The Wrong Type of Love

It had been four days since the wedding, and I wasn't looking any better. Or smelling any better for that matter. For someone who had never been depressed in her life, I was pretty damn good at it. I tried to avoid my reflection in the mirror across my bedroom as much as possible, but it couldn't really be helped so much. I turned my head a bit to look at the damage, and sighed in pity for myself. I was pitying myself. My hair hadn't been washed since the day before the wedding, so that's five days. I hadn't bothered to get the rats nest out...my hair looked like "cousins it's" gross brother. Who was evil. My makeup had mostly been washed away from the crying I had done for two days straight. When I got home the night of the wedding I threw off my clothes and snuggled in bed, and I was still wearing the same black and red sports bra and boring white underwear I had that day. I looked down at my pale body and remembered I had to go to the gym, badly. Is it possible to lose your athletic figure in four days of doing nothing but eating shit and sleeping?

After two hours of staring at my ceiling and deliberating what to do with myself, I sat up (which took about a half an hour) and went to the show to brush a comb through my hair. It was worse then I had thought in the back. I decided to take a shower and let my conditioner sit in it for about, oh, two weeks. It only took a half an hour in the shower to wash my body and shave, and with the conditioner in it was a lot easier to untangle my mane. I wasn't expecting to feel better after my shower, and honestly, I didn't. I still felt miserable. Just a clean miserable lesbian.

I wiped the fog from my mirror and looked at my nude body. I wasn't ugly. I wasn't gorgeous, but I have enough confidence to say that I'm a good looking twenty four year old. I had light brown hair that was pin straight and a little thick. I had hazel eyes. My nose was kind of chubby, but I liked it. I was smart. I was athletic. I wasn't very creative, but I could play the piano pretty well. I was fine. I was plain. The only interesting thing about me was that, well, I was heartbroken.

"You can do this," I told myself. I didn't really know what I meant by "this," but it felt good that I believed in myself.

While running, everything seems to just slip away. I don't use my ipod, which doesn't really get much use anyway. I concentrate solely on running and my breathing. It's like a pattern, and then faster I run, the more reality just slips away. I can only push myself so far though, and as soon as it is done, everything comes seeping back in. As soon as I was wondering what was happening at that moment in Hawaii, I sprinted immediately. I ran for probably a total of twenty seconds, when I clashed into someone small at full force. That someone fucking flew. Like she may have been in the air for ten feet! I didn't know I had so much power!

"Jesus Christ!" she squeaked out.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" I yelled out after getting over what had just happened. The poor girl was lying on the floor, sprawled out. I went over to help her up and she shooed me away with her hands, preferring to just sit on the floor with her hand rubbing her head.

"Are you alright?" I asked, scared she was going to flip a shit.

"Uh, no. Are you kidding?"

"I'm so sorry, miss. I wasn't looking where I was going..." I stopped suddenly as I heard her laughing.

"Miss?"

I nodded. She laughed harder.

"That's too cute!" she answered, jumping up.

"You recover quick," I told her.

"It was actually kind of exciting. Wow. I figured a sumo wrestler would have put me through the air like that! I must be as light as a feather!"

"That's er... nice," I answered, looking down at my body. How much weight had I gained in four days?!

"Not that your fat or anything! You actually have a great figure," she said, looking me up and down. I was very uncomfortable in my running shorts and sports bra. Her voice was light and feathery, but had a sarcastic tone to it.

"Thanks?" I answered.

"I'm Barbara, but call me Bambi," she said, extending out her really pale arm. Seriously, I thought I was pale.

"I'm Cassie," I smiled back at her and extended my own pale-not-not-as-pale arm to shake hers.

"Cassie," she said testing it out on her lips. "What do you do for a living, anyway? A wrestler?"

I laughed. It felt odd. "No, I'm kind of in between jobs right now. I'm a waitress at the moment."

"Really? You must be carrying whole cows instead of burgers. You're crazy strong!"

I laughed again. "What do you do?"

"I write for a magazine and host my own radio show," she said proudly.

"That's cool," I answered, kind of feeling the awkwardness of talking to a complete stranger now.

"You almost killed me, I think you owe me lunch," she said, turning around waiting for me to follow her to what I figured was McDonald's.

"I'm not wearing anything!" I yelled after her, giggling.

"Pretend you are. I'm really hungry and have no cash," she answered.