Chapter Two

Six. That is the number of consecutive days i’ve spent in bed. Three seasons of Suits, two depressing seasons of The Killing and I don’t even want to know how many orders on Carriage. I feel disgusting and I probably look it too, but i’ve been avoiding the mirror like it was my husband’s newer younger wife. No, I don’t have a husband. I should be married now, at least based on what we agreed to in high school. My twin sister, unidentical, will tell you I should let him off the hook for a promise he made to me when he was seventeen. But should I let him off the hook for pretending to keep that promise all through my high school years? And all through university? All four years of struggling through long distance, staying up all night to get a chance to talk to him, of doing his homework for him and turning a blind eye on all those boy trips he took… 
I need to stop before I accidentally order a dozen donuts from Carriage. That’s been happening a lot lately. In fact, so often that my skinny jeans ripped down the side of my thigh last week. The sound of the tear will forever be embedded in my memory, it probably matched the sound of my heart ripping when he dumped me. 
Fine, fine, i’m being dramatic. But I was allowed to wallow in self pity, my whole world has taken an unkind turn. I didn’t get any of the three jobs I had my heart set on, i am now six kilos heavier than when the year started (i feel like the app should have intervened at some point, but okay) and apparently he’s dating someone. The very same someone I was suspicious off two years ago but was told not to worry about. Those meme’s were right, people. If he tells you not to worry, you best begin to worry.
I was halfway through reaching for my phone when my door slid open
“Heyy.. oh, Sara, what the…” my sister Noura stopped midsentence and crinkled her nose. She was in a blue shirt dress and her hair was how she always wore it, a neat pony tail. Noura was always neat, in the way she dressed, the way she behaved and spoke, even in the way she thought. Everything was simple and every thought can be arranged and stored in its proper place.
“If you don’t like the smell then leave.” I huffed, rolling over on my belly, finally being able to reach my phone. 
“Is that the pizza from Monday?” Noura edged into my room. 
Fine, i’m not proud of what she’s witnessing. My room hasn’t been cleaned in days, half the take out boxes are still lying on the floor and there are crumbs and dried up sauces all over the sheets.
“Get up and get out.” Noura grabbed me from the sleeve of my oversized tshirt and yanked hard.
“And go where?” 
“Salon! You have work on Sunday! You’re going to go in like this?” Noura was now holding the sleeve of my gray t-shirt with the tips of her fingers like it was made of biohazardous material.
“It works for the Olsen twins.” I muttered.
“Stop saying that, you’re not worth a billion dollars! Maria, Sammy!” Noura hollered at the housekeepers to clean my room while she guided me to the living room and gently placed me on the couch. I sprawled myself, belly down on the plush navy blue fabric immediately. I had designed our tiny living room upstairs, after a year of convincing my dad to foot the bill for our redecorating. Navy blue couches, furry white rugs, a huge flat screen with Showtime. It was meant to distract me from my break up. Apparently it took more than a couch from West Elm to heal a shattered heart. I feel like people before my time had Oprah to tell them that, but we had nothing. Just skinny social media influencers living their best lives on private jets to the Maldives…
“We’re going out to dinner to celebrate, you’re starting your first job” Noura yelled over her shoulder as she followed the housekeepers into my bedroom, whispering instructions at them. I’m not going to lie, i’ve been distracting myself from thinking about that because I can’t handle accepting how nervous I truly am on top of all this depression and self pity. 
“Noura, no! I don’t want to go anywhere.” I muttered, my words semi-muffled by the sofa.
“Yalla get showered and dressed.” Noura yelled as she rushed from the door way of my room to hers. Her mobile was ringing; unlike me, her high school sweet heart didn’t dump her for a … i’d rather not say what she is. 
Knowing I couldn’t say no to my sister when she was in this mood I got up and shuffled my feet all the twelve steps to our joint bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I couldn’t be bothered to wash my hair so I kept it in the messy bun it was in and took off my clothes. I turned on the water and stood beneath it for what I hoped was a sufficient amount to convince Noura that I was making an effort before I turned it off. 

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