Driving home, I cried a river of tears as I replayed David’s so called apology. I almost missed the entrance to my building because my tears clouded my vision. I know I’d been sitting in the parking lot for a half an hour before I pulled myself out of the car. And I didn’t give a damn that it was dark outside, I covered my red rimmed eyes with a pair of sunglasses. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent the night at home. That last time that I’d fallen asleep without his arms around me.
Then I wondered, when was the last time he fell asleep holding her. That motherfucker made me believe in love and crushed my hopes like a half smoked Newport.
If I wasn’t afraid of jail or a random drug test, I would’ve found some smoke of my own. But I wasn’t that girl and I was not going to let him do this to me. What did men get out of playing these games? There was something that I needed to know and the answers were in the heartbreaks of the past. Maybe I did something to every man I’d ever loved or lusted after that made me feel this way at the end of the slow dance.
“It’s all good,” I muttered as I unlocked my front door. “I’m not even going to trip.”
Heading for the refrigerator, I grabbed the bottle of Duplin wine that I had bought for a special occasion. Then I remembered why it had been in there so long, I didn’t have a cork screw. Damn! Oh well, a steak knife would have to do because I needed this alcohol. I wanted to drink this wine and pretend that tonight was the result of a hangover. Pretend that I didn’t know who the fuck David was and . . . wait. He hadn’t even called.
He seriously didn’t give a shit. I stabbed that tan cork and managed to push it down into the wine. Great! This bottle of wine was just as fucked up as my love life. Oh well, bottoms up.
Now, your girl is not a drinker so one bottle of wine knocked me out. Knocked me out to the point that I overslept and was three hours late for work the next day. And I picked the wrong day to show up late with a hangover.