“No, actually, I can’t stop. I’m sick of this! Operation “Bitch, Cheer Your Ass Up” is now officially in effect. Get up, take a shower, and get dressed. If you’re not ready in thirty minutes, I’m hitting you again,” she threatened, pointing toward the pillow still clutched in her hand.
I sucked my teeth as I flopped back onto the bed, once again burying myself in the sheets. “Girl, you’re not my mama. I don’t have to do what you say.”
“Try me,” she said, her dimples flashing as she put her knees on the bed, leaning over me so she was right in my face. “The least you can do after you closed your business, leaving me jobless and broke, is act like you’re happy to be alive.”
I rolled my eyes at Mel. The day after the incident with Avery at Ignition, I made the decision to sell. That had only been a month ago, and her severance package had been extremely generous. As in, ‘She probably wouldn’t have to work for the next year’ generous. The girl was far from broke.
“I am happy to be alive, sis. Look at this smile.” I put on my cheesiest grin and crossed my eyes, laughing at the look of disgust that crossed her face.
“Your breath stinks, go brush,” she demanded, fanning the air as she stepped back.
Groaning, I tossed the covers back and reluctantly climbed out of the bed. “Well if you weren’t in my room bugging me you wouldn’t have to smell my morning breath, would you?”
“Uhh, somebody had to drag you out of your — quite literal— funk. And by the by, it’s 6 o’clock in the evening, not morning.”
I stopped mid-stretch to turn to her with a scowl. “Are you serious?”
Instead of answering, Mel pointed to the alarm clock on my bedside table, whose number very clearly displayed that it was after six PM. Where in the world had my day gone? I buried my hand in my hair, massaging my scalp as I let out a defeated sigh. Yet another day wasted lounging in the bed and sleeping. Now that I was unemployed — or retired, as I liked to refer to it— I had completely given in to the desire to wallow in my feelings.
She followed me into the bathroom, standing at the door while I sat down to pee.
“… Mel, can I have some privacy?”
“No.”
“You’re gonna stand there and watch me use the bathroom?”
“I’m not watching you, I’m standing here.” She clapped her hands together in quick succession. “Chop-chop. I told you thirty minutes, and I mean it. Relieve your little bladder, wash your hands, brush your teeth, get your ass in the shower, do something with that hair, and put on some damn clothes. Would you like me to write out a list for you?”
I rolled my eyes, again. I was so used to Mel’s snark it didn’t bother me anymore. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror as I stood at the sink to wash my hands, and I was shocked by what I saw. Dull skin, dark circles under my eyes, and my naturally kinky, curly hair was a tangled mess from my disregard for my daily regimen. Desperately, I wished I could say I didn’t recognize the Tori looking back at me, but that certainly wasn’t the case. We’d had another run-in recently, in the immediate aftermath of filing for divorce. The arguments, the lawyers, and the eventual divorce settlement had taken a similar emotional toll, and I’d withdrawn then as well. It wasn’t just with Rafael either. There had been a time before that, and a time before that one, and so on.
These bouts of melancholy were a habit for me at this point. A predictable pattern of languishing in my own misery for weeks at a time, to accomplish… what? The only things I’d gained were a few pounds from over-indulging on wine and ice cream, and clogged pores from not exfoliating properly. I could rationalize the hell out of a bad decision, but this? Wallowing in pity was something that I couldn’t justify, not anymore. When I signed the documents finalizing my divorce, I told myself I would focus on being happily single. Sure, I was single, but where the hell was the happy? I was still in the same damn place I was in before — the doldrums.