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Jocelin
Myweekhasgoneabout as horribly as I expected. Thankfully, the new contracts at work are fairly straightforward because my focus has been nonexistent. Gunnar continues to text, and he’s left so many voicemails my mailbox is full. That’s actually fine because now he can’t leave any more. Not that I’ve listened to them. More than once, anyway. Well, except that one time I played them just because I missed him and needed to hear his voice. Not that I’m any closer to deciding what I want to do about him…or us. I keep bouncing between white-hot anger and morose pining. I’m ridiculous.
Today isn’t progressing any better than the rest of the week, so I leave work early. It’s not like I’m getting anything done, anyway. Pulling up the collar of my coat, I steamroll down the sidewalk, the fifteen-minute trek home doing little to burn off any of my tension. When I get to my building, I wave to the guard at the front desk but don’t stop to chit-chat. I ride the elevator by myself, dump my coat and laptop on the table, and make a beeline for the kitchen. There’s a bottle of wine in the chiller with my name on it, and I hear it calling. In no time at all, I have the bottle open and pour a generous amount into my wineglass. Then pour more.
Dracona comes to greet me, rubbing against my calves, weaving in and out of my legs. She’s adorable and loving, and her loud purring is doing wonders to calm me down. I bend and pet her with long strokes down her back to the tip of her tail, just like she wants. “Hello,mon bébé. So happy to see me. You care about me, don’t you.“ Scooping her up, I grab my glass and walk out to the living room to sprawl on the couch. I take a large sip of wine, then give her the attention she deserves, scratching behind her ears and under her chin. “You would never run away and make me worry.” Another large gulp of wine, and I kiss her soft, little head. “Would you,chouchou? You wouldn’t be a completeenculéand ignore me like I was totally unimportant.” After one more swig, I finally start to feel a slight buzz from the wine. “You wouldn’t take off and not tell me where you were.”
She meows at me, and jumps down from my lap, looking back before she darts into the kitchen. “Oh, are you hungry,mon bébé? I will get you your food.” I down the rest of my wine in one go and push up from the couch. Back in the kitchen, I refill my glass and grab her kibble from the pantry. She jumps onto the counter next to me, but I don’t have the heart to shoo her off. “Yes, I know you’re not supposed to be up here. This is a crisis situation. The rules have momentarily changed.” Sipping from my newly filled glass, I lean against the counter as she crunches on her food. “Do you know what I think? I think we’re better off if it’s just you and me. Just us.” I stroke her back as she eats. “We make a cute couple.” Warmth spreads through my body, and I finally feel like my shoulders drop away from my ears. Yes, I’m tipsy, and I probably should also eat something. Otherwise, I’m headed for a nasty hangover tomorrow. But that requires calling for takeout, and I just don’t have the energy. Fuck it. Who cares? I point at Dracona. “Exactly. Who cares? No one. Not Gunnar. He doesn’t care. If he cared, he’d have called me on his little ‘me-time’ trip. His little finding himself excursion. He’d have made sure I didn’t worry. But noooooooo. He couldn’t dothat.“ I take another drink of wine. “Trou de cul.”
Dracona meows angrily, and I quickly apologize. “I didn’t mean you, dear. I mean Gunnar. He’s the asshole.” I chug the rest of my glass and set it on the countertop, pick up the half-empty bottle, and go back into the living room. A glass is just inefficient at this point. I’m definitely buzzed and heading squarely for drunk, and I’m only interested in speeding up the process because why the fuck not? I drop onto the sofa. “Here’s to me.” I raise the bottle and then take a swig. “Here’s to telling Gunnar to fuck off.” I drink again. “Here’s to…” My phone rings, interrupting my flow. Damn, that’s poor timing. I look at the name on the screen and turn to Dracona, mouth open. “Oh, look who it is.” I wave the phone at her. “It’s thetrou de culboyfriend. Should I answer it? Or should I ignore him again?” I take one more swig of wine. “Fuck it.” I answer the call.
“Hello, Gunnar. I guess you figured out how to charge your phone. Lucky me. To what do I owe the gift of your call?”
There’s a long pause before Gunnar says anything. “Joce? Are you drunk?”
I snort. “No. No, I’m not. I’m fucking plastered.” I look at Dracona and giggle. “You’d think he’d be able to tell the difference.”
“Jocelin, is someone there?”
Even drunk, I hear the worry in his voice. Or is it jealousy? Good. “Yes.” I push off the sofa, managing to make it to my feet on the second try, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “I’m having a lovely date and a bottle of wine with Dracona. She’s not drinking, but she’s excellent company. What do you want anyway, Gunnar? Why do you keep calling and texting me?”
There’s silence on the other end.
“See, you don’t even know why you’re doing it. But I do. Do you want me to tell you why? You’re doing it because you feel guilty for being such a fucking asshole and not calling me for days. Because you made me and the rest of your family worried. But guess what? They have to talk to you, Gunnar. Because they’re your family. I’m not. I don’t have to talk to you. I can do what I want. Like get shit-faced drunk.”
“Jocelin, let me explain…”
“Ooooh.” I laugh and look at Dracona. “He wants to explain now.” I inhale and exhale, which turns into a burp, and that makes me giggle. “Let me explain something to you, Mister Gunnar I’m-a-fucking-mess Osouf. You fucking hurt me.Me. It’sme,Gunnar. And you shut me out. Just like that. Like I wasnothingto you.” I’m gesturing wildly, and I almost knock over a lamp, so I sit down again and try not to spill any of the wine. That would be such a waste. “I would have done anything for you. And do you know why?Je suis amoureux de toi!I fucking love you, Gunnar! That’s why. And you treated me like shit. Like I was nothing. Because I am nothing to you. So you know what?” Something tickles my face, and I swipe at it, surprised to find tears streaming down my cheeks. “I don’t think I ever want to see you again.” A sob escapes me, but I keep talking, unable to stop myself now that I’ve started. “Because my heart hurts so badly right now. All I wanted was to love you and for you to love me, too. But you never said it. You never said it, and then you ran away. Just ran.” I’m suddenly drained, and I don’t want to talk or cry anymore. I wipe my face on my sleeve and sniff into the phone. “Goodbye, Gunnar. I’m hanging up. I’m tired. Please stop calling and texting me.” I hang up and let the phone slip from my hand, leaning back on the couch with my eyes closed. My bed is too far, and I’m too tired to go upstairs. I’ll rest here for a minute and go up later. Maybe.
I wake up on the couch, disoriented and cold. My mouth tastes like something crawled in and died, and my head is pounding. Sunlight streams in the windows, and I have no idea why I’m not in my bed. Pushing myself up, I wince as pain lances through my head. I ignore it, forcing myself to my feet and attempt to take a step forward. My foot hits something, and I glance down to see a wine bottle roll under the coffee table. Suddenly, all of last night comes flooding back. Groaning, I cover my face with my hands. I’m such a fool for drinking so much. A wave of nausea rolls over me just as my phone alarm goes off. Fucking hell. I squeeze my eyes closed and take several deep breaths, then pat my pockets for my phone, but I can’t find it. After five or so minutes of playing will-I-throw-up-or-find-my-phone, I eventually locate it between the seat cushions. I stab at the screen, finally getting the alarm to shut off, and rest my head against the back of the couch, promising myself I will never drink that much again.
There is no damned way I’m going to work. It takes me far too long to remember the procedure since I’ve never actually called in sick before. Now that Alistair is my supervisor, I need to call him, which I do. He picks up right away. “Good morning, Jocelin. Everything okay?”
His voice is full of concern, making me feel like a jerk for worrying him. “Hi Alistair.” My voice comes out like a croak, and I suppose I should be grateful because it lends credibility to my story. “I’m not feeling well this morning. I think I might have the flu.”
Alistair hums into the phone. “You don’t sound well at all. And I’m not surprised. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Your body is in a weakened state, leaving you open to illness.”
I have enough brainpower to marvel that Alistair is making my fake case for me. Or he knows I’m full of shit, and he’s giving me an easy out. Either way, I’m taking advantage of it. “I’m sure that’s it. But it’s best if I stay home today. I should be fine by tomorrow.”
“No problem. I hope you feel better soon, Jocelin. Get some sleep.”
“I will. Thanks, Alistair.” I crawl up the stairs and brush my teeth as quietly as possible, then drag myself into the shower, dropping my clothes on the floor, not even caring that the hamper is only two feet away. Setting the water to a tepid temperature, I stand under the spray until my headache eases, and I don’t feel like throwing up every other minute. Then I towel off and put on my comfiest sweats and T-shirt. Finally, I take some ibuprofen, and drink several large glasses of water before crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head. I really need to decide what I’m going to do about the Gunnar situation because I don’t want to spend another week like this. I can’t. It might help if I could talk this out with someone, but it can’t be Astrid. As much as she’s my best friend, and I love her, Astrid is Gunnar’s family. That would put her in an awkward position. Which also excludes Erik for the same reason. Tadhg and Quinn are out because Gunnar works for them, and even if he deserves it, I don’t want to be the cause of trouble between him and his bosses. Tom said I could call him anytime, but he’s Gunnar’s best friend, and that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Jules and Gary are out because they’re practically part of Gunnar’s family as well.
And right here is the reason why dating within a friend group, even tangentially, is a bad idea. That leaves Stef and Blake, and as much as I love them, Stef would be immediately defensive of me, and I need someone who can be impartial. Even with the intertwined relationships of our friend group, I know Blake can be that.
I reach for my phone.
Me: Lunch?
Blake: Absolutely! I’ll even buy. Where?
Me: Don’t care. You pick
Blake: Hang on…
There’s a pause of a few minutes, and I close my eyes, fighting off sleep while I wait. The message app buzzes, jolting me out of my light doze.
Blake: Can make 11:30?
