.’
‘Which one?’
‘Sunday Times.’
‘Hm.’
‘Why? What do you read? The Torriegraph?’
‘Maybe.’
‘We can’t be friends.’
‘Nah, I read the Guardian.’
‘I’m going to hang up now.’
‘What’s wrong with the Guardain?’
There’s nothing wrong with the Guardian. I actually took a preference to The Times initially because it was the most convenient format to read. And I like the columnists in The Times the best, though I always read David Mitchell’s column online. ‘Nothing is wrong with the Guardian.’
‘Everything is wrong with the Guardian, it’s shit. I read The Times also.’ He said.
‘You are so strangely difficult sometimes.’
‘It’s endearing.’
‘It really isn’t.’
‘Are you coming over or what?’
‘You want me to go there?’
‘Seems a bit easier don’t you think?’
‘Easier for you maybe.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Not really.’
‘Do you want dinner?’
‘Sure. When should I come over?’
‘I really don’t care.’
‘Yes you do. See you when I decide to get there.’
‘Goodbye.’
Lad Boy had texted earlier to say he wouldn’t be back until late so I had texted to say I was going home, which would have been true had I not heard back from Langdon. I gathered my stuff and left Lad Boy a note telling him I’d see him soon undoubtedly.
Luckily I was able to disguise what was a bag of enough supplies to last me the weekend as an oversized handbag thanks to Longchamp, and not look like I was showing up to Langdon’s as if I were moving in. I made my way to his flat, Raybans on from door to door, my eyes still sore from the hangover.
Once buzzed into his building, I made my way up to Langdon’s flat and let myself in. His brother, Warren (for Warren Street tube station) greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
‘Alright, darling?’
‘Hello. And where were you last night?’
‘Well I was all dressed and ready for the party then a girl I know called me and asked if I wanted to go for a drink, so I went to the pub with her then brought her home and shagged her.’
‘Fair enough. Sounds much better than my night.’
‘This classy lady right here,’ Langdon said, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around me, ‘apparently got kicked out of a club for being sick everywhere.’
‘It wasn’t everywhere! I contained it to the toilets.’
Warren laughed. ‘Real sorry I missed that.’ He said, shaking his head and mouthing “not” afterward.
‘I was in quite a state. I think it’s because I mixed wine and vodka.’
‘It wasn’t what you drank, it was the quantity you plonker.’ Langdon said, letting go and walking to the table to start clearing it. Warren went back to cooking and I sat and watched them be domestic. ‘Just make yourself at home.’ Langdon said sarcastically.
‘Need any help?’
‘Nah.’
‘I was talking to Warren.’
‘I’m alright.’ Warren said, back turned to me as he washed dishes.
Langdon glared at me and then bent over so his face was in my face, still glaring, then kissed me. I laughed and pushed him away. ‘Can I have some water?’ I asked, yawning.
‘I’m not your fucking maid.’ Langdon said, standing up straight.
I stood up and wrapped my arms around his waist. ‘Please?’
He rolled his eyes and unwrapped my arms so he could move past me to collect pint glasses from the sitting room.
I sat back at the table until dinner was served and I was joined by the brothers. Afterward we migrated to the couches and telly to watch a show about dolphins that was rather enlightening. Their flat seems to be a one constant temperature, which is African desert, but despite this, Langdon shoved towards the edge of the sofa and insisted I wedge myself between the cushions and his outstretched body with my arm wrapped around him. The raise in core temperature after an hour of this was too much to handle, and after his brother had gone to bed and we had snogged for a bit, he moved to the other couch and we stayed on our respective couches, holding hands and watching telly for another hour before going to bed.
‘I’m so knackered.’ He said, collapsing into bed.
I stripped down to my pants and shirt and climbed into bed. ‘Really? Because I’m not.’
He was lying on his back and stretched out one arm so that I could lie down next to him, and quasi on top of him. I rested my chin on his chest and he looked as if he was about to pass out. ‘Did you know …’ he began, opening his eyes, ‘that when a man and a woman sleep in the same bed, if the woman is comfortable and trusts the man she’ll fall asleep right away, but the man will remain half awake for most of the night in case he has to jump up and protect the woman.’
I paused. ‘There’s no way that’s scientifically accurate.’
‘It is.’ He said, nodding his head in confidence. ‘When men were hunters they had to protect women from wild boars and shit like that. If a man falls asleep right away it means he doesn’t care and is a pussy.’
I laughed. ‘So if you – ’ He pretended to fall asleep and started snoring. I laughed and leaned forward to kiss him. He kissed me back and we engaged in about five to ten minutes of that before he leaned back, eyes closed. ‘Does this mean you don’t want to have sex?’ I whispered.
He opened his eyes. ‘Hadn’t thought about it really.’
‘You’re naked.’
‘I always sleep naked.’
‘But do you always sleep next to a half-naked girl?’
‘It’s pretty standard to be honest.’ I shoved him and he laughed. ‘I’m just kidding. Or am I?’ He asked, turning to look me in the eyes, his eyes wide and bug-like.
‘I imagine you aren’t. So fine, then. I’ll just go to sleep.’
I turned towards the wall and rolled away from him. ‘Come back.’ He said, rolling with me and wrapping himself around me. Before I knew it we had both fallen asleep.
I woke up in the morning before him, largely due to him living on what has to be one of the busiest streets in London at five in the morning. People yelling, cars, street cleaners, everything. I looked over at Langdon. He has a massive head. It has to be twice the size of mine. I was still somewhat wrapped in his arms, so I turned towards him and put my hand on the back of his head to get some perspective on size. He woke up for a second, momentarily opened his eyes, kissed me, the promptly went back to sleep. Precious. I thought sarcastically to myself. I pivoted onto my back and he scrunched closer to me, leaning his forehead against mine. Well this is … interesting. What I thought was going to be little more than dinner and sex had somehow turned into a cuddling marathon. I wonder if his arm is falling asleep. I’ve been lying on it for awhile now. I managed to fall back asleep until his alarm went off. He hit the snooze button, turned towards me, kissed me, and went back to sleep. Wake. Up. I’m. Bored. Wakeupwakeupwakeup. I tried to telepathically wake him with my thoughts, but it was to no avail, as I usually had to shake him awake when his alarm would go off. Finally, he managed to be semi-conscious and faced me and pulled me close to him. He kissed me and then asked, ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Well.’
‘That’s because you trust me to keep you safe from wild boars.’ I laughed and kissed him. After a minute he pulled away and said, ‘Well, I’ve got to get ready for work.’
‘Does that mean you’re not going to have sex with me?’
‘Can’t. Some of us have jobs, you know.’ He kissed me again before getting up to shower. When he got back he began dressing. Oh. He was serious about no sex. Bugger. ‘Are you going to stay here?’ He asked.
I frowned. ‘And do what?’
‘Well I don’t know, you could sleep longer.’
‘Nah. I’ve got things to do.’
He laughed. ‘Like what?’
Like write all this down. ‘Like, stuff.’
‘Right.’ He said, frowning.
I got up and started getting dressed. When I went for the door he slapped my ass. ‘Ow!’ I hissed.
‘You love it.’
‘Maybe a little bit.’ I said before leaving the room to use the toilet.
He walked me from the flat to the station and leaned in to kiss me. ‘I’m getting the bus.’
‘Okay.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Was there any other way I was meant to reply to that?’ I asked, confused.
He smiled and gave a bit of a half-laugh before leaning in and kissing me once more. He pulled away just slightly and said, ‘Now you have a good week, miss.’
I laughed. ‘Whatever you say, nerd.’ I said before kissing him again quickly and walking into the station.
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