[cont'd from Part 1]
"Wait, turn the cab around, I think I left my phone on the table."
"No you didn't, I checked the table before we left."
"Can we please just turn around and check? I need my phone."
"It's not there."
"Can we PLEASE just turn AROUND to get my PHONE. PLEASE. PHONE. PLEASE."
"We'll find it."
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck, I was stuck in a cab with a full-blown sociopath. I was digging in between the seats when the cab stopped in front of a place that was not where my friends were.
"Where are we?"
"My place."
"Okay better question: Why are we here?!"
"I thought we could hang out and watch a movie."
"I need to go back to my friends right now, you need to take me back to them right now."
"Let's just chill a little longer."
"My phone is gone and I have no idea where I am or any way of telling them where I am. They're going to be worried, we need to go back there."
"Eh."
"No. No 'eh.' Take me back to where they are right now."
"Do you wanna play with my dog?"
I wanted to cry but couldn't. This had gone from bad to way, way worse, and I was desperately wishing I had attended that Krav Maga class with one of my friends a few years ago. I knew how to break someone's nose (shove up with the heel of your hand), but that was the extent of my self-defense training. Why hadn't my brothers and I held Wrestlemania in the living room over Christmas for old times' sake so I could brush up on my skills?
I quietly stood/sat on the arm of the sofa while Gavin obliviously played tug-o-war with his dog, Griff. Griff kept shooting me looks as if to say, "The back door's unlocked, save yourself." I shot looks back saying, "Please be gentle when you gnaw on my freshly-murdered flesh."
I asked Gavin if I could use his phone to call my friends (forgetting the fact that memorizing phone numbers is a thing of the past so I was still screwed), but his was conveniently dead. I was visibly defeated.
"I hate it when you're upset like this."
"What do you have to compare it to?"
I told him that I just wanted to sleep, clarifying after his eyes lit up that I would be doing this relationship activity by myself on the couch. He said I could take his bed and he would take the couch, once again being sure I realized how much of a gentleman he was. I ignored him and walked back to his room to lay on top of his covers and stare at the ceiling. Of course, he followed me and stood in the doorway.
"Yes?"
"Is this our first fight?"
"Yes it is."
"I'll make it up to you."
"Please go away."
Trouble in fucking paradise. I'm typically a pretty good problem solver and quick on my feet, but this was a situation. I laid there for a while, going in an out of sleep, not worrying about Gavin coming in and attacking me because I had locked the door. At one point I got up and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and saw Gavin and Griff canoodling on the couch, probably plotting which section of my body would be buried in which part of the yard. Gavin had taken off his sweatshirt and thrown it to the side, and there was something sticking out of the pocket.
Yep.
"Is that my phone?"
"You're awake?"
"Did you take my phone??"
"Oh cool it's here."
"ARE YOU CHARLES FUCKING MANSON WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?! I'm leaving, you need to drive me to my car."
"I thought we were gonna chill?"
"You hid my fucking phone from me you psycho, nothing is happening here. Let's go."
"I can't drive, I've been drinking."
Nice try, Beyonce.
"It's four in the fucking morning you idiot, at this point you probably have half a buzz but you are not drunk by any means. Get up and get your fucking keys, you're driving me to my car. I can't believe this."
"I have a company car, Skylar, I can't get a DUI."
"You told me yesterday you drive the truck given to you by the construction company, Gavin, it's not a fucking Rolls."
"You know my name?"
"Jesus Christ."
This exchange went in circles for the better part of ten minutes until he finally begrudgingly got up and put on shoes.
"Babe, I hate it when you're this upset."
"You've known me twelve hours. Stop talking."
He insisted on bringing Griff along, so the happy little family climbed into the truck together. I felt exhausted, guilty, and extremely stupid, and this was only amplified by Gavin continuing to speak to me as if "this" would continue past him dropping me off.
"Babe I'm sorry."
"Do not call me that."
"But we're dating."
"No we're not."
"Didn't we have the exclusivity talk last night?"
"Stop."
"You have my number right?"
"Sure."
Praise the Lord and His miracles, we made it to my car and I still had all of my toes. As you can imagine, he definitely tried to kiss me good-bye, to which I shoved Griff in his face and jumped out of that truck as fast as possible. I know that most people struggle the morning after Sunday Funday, but I think I beat anyone's hangover by leaps and bounds today.
Moral of the Story: Stretch Armstrong might've looked like a circus freak, but at least we can guarantee he loves Creatine more than he'd ever love me. Better safe than sorry.
"Wait, turn the cab around, I think I left my phone on the table."
"No you didn't, I checked the table before we left."
"Can we please just turn around and check? I need my phone."
"It's not there."
"Can we PLEASE just turn AROUND to get my PHONE. PLEASE. PHONE. PLEASE."
"We'll find it."
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck, I was stuck in a cab with a full-blown sociopath. I was digging in between the seats when the cab stopped in front of a place that was not where my friends were.
"Where are we?"
"My place."
"Okay better question: Why are we here?!"
"I thought we could hang out and watch a movie."
"I need to go back to my friends right now, you need to take me back to them right now."
"Let's just chill a little longer."
"My phone is gone and I have no idea where I am or any way of telling them where I am. They're going to be worried, we need to go back there."
"Eh."
"No. No 'eh.' Take me back to where they are right now."
"Do you wanna play with my dog?"
I wanted to cry but couldn't. This had gone from bad to way, way worse, and I was desperately wishing I had attended that Krav Maga class with one of my friends a few years ago. I knew how to break someone's nose (shove up with the heel of your hand), but that was the extent of my self-defense training. Why hadn't my brothers and I held Wrestlemania in the living room over Christmas for old times' sake so I could brush up on my skills?
I quietly stood/sat on the arm of the sofa while Gavin obliviously played tug-o-war with his dog, Griff. Griff kept shooting me looks as if to say, "The back door's unlocked, save yourself." I shot looks back saying, "Please be gentle when you gnaw on my freshly-murdered flesh."
I asked Gavin if I could use his phone to call my friends (forgetting the fact that memorizing phone numbers is a thing of the past so I was still screwed), but his was conveniently dead. I was visibly defeated.
"I hate it when you're upset like this."
"What do you have to compare it to?"
I told him that I just wanted to sleep, clarifying after his eyes lit up that I would be doing this relationship activity by myself on the couch. He said I could take his bed and he would take the couch, once again being sure I realized how much of a gentleman he was. I ignored him and walked back to his room to lay on top of his covers and stare at the ceiling. Of course, he followed me and stood in the doorway.
"Yes?"
"Is this our first fight?"
"Yes it is."
"I'll make it up to you."
"Please go away."
Trouble in fucking paradise. I'm typically a pretty good problem solver and quick on my feet, but this was a situation. I laid there for a while, going in an out of sleep, not worrying about Gavin coming in and attacking me because I had locked the door. At one point I got up and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and saw Gavin and Griff canoodling on the couch, probably plotting which section of my body would be buried in which part of the yard. Gavin had taken off his sweatshirt and thrown it to the side, and there was something sticking out of the pocket.
Yep.
"Is that my phone?"
"You're awake?"
"Did you take my phone??"
"Oh cool it's here."
"ARE YOU CHARLES FUCKING MANSON WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?! I'm leaving, you need to drive me to my car."
"I thought we were gonna chill?"
"You hid my fucking phone from me you psycho, nothing is happening here. Let's go."
"I can't drive, I've been drinking."
Nice try, Beyonce.
"It's four in the fucking morning you idiot, at this point you probably have half a buzz but you are not drunk by any means. Get up and get your fucking keys, you're driving me to my car. I can't believe this."
"I have a company car, Skylar, I can't get a DUI."
"You told me yesterday you drive the truck given to you by the construction company, Gavin, it's not a fucking Rolls."
"You know my name?"
"Jesus Christ."
This exchange went in circles for the better part of ten minutes until he finally begrudgingly got up and put on shoes.
"Babe, I hate it when you're this upset."
"You've known me twelve hours. Stop talking."
He insisted on bringing Griff along, so the happy little family climbed into the truck together. I felt exhausted, guilty, and extremely stupid, and this was only amplified by Gavin continuing to speak to me as if "this" would continue past him dropping me off.
"Babe I'm sorry."
"Do not call me that."
"But we're dating."
"No we're not."
"Didn't we have the exclusivity talk last night?"
"Stop."
"You have my number right?"
"Sure."
Praise the Lord and His miracles, we made it to my car and I still had all of my toes. As you can imagine, he definitely tried to kiss me good-bye, to which I shoved Griff in his face and jumped out of that truck as fast as possible. I know that most people struggle the morning after Sunday Funday, but I think I beat anyone's hangover by leaps and bounds today.
Moral of the Story: Stretch Armstrong might've looked like a circus freak, but at least we can guarantee he loves Creatine more than he'd ever love me. Better safe than sorry.
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