Obsession

Some things just never go right, no matter which way you try to work it. I’d planned on spending the night alone on my couch eating ice cream and rewatching Gilmore Girls, the week had been more than I was able to cope with after getting dumped via voicemail and losing my job on Monday. Luckily, thanks to having shitty parents, I learned to save money from an early age, so I had enough savings to live on until I could find something else. At first, I spent all of my spare time trying to find a new job scouring every ‘help wanted’ ad I could find in the newspaper and online, but by the time I had applied for every role available in the city, there was nothing left to do but feel sorry for myself. It wasn’t the loss of the shitty job that bothered me, or the way my stupid ex-boyfriend found a new girlfriend before anyone even knew we broke up — including me. No, it was the way that I hadn’t seen through his bullshit sooner. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself.

I moved to San Diego to be with him — at least, that’s what I told anyone who asked. My brother, the golden child, was doing a three year bid for the things he did to me, but I was the one paying for it with my reputation. The real reason I left was to get away from the accusations and stares from my family, and meeting Nick had been the first reasonable excuse I found. And then, instead of moving in together and finding my happily ever after, I found a man who couldn’t commit to a relationship because of what he called ‘trust issues’ and his ‘free spirit’. Luckily, I was able to find a desperate roommate looking to replace her last one, and a job in a bar to cover my share of the rent so that he could keep me separated from all of the other girls he was fucking.

I felt a sneer tug at my lips when I thought about it, and my jaw tightened uncomfortably.

‘We were never that serious anyway,’ his voice had flooded through the loudspeaker of my phone after I got off work Sunday night. The parking lot was empty when I left the bar, waiting for Nick to pick me up, but instead of waiting for me in the parking lot to drive me home like he always did, there was just a voicemail on my phone telling me it was over.

My roommate, Belle, had come out at midnight to pick me up in her tiny Kia. Welcoming from the beginning, Belle seemed to just be relieved to have found a roommate who wasn’t trying to get her to join a threesome with their boyfriend, or picked their toenails with their teeth. She’d immediately introduced her friends to me and stocked the kitchen with my favourite food.

The next morning, when I’d been fired for calling in sick to take a mental health day, she’d brought me cupcakes and offered to ask her boss if there were any roles going at the event company she worked for. Belle, like me, had moved to San Diego to get out of her home town in Louisiana — unlike me, she was a joyful person that people gravitated toward. In the six months we’d lived together, Belle had become my closest friend.

I dug my spoon into the pint of mint choc chip and shovelled it into my mouth again as I remembered the look on Nick’s new girlfriend’s face when she opened his front door to find me on the porch, like I was dirt under her shoe. I’d gone to get my stuff from his house that morning, ready to show him what he was missing but when she’d opened the door, I felt the ground open up beneath me. When I got home, I put my yoga pants on, tied my hair on the top of my head, and declared that I was never going out again and that was the hill I was prepared to die on. Belle had given me her ‘you’re being dramatic’ look before she left to run some errands.

I hoped that she was prepared to spend the night on the couch with me talking shit about men, but I was out of luck. As my spoon scraped the bottom of the tub of ice cream, she’d walked back into the apartment and dropped her keys in the bowl beside the door.

“Get up, we’re going out.” Her shoulder-length, tousled dark hair flopped over her face as she leaned over the back of the grey couch to look at me. I made a face of disgust in her direction but she pointedly ignored it. “Ashley invited us to happy hour in the Gaslamp, wear that cute black dress.” Belle was a tall, athletic goddess with a perfect cupid’s bow pout and deep green eyes. I was a shorter, more scattered pixie who needed glasses she refused to wear and often walked into things; ‘that cute black dress’ she was referring to made me look like a tattooed kindergartener with a boob job. I’m sure it was someone’s fantasy.

“I’d rather eat glass,” I muttered, turning my attention back to Lorelai Gilmore.

“You have 30 minutes, Quinn,” she ordered before she marched down the hallway and into the bathroom. I heard her rifling through her make up bag and opening the medicine cabinet before she came back out. “Have you seen my gel eyeli— Why are you still on the couch?”

“I’m not going,” I told her flatly. “This couch is where I live now. I don’t want to talk to anyone, or do anything. I just want to eat ice cream and find out what happens to Rory.”

Belle sat down next to me and sighed but I kept my eyes on the TV. “You have been— Look at me.” She picked up the remote and turned the TV off. “You have been feeling sorry for yourself for five days over a guy who doesn’t deserve it. The guy is a dick, and I’m not letting you spend another second feeling shitty because of him.”

“He couldn’t even break up with me in person,” I shrugged, staring at my hands.

“He wouldn’t let you spend more than one night at his place, he never introduced you to his friends or took you out anywhere, he made you move to the other side of the country to be with him and then he doesn’t even let you stay at his place until you find your own place to live. Stop giving that prick your energy, get off this couch and come with me to get drunk,” she tugged on my arm and pulled me to my feet. “Besides, you can’t let a full face of make up go to waste.” Belle gestured to my still made up face from the morning. I’d neglected to take it off in favour of collapsing into my blanket fort on the couch and watching TV til I died. At least when I died, I’d be pretty.

I gave her a reluctant sigh. “Fine, but I’m going to complain the whole time. And you have to let me get curly fries.”

“Just get dressed,” she laughed, manoeuvring me toward my bedroom door and giving me a shove. I rifled through my closet until I settled on a black fitted cardigan and leather skirt. I pulled my long dark hair out of the knot on top of my head and ran my fingers through it before I stepped back out to meet Belle by the door.

“If they don’t make margaritas in fun flavours, I’m coming home,” I told her as she nodded approvingly at my appearance.

“We’ll find you a fun margarita, let’s go.” Belle took my hand and dragged me out of the apartment.

When we got to the bar, Ashley was waiting for us at a booth in the back. She signalled us as we walked in. There were a lot of people in for happy hour and I tripped over someone’s feet on my way over to the table. Belle gave her friend a hug and the two of us slid into the seats. Belle must have told Ashley our drink orders because they arrived seconds later.

“You’ll never guess what happened to me today,” Ashley gushed, before the waiter had even stepped away from the table. She didn’t wait for us to ask before she continued. “So, I’m in the copy room, trying to make copies of a meeting agenda for this afternoon, and the CFO comes in. He’s fucking drool worthy, I’ve been humping my vibrator for months to the thought of him. Anyway, he tells me that he’s just avoiding some girl he hooked up with at the end of the month celebration last month, she’s at the end of the hall talking to his personal assistant and he just needs somewhere to hide until she goes away.” Ashley’s stories were often about who she was fucking this week and I felt the uncontrollable urge to change the subject but what would I say if I did? I got fired? My ex-boyfriend is a dick? I ate an entire pint of mint choc chip ice cream earlier today and I’m lactose intolerant? I decided against it and kept my mouth shut.

“So, I accidentally dropped the papers I was holding and when I bent down to pick them up, I feel him come up behind me and run his fingers up the back of my thigh, under my skirt.” It’s not that listening to a story about how Ashley got bent over the photocopier by her CFO made me sad over Nick dumping me for whatever her name was. It’s that I simply didn’t believe the amount of men Ashley claimed to have slept with, and I needed a few more drinks before I was able to entertain the topic. She stopped talking when she heard the slurping sound of me finishing my strawberry margarita, staring at me like I was interrupting breaking news. I set my glass down on the table and signalled the waiter for another round.

Three drinks later, I excused myself and got up to use the bathroom, slightly unsteady on my feet due to the lack of food I’d eaten in the last 5 days. Being too busy crying and throwing up from stress and anxiety will do that to you. The ladies room swirled around me as I sat on the toilet. I somehow managed to wash my hands and stumble back to the table where my two drunk friends sat.

“She’s back! Quinn! We were just talking— Your eyes are so blue, it’s so pretty.” Ashley pawed at me as I resumed my seat. “We were just talking about going to Mexico next weekend for a girls trip. I know this resort, they have the best spa. We’ll get a penthouse and spend the weekend by the pool!”

“You know what I want to do?” I cut her off. “I want to go get my ass tattooed. Let’s go now. I think there’s a place still open a block away.”

Belle shook her head. “Ain’t no professional going to tattoo you with margaritas for blood, girl.”

“The owner is a fucking babe, let’s at least go see if he’s there.” Ashley gave Belle a pleading glance, supporting my request.

“Fine, but if you get something fucking ridiculous tattooed on your ass, I’m not letting you get it lasered off!” Belle shook her head and went to pay our tab before the three of us spilled out into the street, arm-in-arm. The air was cool and many other drunk partygoers spilled out onto the street as we walked. When we passed the 7-eleven, Ashley paused.

“I want a slurpee. Do they have vodka flavour?” She asked, addressing nobody in particular before she darted inside and poured herself a huge cup of bubblegum ice.

Switchblade Tattoo was the most popular shop in the San Diego area, and the owner was notoriously hard to book time with. He opened his books once a year and slots disappeared within hours. He had a waiting list a mile long in case of cancellations, and you had to get really lucky for him to have one of those. Still, he only hired the best artists, so it didn’t matter who you saw, the work was nothing short of flawless.