I take a shower, pull on a pair of sleep shorts and a vest and take a couple of Valium to try and calm my heart rate. I know I shouldn’t drink with them, but they’re only a low dose, so I should be fine. I pour myself a glass of wine, and then go and sit out on the balcony. It’s almost four in the morning, but I know I won’t sleep if I go to bed, and I’m hoping the wine will relax me and undo the effects of the coke. I light a cigarette and make a conscious decision, there and then, that I won’t touch that shit again. I don’t like the person I become when I’m taking it. My face burns with embarrassment as I think about what I did earlier, what I let her do to me, someone I don’t even know. I’m pissed off with myself and Roman; he shouldn’t have let that happen, but then again, neither should I.
I stretch my legs out and rest my feet on the chair in front of me, but I’m twitchy; my heart and brain still racing. I go inside and find my phone; I have a number of text messages from Jim and Ash, apologising for their antics Friday night. I smile to myself as I read them and pour myself another wine while scrolling through all my messages until I find the one I want. I put my phone down on the table, drink my wine and light another cigarette. Other than the weed I’ve smoked lately, I’ve barely smoked the last couple of years. I’ve either been pregnant or trying for a baby, but since I’ve been in Australia, I haven’t stopped. It’s living on my own that does it. I’m not allowed to smoke at my mum’s; she just won’t have it. We all sneak out to the studio when we’re together, but if it’s just me, I don’t bother.
Just me.
On my own.
By myself.
That’s my life.
Alone.
I go back to the kitchen and bring the wine bottle back to the balcony. I pour another glass, emptying it, hoping the contents will help me forget the fucked-up circumstances of my life, just for a few hours.
I sit myself down in the chair. Drugs, smoking, drinking; the first two I need to stop completely. The last one I need to cut back on, and I will. Once I’m back in England, I will, but in the meantime, I light another as I sip my wine. I feel more relaxed now; in fact, I feel quite pissed. I’ve drunk almost a whole bottle of wine in less than an hour…
“Bad Georgia; bad, bad, Georgia,” I say aloud, then giggle to myself. The Valium’s obviously kicking in as I’m starting to feel fuzzy. I pick up my phone and look again at the message I received on my birthday; our conversation had been cut short by Sean’s flowers arriving, and I hadn’t gotten back to him since. I put out my cigarette and text one word…
Tiger
I check the time; it’ll be almost six on a Saturday evening in England. He’s probably busy, or he might be at football; I know he likes to go and watch West Ham play when he can. He could be with a woman; my stomach rolls and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed at that thought. I light another cigarette to try to calm myself. My phone vibrates on the table, and I give out a little girly shriek as I jump, then giggle to myself. I smoke the rest of my cigarette before picking up my phone and opening the message.
Fuck, Kitten.
How are you, baby?
I burst into tears, finish my drink, and then go and climb into bed.
I’m a mess
I stagger into the bathroom, get the toilet roll and bring it back to bed with me. My phone buzzes.
Where the fuck are you?
Are you safe?
Do you need me?
Do I need him? Fuck, I don’t know what I need. I’ve just had one of the most fucked-up nights of my entire life and believe me, living the life I have, I’ve had some pretty fucked-up nights. I’ve gone out with one man, had my Mildred licked by a woman and now I’m home, texting a different man. A man I fucked while still married to my now-dead husband. What is wrong with me? I don’t want to be a bad person. I want to make good decisions; I don’t want to hurt or use anyone, but it’s all I ever seem to do. I wipe my running nose on the back of my arm as my phone rings. It’s Cam’s number, and I don’t know what to do. If I don’t answer, he will worry and probably get on to Bailey, and that will cause a whole other shit storm.
“Tiger.”
“Kitten?” My heart rate instantly quickens at the sound of his voice. I need to take a couple of those Valium I have in the drawer; they’ll calm me down.
“How the fuck are you, Tiger?”
“Don’t swear, Kitten; it’s not nice.”
“I’m not nice; haven’t you realised that yet?” He’s quiet for a few seconds.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m far from okay. I’m a fuckin’ mess.”
“Where are you? I want to see you.”
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t; I’m too far away.”