4 January 2008
Some Scars Never Heal - Part 9
Once I’d submitted my After Midnight script revisions to Olivia, I locked myself in my bedroom with a pint of chocolate ice cream and a warm cup of tea. Orlando’s rejection haunted me, and I couldn’t even face my own apartment now. I needed to be alone, without even Sherman for company, to binge on food that was bad for me and thoughts that were worse.
I’m not sure how long I wallowed, staring mindlessly at the TV, with the sound off, ignoring the phone and Sherman’s pathetic whimpering outside the door, not even noticing that the ice cream had turned into a chocolate puddle in the carton. Orlando’s voice at the end of our call spun through my mind, and I played it over and over again, the vulnerability, the trust, the warmth, followed by the awkwardness and distance that had come so quickly.