The next two months passed rather quickly after that. They were a blur of work, writing, and Alfie.
Every Monday I visited Sophie and told her about him, and I was sure that she’d caught on very soon after we’d started discussing him that my feelings were more than just friendly, even if I was the least likely person to act upon such feelings. I think she was just happy for me, grinning at me over her glasses with a cheeky glint in her shockingly blue eyes. She was so vibrant. We talked about the bathroom at one point. I used up an entire box of her tissues as I was telling her, but it made me feel better to get the memory of it off of my chest. I’d written about it but that didn’t make the memories go away. It just left the bad memories in with my good ones. It made a change from the good memories also being my bad ones.
I worked for a bigger number of hours than I had before during those two months. I earned my money, and even smiled at a few of the nicer looking customers. Some of them smiled back, but others were just as miserable as ever. I didn’t let that ruin my somewhat good mood, though. I just took it as nothing to do with me and continued on with my day instead of dwelling on things. I had other things, better things, to think about. Better people.
Alfie and I had grown closer and closer after spending almost every single day together. I kept feeling myself falling for him at different times, like when we sat on the floor talking about what we did at college (I studied English and he studied Maths, and we both failed miserably), or when we went out for a walk in the woods. At one point he stumbled over a tree root and my hand shot out to catch him. I grabbed his arm and hoisted him up, and he looked at me gratefully. That look made my heart flutter. His eyes were like the sea, and I just wanted to get lost in them. The woods was a calm place. I enjoyed walking in there anyway, but it was better with him. Everything was better with him. Even drinking coffee in the morning, or reading books, or sitting in the field on a blanket that slowly soaked up all of the dew on the grass.
Those were the good days. And then, I had the bad days.
I went for a week without seeing Alfie. It was the worst week I’d ever spent, and I’d had some really bad weeks.
Sometimes, my head fucking hurt. It was like someone had hit me in the head with a blunt object and left me on the ground to bleed to death. I could feel myself going back to how I was, as though the last two weeks hadn’t happened. At one point I hid in my flat and called in sick to work and just sat in the bath and hated every inch of my body and every cell in my being. I walked to the shop on the corner and bought a large bottle of vodka and paid for it in the cash clasped in my shaking fist. Then I went home and sat on my bed, still shaking, and drank it straight from the bottle. I loved the stinging sensation I got when it touched my lips. I kept drinking until the floor spun and my head was straight again. But then I kept on drinking until I puked, and then passed out on the bathroom floor and slept for fourteen hours. I woke up not knowing where I was.
It made my head hurt a lot.