Well S may have returned, but any hint of sanity remains firmly MIA. The first thing she said to me as she walked through the door was "What time does Tesco's close? I need to buy a pregnancy test."
Talk about dropping a bombshell. Turns out she's worked herself up into worrying about this because she's been feeling really sick, though personally I'm more inclined to blame the speed she took at New Year (S and drugs is a disastrous combination). The result was (somewhat unsurprisingly) negative, and she headed off back to Russell Brand's, who has apparently showered her with roses and expensive underwear. Dick.
In a moment of weakness and self-loathing, I messaged the Boy again. This is a futile activity, as I know that we will chat briefly and sporadically until he either dismisses me and goes to bed, or gives up responding all together, leaving me hanging and feeling more than a little foolish. I know it's not going anywhere, I know it won't lead to anything, and I'm more and more convinced that he doesn't feel the same way as I do. S thinks I can do better. The Slug Club think I can do better. I think I can do better.
So why can't I just leave it alone?
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