To say I woke up with a headache is the understatement of the century. I regretted what I drank (or how much really) I drank last night. But, after a few minutes of stretching and wincing at the sunlight coming into the curtains, I realized my biggest regret last night wasn't the amount alcohol I consumed. Turning far too quickly towards my end table, I grab my phone. What seemed like hours later, I have finished the messages. Our messages. Messages that should never of been sent between best friends. Messages that, even now sober, excite me in ways that I should be excited. Staring at the ceiling, I ponder.
What in the hell am I going to say to Maura?
Why would she send me that text and picture anyways? She was definitely drinking heavily last night but… damn.
Why in the fuck would I tell her I wanted to see her nipples?
Oh my god, I am so embarrassed I could move to Puerto Rico. I could, No, I want to move as far away so I could go. I wonder what the temps are in Alaska this time of year? I am so mortified of what I said last night I could move to another planet and it wouldn't be far enough. But, first I have to get up and drink some water. Take some headache medicine, too. Than, I'll take a shower and decide how I am going to deal with this. Four tasks and I'll be back in bed debating on how far I should run from this. Because let's face it, I'm going to run. I'm going to run as fast and as far as I can from this messy ass situation that I got myself in.
Actually, NO! I didn't get me into this situation, Maura did! She sent that first message! She made the first move! I didn't do anything but… Okay, I went along with it. I ate out of her palm exactly the way she wanted me too. But, I just don't get why she did it! She had to of gone home and drank herself into a mindset where… My attention was focused elsewhere before I could finish my thought. Looking near my hand on the bed, I saw my phone light up as well as chime again. Shit.
Chanting over and over in my head, "Please don't be Maura, Please don't be Maura," I pick it up and look.
Fuck. It's Maura.
Using my right arm, I cover my eyes and grunt. Here I am pondering how physically far away I could run and Maura is texting me. She's decided to face this .. This… thing we have done head on. A series of grunts and frustrated sighs slip from my mouth before I bolt out of bed. Throwing my phone containing 1 unread message, I begin my to dos. I'm going to deal with that after I have done something to make me human again. After guzzling down 2 glasses of water, I quickly add coffee to my list and begin my day.
2 hours later and I'm staring at my phone. My phone, which, hasn't been touched since I tossed it face down on my bed. I start pacing back and forth in front of my bed, thinking.
Could I just not read whatever apology or excuse she has made in that text?
I could lie and say that I never got the text? People still believe that shit right?
Narrowing my eyes to the object, I start thinking of things I could do instead.
Go get donuts Take Jo for a walk Buy some milk and bread The rest of the list has already been completed. See, I did this exact same thing an hour ago. Paced, pondered, avoided. But, before my list included clean apartment, do the dishes, and pay the electric bill. But, here I am an hour later.
Grunting as loud as I could, I dash for my phone and fall onto my bed. Just face the fucking music, coward. Lighting up my phone, I'm surprised to see my lonely missed notification has turned into 3 notifications. All from Maura. The latest one, 15 mins ago. I swipe right as I begin to read.
My head hurts far worse than the time I was gathering life experiences in college and drank for 6 hours. I predict a day of water, dim lighting, and rest in my future.
That wasn't so bad, I tell myself. Two hours of cowardliness for nothing! She probably doesn't even remember texting me last night.
Seeing as I reached out quite awhile ago, I assume your 'freaking out' as you call it. It's 'no big deal,' Jane. Drink plenty of water today, please. If you won't respond to me, at least take care of yourself properly.
Please don't pull away from me, Jane. It's been nearly 2 hours without so much as a 'ok' from you. You can't just ignore me forever. It happened, I know you regret it so let's just.. Jane, let it be. Let's forget about it.
She has to be kidding! Right?! Forget about it! I told her I wanted to see her nipples! Outside of her teddy! She sent me a picture of her in bed! Telling me she wishes I was there! This is a big deal!
She told me she loves it when we share a bed, for fucks sake. I can't just forget about that!
Squeezing my phone, realizing my jaw had fallen open to a gape, I slam my fist into the side of the mattress. Damn it. She had the nerve to tell me that she knew I regretted it, that she knew so we should forget about it! Of course I regretted it! It's going to make things between us so awkward. So forced. In a perfect world we would do what she said, forget about it and let it be. But, I know this will come back to bite me in my ass. I just know it! It's not like I didn't like, okay love, the picture or her words. It's what it causes I hate. Her few, simple words caused my heart to race and my palms to sweat. It lite a fire in my lower stomach that is probably still slightly burning. Those things, they were surprising and even harder to forget. But, let's face it, not unwelcome. It was the after. The after is where the regrets came into play. Of course I regretted it, I'm sure she regretted it too.
Right? I mean she can't think last night was in any way, a good idea, right? Sure, what she said was sexy. I mean really, really sexy. And sure, she made me feel alive. But, our friendship is more important. She knows that. She didn't specifically say she regretted sending the texts, though. Fuck this, I'm doing it. I'm going to act my damn age and grow some balls! Jeez, Rizzoli, way to be brave. Afraid of some texts, what a fearless detective. Slightly taping away on the keys, I write;
I got up early and drank a couple glasses of water. I'm nursing one now, too. So, my heads not thumping with as much pain as before. I hope yours got better too.
Sending my reply, I start again.
I don't know what to say about your other texts. Not the ones from last night! The other two. From this morning. Let's just forget about it, yeah, your right. We were drunk and we both regret it, right? LOL Let's just laugh it off and move on. Ok?
Feeling suddenly optimistic with my response, I smile upwards to my ceiling. Hearing the chimes just a few seconds later, I swipe and begin to read.
Yes, Jane, my head feels a lot better. Thank you for asking. I am sorry to send you multiple texts but I know you. I know what you thought this morning when you scrolled back up in our messages. I didn't want to hear on Monday that you transferred to LA or somewhere else ridiculous to escape me. I'm glad we cleared the air. You are coming over for Sunday dinner tonight, right?
Shit! Good thing I responded or else it would have been truly awkward getting the call from Ma reminding me about family dinner and seeing Maura without so much as responding to her texts. I chuckle as I re-read her last message. It's funny how she knows me so well, kinda sad too. She knew I would want to run. Predictable much? Jeez. It's not like I wanted to run from her as much as my actions. Our actions.
It was going to be Alaska, actually. And you thought you knew me! Ha! Of course, see you in a few hours, Maur.
Bouncing off my bed, I grab Jo and make my way outside for a walk. Turning back to lock my door, I realize she never answered me. I know we're laughing it off, that it's no big deal. But, I'm pretty sure she flat out ignored my question.
I mean… she did regret it right? Before I could click the dead bolt in place, I glance down at my new illuminated phone.
I presume your taking a cab to collect your car. Care to stay over tonight? We could watch a movie after everyone leaves. Will you drop me off tomorrow morning at my car before work if you decide to stay over? Pretty please, Jane?
Audibly gulping, today's million sigh escapes my lips.