Remembering Sunday

Curling up on the couch with a good TV show.

That's what most liked to do after a rough day, and I was no exception. The cozy feeling of cushions against your body as you enjoy one of the billions of shows offered on cable, like maybe a rerun of Friends or a new episode of Supernatural.

But today just didn't fit.

I nuzzled myself deeper into the right corner cushion of the couch, trying to drown out the sound of Spike TV and Billy's laughter. He'd gone out a while ago and bought us McDonald's for dinner, but I had yet to touch my chicken even though my stomach was killing for food. What did it matter now? My baby was probably dead and would be claimed as a miscarriage. At the thought, I buried my face into my knees and tried to hold back all my sorrow. The channel of the TV changed to what sounded like ESPN, the coverage of a football game being broadcasted. I lifted my head and stared at the TV, but barely paid attention to what was being said. My eyes focused on the anchorman's features and the way his lips moved as he spoke, trying to divert my thoughts to a more random place.

"Aren't you hungry?" Billy asked. I glanced at him, then at my crispy Chicken Selects on the coffee table with its tempting ranch dip. I reached out and snagged one, quickly taking a bite and chewing so I wouldn't have to taste it. However, my mouth was watering from the delectable taste, pushing me to grab the whole meal off the table and scarf the remains in a matter of minutes. MY fries didn't stand a chance against my pregnancy; their salty, crunchy deliciousness settling into my satisfied stomach. I didn't care in the least if Billy thought I was a pig. I took a long sip of my Coke before settling back into the couch, my stomach feeling eased, but not quite full.

"Anymore food?" I asked.

"Damn, have you been food deprived for a week or something?" Billy inquired.

"Yes," I lied. Billy stood up and made his way into the kitchen, quietly trying to rifle through the cabinets.

"What do you want?" he asked as he leaned against the counter to look back at me.

"Anything," I replied quietly.

Suddenly, the door swung open and crashed into the wall, a tall, muscular figure stepping intot he apartment. I jerked upward, startled from the unannounced entrance.

"Honey, I'm hoooome!" cried the intruder, a brilliantly foolish grin on his face. The man was wearing a black wifebeater and baggy jeans along with a black Volcom Stone hat turned backwards on his head. Judging by his tanned skin and dark brown hair, I'd say he'd come from an Italian background. Can't go wrong finding Italians in Jersey.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of me, then winked and grinned at Billy.

"Oooh, I see. You're busy, eh, Billy boy? Alright, I'll leave you kids alone," he remarked.

I scowled.

"No, I'm not," Billy retorted with a heavy sigh. The man raised a brow and took several steps into the apartment, his eyes examining me before turning onto Billy.

"Huh, there really is nothing going on tonight," he said. "Usually you're going at it or something."

"That doesn't surprise me," I chimed in, hoping it would cut his heart strings into little bite-sized pieces. Billy sighed again, the pain exerted with it just enough to make me smile in satisfaction.

"Laura, would you just stop?" he requested. "I said I was sorry."

"Doesn't fix shit," I replied angrily.

"Um, what'd I miss?" the other man asked curiously.

"Jeremy, this is Laura. Laura, Jeremy," Billy introduced. Jeremy grinned at me and dropped himself beside me, his hand extended toward me.

"Pleased to meet ya, gorgeous."

I merely shook his hand, smiled, and looked away. I wasn't in the mood to be swept off my feet, and I wouldn't be for quite a long time. I noticed Jeremy's lips downwards in a frown out of the corner of my eye, and I would have to remember to apologize at a later date when I wasn't ready to rip heads off.

"Billy," he whispered from the couch. Billy looked up his hunt for my food, a quizzical look painting his features. "Does she bite?" Jeremy added.

The mere moment of silence that then filled the room was loud enough for me to hear Billy's contemplation. He cleared his throat, prepared to speak, but nothing escaped. It took him a few moments, but there was finally an answer, one that amused me a lot.

"Not hard."

I woke up to the sound of Jeremy singing in the shower. I groaned and curled up under the blankets, my night of approximately three hours of sleep ruining my mood. I wasn't used to the feeling of nobody beside me as I slept, but I was just going to have to get used to it again.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

I peeked out from under the blankets to see Billy standing in the kitchen, his hands working steadily on fixing his green striped tie. I groaned at the sight of him so early in the morning and hid my face again from the outside world. I was sure I looked and smelt like shit, but I really didn't care. If Billy said something about it, I'd probably just spit.

"Laura, I'm heading down to the office, so you'll be rid of me for the rest of the day," he said.

"Thank God," I said aloud, smiling to myself.

"Jeremy will be around, but try not to torture him, okay?"

"Yup."

"Alright. I'll see you tonight."

The door softly closed with a light 'click'. I jumped up from the couch, feeling victorious in having Billy's apartment to myself. Sort of. At least Jeremy seemed easy to manipulate; not that I would, but if worst came to worst, something was going down.

But something was about to come up.

I leaped onto my feet, taking flight toward the bathroom. Regardless of the fact that Jeremy was in there, I busted through the door and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, the same ritual of the past few mornings taking effect.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jeremy exclaimed, his head sticking out from behind the shower curtain. It was a short sickness, and as I lifted my head up from the ground, I looked him dead in the eyes.

"Hangovers are a bitch."