Sick Like Me (Sick Like #1)

Chapter 2

TWO

FEbrUARY 2024

I sat in the passenger seat of David’s car, the bag of McDonalds food sat on my lap as he pulled up into a parking space for us to sit and talk in the peace of his car.

Sure, I had planned the date in a way. I chose the time and place. I didn’t think it would have turned out the way it had, though.

A part of me wished he had made more effort, but when I climbed into his car after work I felt myself cringe as I noted that the floor of his car was filled with dirt and God knows what other messes, sections of it brown.

He could have at least put a quick hoover over the carpets , I silently noted down another reason for me not to like him.

For weeks I had been pushing the date back, which I knew made me look like a flake but I had things going on in my life—things he chose to try to understand. He never pressured me to meet and he was more than accommodating each time I said I felt too overwhelmed in my life to spare him time.

Which made me think, stupidly, that he would go all out and treat me to a great date.

In the end, we ordered off of my app on the way to the location and so we paid on my card. I knew the guys in work would grill me about the date the following day, and Stefan was going to demand I send a bill to the man to reimburse me for the cost of food.

Stefan was a classic romance guy, with a deep love for his girlfriend. Whatever she wanted, she got. He swiped his card for her every time, no questions asked.

Not that our McDonalds order was expensive or anything, that wasn’t why I hated the idea of paying it. I would have paid for mine alone even. But sometimes I liked it when a man still paid for the first date, it made me feel a little spoiled.

He was lovely and kind, David—or Dave as he asked me to call him, a request I ignored willingly and kept calling him by his full first name whenever I could be bothered to remember it.

To my friends, he was just known as D or any other name that started with D. That’s how low effort I felt about him.

Which made me sound like a raging bitch, I knew that.

But he wasn’t the kind of man I wanted to remember or make a permanent fixture in my life.

He was a time waster that I welcomed with open arms.

The less time I got to spend alone in the nights, sometimes the better.

But there was something about him which felt monotonous, which made him feel even more of a time waster, and not the kind I had began to deem a worthy waste.

“So, how was your day at work?” He asked as he sipped the paper straw of his drink.

I reached into the paper bag and handed him his food before I then pulled my own out, feeling self conscious as I opened the box and picked up a chicken select.

I bit into it slowly, a small bite. Then I chewed for what felt like ages, turning the food to as soft of a sludge as I could before I swallowed.

I hated eating in front of people, especially new people who I wasn’t used to being around. And dare I say, I hoped I never fucking got to know him. God, he sounded boring, and I wanted someone with some personality and banter. Someone who could handle my sassy side when I allowed her to shine.

David seemed like he would cry if I even dared to say something close to the line. He wouldn’t understand my full personality, just the parts people deemed the nice sides of me.

“It was busy,” I finally replied once my mouth was free of food. “I had some trouble customers as usual but at least the day went by quickly,” I stated, sipping my banana milkshake.

I hadn’t even bothered asking him about his own day, not that he seemed to notice as he went on to talk about his day anyway, and then he transitioned into talking about some preparations he was doing when the weekend was to hit and he was going to host a fancy Skype call with his friends which involved some role playing game.

We talked about the same thing the whole two hours, and he didn’t even try to flirt or rest a hand on my thigh.

And by we, I mean he talked for two hours while I randomly threw in a half arsed question here and there about things I gave no fucks about.

And he never once stopped to ask me about me.

Not to top it off and make him sound insanely boring, but when I tried to change topic to talk about other things, he always went back to his role playing game as if his personality revolved around that, and only that.

I liked men with many hobbies, and David did not seem to be one of those men.

It was boring, and I just knew the second I got through my front door I was going to have to pour myself a glass of wine.

Or several glasses , I thought the more he droned on and on. Like someone please tell this man when to shut the fuck up, will they?

He finished his food, and I oh so kindly took the empty box and placed it in the paper bag. I placed my unfinished box of chicken selects and nuggets on top so I could finish them when I got home.

I barely had two of each, feeling more and more self conscious the less he talked and the more he spent throwing glances in my direction. I felt like he was judging me for eating, deeming me some fat bitch who didn’t know when enough was enough.

I knew it was my own brain haunting me with such toxic thoughts and that it had nothing to do with him, but I pushed the toxicity onto him. I was blaming him as I felt like I had no one else to blame.

I’m sorry, David , the kind and gentle side of me apologised, the tiniest bit of compassion offered him in silent shame.

“Shall we get going?” He asked after several tense moments of silence, to which I forced a yawn and nodded my head.

“Yeah, sure thing. I’m exhausted and will probably go to sleep early tonight,” I stated, even adding a little sigh at the end as if it would add extra effect to exposing my mood at current.

Dylan drove us to mine, and we drove in mostly silence save for some indie music he had playing quietly in the background. It was awkward to say the least, and I couldn’t help but turn away to stare out the window.

The sun hit my skin, and I closed my eyes as I basked in its warmth. The date had been redeemed only for that one factor. Granted, he had no control over the weather, but I wanted to give him one redeeming potential before I gave him the sack.

Duke pulled up outside my house and I rushed to get out of the car, the paper bag clutched tight to my chest.

“Let me know when you get home,” I said in my best customer service voice, trying to force a tone that revealed I was happy after spending time with him when in reality I was ready to go to my bed and rot away, never to accept another time wasting date offer again .

“Yeah, sure thing,” He replied with a smile on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes though, and I suspected he knew I wasn’t feeling all that into him.

At that, I wasted no time in rushing to slam the passenger door to his car shut. I stepped back and waved as I watched his car pull away, an ugly lime green coloured Honda Civic which I expected he had resprayed or wrapped on his own.

Once his car turned the corner at the bottom of the lane at the top of my hill, I let out a breath of air I hadn’t even realised I was holding and then I rushed to my front door.

I dug deep in to my pocket and almost began to panic when I couldn’t feel the familiar feel of my keyring, but then I remembered I threw my bunch of keys in to my bag earlier for the simple fact I feared I would accidentally drop them in his car and lock myself out.

I pulled my black bag strap off my shoulder and held onto the handles. I unzipped it hurriedly, feeling my breath quicken as I felt the need to be behind my four walls back where I knew I was safe.

I finally fumbled my zip open and sure enough on the top of my bag, Micky Mouse was staring up at me. I grabbed the plush keyring and heard my keys jingle. I then wriggled the keys around until my front door key was pressed into my palm uncomfortably tight.

I pushed the key into the lock, then turned it in a rush. I then reached for the silver door handle, ice cold to the touch, the pulled the door open briskly. Once I had taken the few steps into the premises, I then rushed to slam the door shut and put the key back into the lock to secure the door.

Once the door had secured me inside the house, I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the door. I took in a deep breath, and I felt a sting behind my eyes which warned me I was about to cry—a warning sign I had become very accustomed to in my 24 years of life .

I pushed myself off the door and turned to face the living room door. I pushed it open to be greeted by silence. I had convinced myself I was okay being alone for the two whole years I had been living alone that I felt like no matter what a man did, I was never going to like him—want to be with him.

I was just going to let him waste my time a little. And very rarely would I invite him into my house. I had invited a total of three men into my house, one being a man I had gone on several dates with and the other two being men I forced to watch my favourite shows or movies before I shortly ghosted them once they were a safe distance away from myself and my home.

I left the door to my living room open, not caring that it was going to bring the cold into my living room. I placed my bag down lazily by the door, then kicked off my work shoes before I made my way through the living room to the open kitchen.

As I walked through the house, I slowly stripped a piece of clothing off at a time, leaving them behind me discarded on the floor as if I was making a path for any intruder to find me.

Finally, I reached the door to my bathroom.

I walked through the open door and closed it behind me, locking it. Sure, I lived alone and so I could leave the door open and unlocked at my own free will, but I still feared my family members who copied a key to my home, against my will might I add, may enter at any given time.

I walked to the window where my speaker sat and pressed the button to turn it on. Automatically my phone connected, a soft piano melody playing before being accompanied by soft vocals.

The tears still begged to be let out, but I refused to cry until I was in the comfort of the waterfall shower head that enveloped me in a warm hug of scorching water.

I reached across the windowsill and pushed the button which the key remained glued into, then I turned the handle up and pushed. The window let in a gust of cold spring air which I chose to ignore.

I then walked over to my bath and reached around the shower door to turn the tap whereby soon after water then fell from above. As the sound of my music rose when the tone of the song changed and the pattering of water filled the room, I finally let the tears loose.

I felt instant relief, even letting out a gasp before sobs shook me.

I was fucked up, I knew that.

Comfort and romance sounded fun on paper, but when a man offered me endless kindness and romance it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough, I had come to discover.

I wanted someone who wanted to destroy me and build me back up, just to repeat the cycle once again. It was like a sick addiction that no one could match.

I placed my phone on the edge of my bath, ignoring it as the screen lit up with a notification which I had no doubt was from my friends asking how my date of the week went.

I was in no mood to reply, I felt like a storm cloud was hanging over my head and was about to threaten to rain down on me or struck me with lightening to wake me up from my fucked up mind.

Instead of answering my phone, I stepped into the bath and closed the shower door to ensure there was no splash risk to my bathroom floor, allowing the hot water to pierce my skin before I got used to the feeling. Once I was warmed up, I reached for the shower caddy hanging from the shower which held my body wash, shampoo and conditioner, and face wash.

I picked up a scrubbing net and poured some of my vanilla body wash on to it before I gripped the net tight and used it to aggressively scrub at my skin.

It stung with how harsh I moved my hand, and with how much pressure I applied. But oddly, I liked the mild feeling of the pain. It made me remember I was alive and that I was okay. That despite feeling nothing when in the presence of the man from earlier, I could still feel something .

But then I remembered my yet-another tragic date and sobs escaped me once again. My playlist changed to a heavier rock song, and I found the lyrics like a taunt. They sang ‘ I don’t care ’, and that was how I tried to live my life. I wore a carefree mask, but really I felt empty.

I felt… Alone. Lonely. I was lonely.

My phone screen lit up again, and I had the sinking feeling it was Dean or whatever his name was confirming he got home safe and sound. And as harsh as it sounded, I could not give a fuck about him or his safety.

I closed my eyes as I stood under the water, finally allowing it to mix with my tears as I sobbed. I didn’t know what I was crying for, but I felt as if I was mourning a loss for something I never had.

And that wasn’t a new experience. After every date I had, regardless of how good or bad it ended, I would go home and stand in the shower as I played my ‘sad girl’ playlist and I would cry.

A small voice in my head reminded me the tears were for a man who never wanted me, but I chose to push the voice down.

She didn’t know what she was talking about.

He was in the past, three years in the past.

I knew I was never going to meet him again. What I was doing was fine, I was moving on. It wasn’t like I was his, or that I was cheating.

But a part of me still taunted me on the daily, reminding me that no man had ever talked to me in the way he had. He talked to me as if I was worthless, then he would show fake concern when I expressed about my daily life.

He was nothing and everything all at once.

But to him, I was just nothing. He had probably forgotten about me. And I had wished I had forgotten about him too. I guess I was cursed by him, by his name and his face and his stupid not quite green, not quite grey eyes.

I hated him, yet I was still obsessed with the idea of him after three years of him being gone.

We had never even met face to face, we had just texted—sexted more like—for a few weeks. It was nothing.

We were nothing.

So why was I addicted to memories of his words?

You’re such a good little whore for me, aren’t you? I saw the message behind my eyelids as I blinked.

I shook my head, turned to face away from the wall before I reached down to pour shampoo into my hand, then massage it into my scalp.

The tears slowed eventually, and I went back to feeling empty as I forced myself to stop thinking about him again.

NEW TEXT MESSAGE!

D~: Hey, I really enjoyed myself earlier. I hope we can see each other again. :)

My stomach sank as I read my screen. I watched as his activity status showed he came online, then went off, and came on again. It was as if he was awaiting my response.

I was thankful my read receipts and activity were turned off, then he couldn’t call me out for ghosting him.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” I spoke out loud, chewing the inside of my cheek.

My best friend’s voice spoke through the headset I wore. “You should tell him the truth. Fuck you killer you’re not hooking me today! What was I saying… Yeah, just tell him you think it’s best not to see each other again and while you enjoyed yourself, you just didn’t vibe. ”

Her advice was valid, thrown in between sworn remarks at the game we were playing—the game I allowed myself to die during as I would rather just hear her talk to distract me from how shit I was feeling.

“I just don’t want to hurt him or let him down,” I said, my fingers ghosting over my keyboard but not daring to press a key.

“It’s better than dating him and wasting his time. What if you keep seeing him and he falls in love with you and wants to be official with you, what will you do then? Yeah fuck you, I escaped!” My best friend sounded off her reason before she won the match and made sure to tell the world about it.

At her enthusiasm at the game, I felt a smile tug at my lips. She had it easy. She had a boyfriend who loved her and she didn’t have this sick depravity that cursed me.

She had comfort and love all rolled into one. I wished I could be like her sometimes. I wished I could be normal and in love.

"You have it easy," I stated quietly, then chose to drop the subject as I sang along to my blasting music through my speaker, a normal occurrence in my house, and placed my phone back down in the coffee table.

A response could wait.

Now was the time for music and wine. Enough wine for my face to go numb and make me pass out the second my head hit the pillow.

I obnoxiously sang aloud the lyrics to the ending of the current playing song, then as the song came to a fade I lifted my glass of red wine to lips and gulped it greedily before I slammed the glass back down.

I cringed as I shivered, regretting my choice but then the sick feeling disappeared not long after. Knowing me, in a few minutes I would repeat the action of trying to down the wine once again.

The song changed to the next on my playlist, and I picked up my Xbox controller to join the next match as I decided I would actually focus on something other than my own feelings.

But while I gamed and sang along to my music, my brain reworded a million messages. Messages I would send while drunk before I fell asleep.

Messages to harshly end things with the man who I would forget even existed in a weeks time.

Me: Heyyyy, so I had a lot of fun earlier but I didn’t get a romantic vibe between us. I’m chill staying frinds if you wantttt to :)))

D:

I think it’s best we stop talking then, as I really like you and I can not stay friends with someone who doesn’t like me.

Plus, I think you have an alcohol problem. You should see someone about that.

YOU CAN NO LONGER SEND MESSAGES TO THIS CONTACT UNTIL THEY ADD YOU TO THEIR CONTACTS.

I sucked in a breath as I lay in bed, all music ceased. The silent of my bedroom save for the whistle of the wind outside soothed me.

Despite how harsh he was to block me after I rejected him, a smile danced on my lips as I opened my dating app back up in search for my next target.

“As Toby Barett says, ‘on to the next’,” I mumbled as I began to swipe through men’s profiles. My eyes felt heavy and my hand dropped to my bed, still clutching my phone as the screen lit green.

NEW MATCH, OWEN WANTS TO MEET YOU!