Page 77 of Sticky Fingers

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sonia

Fourteen.

That’s how many days I thought it’d take to mend a broken heart. Yeah, I know, I know…silly me. You can’t really mend a broken heart.

You can endure the pain, you can stop the tears, and you can sure as hell put a smile on your face...but when it comes to mending a broken heart, it simply can’t be done.

And when your heart has been broken because you’ve been backstabbed…well, it just makes it all even worse.

That’s the way I feel anyway.

And that’s saying something, really, since I’ve never been one to care much about love. Sure, I cared about men, and I sure as hell cared about sex. But love…?

Nah, that wasn’t something I was interested in. The way I saw it, most men were barely good enough for a night of sex, let alone for something as silly as love.

Love wasboring.

While all my college friends spent their days bullshitting around, chasing every single alpha-hole in campus, I simply sat in my small studio apartment and let them come to me.

They were alpha-holes, but I was the Queen Bitch.

See, most men act all tough and whatnot, but once you crack the whip...it’s game over for them. That’s why I’ve never fallen in love before.

That’s why I’ve never met a man I could call my equal.

Until Malcolm, that is.

Thirty-seven.

That’s how many bottles of wine I went through these past few days. In case you’re wondering, let me run the math for you—thirty-seven bottles of wine over fourteen days. That averages…well, way more than two bottles per day.

Plus two bottles of tequila—oh, right, and seven large ice-cream buckets.

What? I’m just being honest.

Seriously, just a few more days, and I’ll be the first alcoholic hippo in New York—and one that can wear heels and steal multimillion dollar paintings.

Not exactly something I can put on my curriculum, I know, but it sure as hell sounds impressive. And equally sad.

Kathy helped, by the way, so don’t start thinking I’m a total degenerate. I’m just a girl going through a rough patch, so it’s more than normal that I’ve let my hair down.

Okay, so, if it wasn’t for Kathy I would have eaten my weight in ice cream, and I would have probably already drowned in cheap wine and tequila, I’ll admit that much. But just give me a break, will you? I know that I’m not thinking straight.

God, I feel so ridiculous, you know? I never understood girls who simply sat around, depressed as shit, when their love life didn’t go as planned. What an irony that I’d become exactly one of those girls.

That’s what you get when you think to highly of yourself, I guess.

Thirty-two.

Yup—thirty-two romantic comedies.Bridget Jones,Pretty Woman,Love Actually, and what have you. I’ve watched them all, and I bawled my eyes out when the dramatic scenes started.

Each and every time.

My past self would smack me so goddamn hard

But I can’t seem to control myself. This was the first time my heart was broken, and I’m still trying to learn how to deal with it all.