Oh God.
It's happening.
I'm going…
…into withdrawal.
I can't believe this is happening to me. It's like finding out I'm pregnant (though that'll never happen). There's no chocolate anywhere. Apparently a new shipment's been infected with a virus of some sort and they're checking all of it for this virus.
At this point in time I wouldn't mind a virus just so long as I could have my fucking chocolate. Fucking idiots; it was only one brand of chocolate!
I attempted getting out of bed earlier to go to class, and of course fucking Matt had to tell me to stay in bed. He's acting like I've got some sort of fucking disease that won't allow me to leave to room. It's not a disease, it's an addiction. And I can leave the room; I'll be in a fowl mood, but I can leave the room!
I've been under the covers all day telling myself, "It's going to be ok Mello, you just gotta hang in there."
What kind of a fucking coke addict am I?!
I won't go into the sunlight, I won't eat or sleep or even get up to go to the washroom. This would explain the immense pressure in my lower abdominal area. I need to piss, really badly.
Peeking out from under the covers my eyes scanned the room for any sign of life. None. I could get away with this and no one would ever know. Pulling the covers from my upper body cautiously, I tested the temperature of the air around me. The area outside of my safe bed was considerably colder, and for a second I considered staying in bed.
What the fuck are you thinking Mello? You'll wet the sheets!
So, dutifully, I left the warmth of my mattress and swung my feet to touch the floor. The floor was freezing and my feet weren't doing such a good job supporting me.
Stupid legs! Support me you fucking useless things!
In a last attempt to get to the washroom, I dragged myself to the washroom using my arms; they always were more useful than my legs. Stupid useless things.
Funny, I hadn't noticed before. Matt and mattress. I guess they're similar; both are spelled the same way, and they both serve the same purpose. They're both there to hold you when you're tired and can't do much else. Both will keep you warm and secure and comfortable if that's what you need of them. And they're both good for jumping on.
Not in a gay way.
Why they FUCK am I even thinking about this?
Dragging my body back to the bed I haul myself back onto the mattress (even though I'm sure this is no longer needed) and back under the covers, safe; from the light, from the cold, from the evil, chocolate-less world outside. Stupid manufacturers; they have no idea how many lives they're ruining with their CHOCOLATE CRISIS?!
I'm loosing it. I might as well be a coke addict. And where the HELL HAS MATT GONE? He just disappears in my time of need without so much as a word or note. He just tells me to stay in bed and then leaves me for hours on end!! FREAKIN' ASS!!
Ouch. All that yelling in my head hurts. It just hurts. Everything hurts and I don't have any chocolate to make it better!
I just wallow on my bed, supported by my mattress (not Matt) and hidden by my covers. I hope today will end. Without my chocolate, I hope life will end. The world is coming to an end.
Well. This sucks.
The door to the bedroom chooses to open at this point in time. When I decide it's okay the world is ending, the door opens and meets me back at the beginning. Beginning; I'm experiencing an ever so slightly hung-over withdrawal day.
My head once more venturing out from under the covers to glare at the intruder, I spot Matt (not the mattress) holding a big white box. Knowing him, it's probably a new shipment of games he just picked up. This means I'll have to listen to a constant brigade of pings and blips for the rest of this God-forsaken day.
"Mell," he starts. I cut him off with a growl; I hate that name. "I got something for you."
For me? I am skeptical now. Forgive me. "What?" I growl.
There is no answer, just a click noise on the bed-side table, and then Matt's footsteps as he retreats. For a minute, I don't do anything. Curiosity always manages to get the better of me though.
For the last time that day I allowed my head leave from the comfort of the blankets. There, sitting on a porcelain plate, was a large slice of a think, rich, chocolate fudge/mousse cake. Glancing at Matt one last time, I took the plate and pulled it under the covers with me.
I could faintly hear the pings and blips the rest of that God-forsaken day.
Matt's a lot more useful than my legs or the mattress combined.