Last Night

I text Penguin after work to see what his plans are for the evening.  I thought, like me, he would want to spend as much time together as possible before he flies far away.  It is raining outside, pouring.  No evening hike for me.  I avoid exercising in the rain whenever possible.  The risk of chaffing is too high.  Unless, of course, it’s been a couple days since my last outdoor adventure; I’ll choose sanity over skin every time. 

While waiting for a response from Penguin I hook up the PS3 and press the play button for P90X Kenpo.  My fists cut through the air, punching sticky ghosts of hunger and pain and frustration.

I crawl into bed for a nap.  It’s 6:30 and he hasn’t called.  My mind is restless.  Every rustle of sheet becomes the sound of tires on gravel.  Every fat drop of rain, slapping on wood, a footstep.  I tell myself he would call before coming over.  He would check to see if I was home first.  It doesn’t work.

At 7:30 I turn on my Wii, a perfect distraction.  I’m obsessed with the new Zelda, Skyward Sword.  It has replaced Ocarina of Time as my favorite in the series.  Yup, I’m a nerd.

7:45, I find myself in the kitchen.  I am not hungry, but my hands don’t listen.  They prepare a pickle sandwich: one piece of bread slathered in mustard wrapped around a kosher dill.  I know it will set off a binge, but I take a bite anyway.  Chew, swallow.  Chew, swallow.  Chew.  Swallow.  Next is a black bean patty, covered in salsa -- extra spicy.  My lips burn as I put forkful after forkful into my mouth.  I taste nothing. My traitor hands reach for the raspberry truffle cookies.  They shouldn’t be there, sitting on my counter beckoning.  I should have delivered them last night, gotten them far from my kitchen.  I break off a piece, place it on my tongue and stop.  My stomach is already full, distended -- too many days of fasting and restricting have shrunk the organ.  I spit the bite of cookie into my hand.  Throw it and the rest of the greasy, sugary treat away.  I do not want this. 

At 9:00 I give up hearing from Penguin and swallow four Nyquil capsules.  Enough to make my head swim and my body collapse.  Getting a prescription for sleeping pills is not an option.  My doctor would ask too many questions.

Penguin calls at 9:30.  He assures me that he wanted to return my text earlier but said if he had, he’d have blown off packing to spend time with me.  I don’t know if I believe him.  He always has an excuse for his inconsiderate behavior.  We both know he is a terrible boyfriend, but neither of us do anything to change. 

He arrives at 10:20.  Just in time for bed.  I think I am a booty call.