Accidentally In Love With You

Peyton found it difficult to open her front door. She was holding a big messenger bag and a bag of Thai food in her other hand when the overstuffed garment bag with the absurdly huge Cinderella outfit got stuck between her and the door jamb. Her front door key and her phone, which had been vibrating frantically, were in her other hand. With a burst of kinetic force, she rocketed through the little gap like a bullet fired from a spitball pipe and managed to burst inside the room.

The keys, phone, and clothes bag all went flying, but she was able to save herself and her Thai meal from falling to the ground. If the messenger bag hadn't been fastened across her body, it would have done the same.

"Shit! She shouted, not specifically to anyone.

Anyhow, no one was around to hear her scream. She was a single woman. In theory. Although he didn't pay rent for the privilege, her fiancé spent most nights at her apartment, but he hadn't been there in a few weeks. Because he was a hot salesperson and had won a lavish reward, he had been living it up in Vegas on the company's pay. He hadn't offered to take her with him, which had raised a lot of questions about their relationship and her impending wedding.

She dropped the messenger bag from her shoulder and headed for the kitchen, determined to locate the big red wine cup she saved for special occasions and fill it to overflow with whatever alcoholic beverage she could find in the refrigerator. And she was fully ready to combine anything and everything till that sucker was filled if she didn't have enough of any one kind to fill the glass. Sadly, she was so focused on getting where she was going that she neglected to look where she was putting her feet, and as a result, she wound herself tangled up in the clothing bag. She stumbled horribly and was unable to help herself since her hands were full of Thai cuisine. She struck the hardwood floor with more force on her knees than she should have, landing first on her chest, then her chin, nose, and forehead. She was unable to stop it, and everything happened in slow motion. Her Thai food bag exploded! And in that plastic bag, which now resembled something you would throw in the trash without giving it any thought, she suspected that her green curry had been perfectly blended with her chicken pad Thai and coconut rice.

She said "Fuck" once again, more of a cry this time.

She learned that Mrs. Feeney was not pleased with the volume of noise she was producing when there was a hammering on the floor-the ceiling of the flat under hers. For all Peyton cared about, Mrs. Feeney could fuck herself. It had been an awful day. Her prize for not killing anyone, and for making it through another birthday celebration where she almost passed out, had been the Thai cuisine. Once more.

Mrs. Feeney may want to keep her fucking wooden broom handle to herself now that the Thai food was gushing all over her floor, or Peyton might have to go down there and find a better use for it.

There was still booze, at least.

Peyton stood up gradually. She groaned and straightened her legs, complaining that her knees hurt. When he was halfway across the world and not here taking care of her, what good was it to have a fucking fiancé? Her workload had increased due to her boss's pregnancy, on top of her already heavy workload from working two jobs. In addition, she was to be the one handling all of the wedding arrangements as her fiancé was set to tie the knot in less than a month.

Peyton inhaled deeply for a time. She closed her eyes, tilted her head toward the ceiling, and attempted to regain her Zen. Her life seemed to be falling apart around her, and the more she struggled to hang on to things, the faster they appeared to crumble into dust in her hands.

Peyton, experiencing a moment of peace, picked up the leaky bag of Thai food and disposed of it in the sink. After taking the glass out of the freezer, she opened the refrigerator to look through the pitifully empty shelves for anything strong enough to make her forget the embarrassing day. On the kitchen counter, three open wine bottles appeared, and she mixed the cab sauv and sauv blanc before adding sparkling rosé to the glass. She raised the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and sipped deeply.

The song "Sitting on the Beach Drinking Rocket Fuel...oh Yeah" by Cold Chisel played in her head. That's right-she was at "Cheap Wine" tonight.

After placing the glass down, she turned to face the overhead cabinet, took out a bowl, and proceeded toward the sink. Taking a spoon along the way, she ceremoniously spooned some of the pre-made Thai food into the bowl, avoiding the shattered plastic container pieces as she went. What the heck, it was all going to get muddled up in her stomach anyhow. Reaching the couch seven steps from the kitchen, she picked up her glass and gave her messenger bag and clothes a wide berth. It was one thing to spill her Thai cuisine, but it was quite another to spill the one bottle of wine she had left in the home.

With a single button press, the screen sprang to life, and Peyton curled up to watch Geordie Shore, the only person she knew who had a worse life than her own.

Her life wasn't that bad, to be honest. Most of the time, she liked her job and even loved it. She was engaged to be married, had a respectable living, and lived in a pleasant but compact apartment in Melbourne's downtown. Her sister had recently married a Billionaire aviation magnate in a ceremony so stunning it brought tears to her eyes, and her boss had recently tied the knot with a man she had always had a thing for, but that didn't mean her life was falling apart. Even if it wasn't a good day, she didn't have a miserable life.

A loud banging sound awakened Peyton. pounding on the floor and on her door.

"Everything is fine already! She shouted, getting to her feet and swaying a little.

The TV remained turned on. She had slept out in the armchair like some ninety-year-old granny, but the Geordie Shore marathon went on. She looked at the clock. On a Saturday night, she was already passed out in front of the TV by nine o'clock. What a crazy life she had.

She kicked the messenger bag and clothing bag aside as she dragged herself across the floor while the thumping resumed.

How come? She screamed as she pulled open the door.

Her partner in crime and best buddy was standing on the other side of the door, fist lifted in mid-knock.

Mia said, "Oh my goodness, you're still alive."

Peyton moved back to allow her entry into the flat, giving her a perplexed look. Whatever had happened must have been serious because she was carrying ice cream and alcohol.

After placing her supply bag on the kitchen counter, Mia turned to observe Peyton. She stepped forward, reaching out to cup her face and giving her a pitying gaze. She pushed her hand away, Peyton.

How come? She enquired. "What in the world is happening?"

"Why didn't you return my call?"

Peyton glanced at the spot where she had left her phone upon entering. The place it had landed was still where it was, forgotten. After sitting down with her meal and drink, she hadn't given it any more attention.

With Mia staring at her, Peyton became a bit concerned and asked, "Just tell me what the fuck happened." "Is Cassie doing well?"

Cassie is alright, Mia remarked. Since I haven't heard anything different, I believe she is okay. After all, no news is good news.

"Cease! To stop Mia from droning on, Peyton raised a hand. "Just explain everything to me."

"Dale is here."

Peyton had a loss of blood flow to her face. She still loved Dale even though they had been through some growing pains together. In the event that something happened to him, she was unsure of what to do.

"Oh my God, what took place? Is he alright? Is he really dead? God, please, please tell me he's still alive.

Mia growled, "He's not dead... yet," which caused Peyton to take a critical look at her.

What on earth is meant by that?"

"Is your laptop somewhere? Mia enquired as she peered about.

"Mia, what the fuck!"

"See, I'll be able to show you more easily. Where is it, then? Your notebook computer. Give it to me," Mia said, raising her hands in a "give me" motion.

Peyton walked to her room, stomped on the desk that Mia had crammed in there with her queen-size bed, and took her laptop, praying that the cause of her strange behavior would soon become clear.

She placed it on the kitchen counter and said, "Here."

Mia clicked about as she opened the lid. Both she and Peyton were aware of each other's passwords. They had nothing to hide.

"There!"With a victorious gesture, Mia pointed to the television.

Peyton furrowed her brows as she glanced over the Facebook page. It was a Facebook profile of Dale.

How come?"

"Observe! With a point, Mia stated.

Peyton squinted at the screen, bending down to see the state of their connection.

She read, "Married to Starr Sparkles." "However, loving hell?"

When Mia clicked on the photo gallery, it was visible. Her fiancee planted a kiss on what could only be a showgirl from Las Vegas while a beaming Elvis Presley watched on. The following picture showed them both in a limousine, their mouths pressed together and a brilliant diamond glimmering on her ring finger.

This is not possible to be taking place. It seems like she's dreaming. A nightmare triggered by combining her beverages and consuming Thai cuisine that had been mashed into a mushy mixture inside a plastic bag. Her fiancé could never have married a showgirl in Vegas in a flash while she was left behind in Australia, clueless about what was going on. For crying out loud, this was Dale. Boring, dependable, and sensible Dale. He was not one for spontaneity. He didn't take any action that hadn't been thoroughly considered. It was the reason they didn't have a formal residence together. That was the reason for the twelve months of their engagement.

Her Dale would never, ever consider looking at another lady without informing her, on God's green earth. He would never, ever get married and let her find out on fucking Facebook.

Beside her, Mia said, "Breathe, Peyton."

After taking a big breath, Peyton smacked the laptop lid shut. No. Simply no. This would not go down well with her. It is not possible.

As Mia handed her the phone, she added, "Check your phone, sweetie."

Peyton activated her screen by pressing the home button. Mia had missed a few calls, and Cassie and Chloe had also missed a few. She was scrolling through the alerts when she suddenly spotted a text message at the bottom. After giving it a touch, she read the message.

"I apologize."

It only mentioned that.

"Pardon me? Peyton let out a scream. "Is he really sorry?"

Peyton leaped up and down on the floor in reaction to Mrs. Feeney's repeated floor hammering.

Peyton took a big sip of the wine that Mia had given her. There was no way this could be occurring.

"A shout-out to my former partner! The Little Mix song was playing in the background when Peyton shrieked and raised her glass of wine. Peyton knew she was going to get the lecture of her life tomorrow, but for now, she couldn't give a flying fuck since Mrs. Feeney had long ago given up pounding on the floor. Before he had the grace to break up with her, her fiancé had wed a Las Vegas showgirl and made the announcement on Facebook.

"Oh my! Peyton threw herself onto the couch and finished her wine, saying, "This is the perfect song." "If I were a pop sensation, I could write a song about my former partner." How awesome would that be?"

Mia knelt next to her and gave her a kind nod. Yes, it would be incredible!"

Peyton rested her head back on the sofa, gazing up at the sky. "When she finally gets a hold of me, my sister is going to have a field day," she said. "And Declan will laugh himself silly."

Does Declan have a sister that he married?"

Not at all. It is he who wed my boss on his own private island in the Whitsundays.

Right. the person you're crushing on.

"Had." possessed a crush on. But it's terrible how smitten he is with Chloe. I no longer have any regard for him at all.

Yes, exactly, Mia snorted. It's awful, but not really, to see a gorgeous billionaire, that is, become all mushy and gooey over his expectant wife. Not in the slightest.

Peyton let out a sigh. "I am aware."

After the song ended, it began again.

Mia sprang to her feet and exclaimed, "I have an idea." "This song is perfect for making fun of Dale. You may inform his new wife that she married a complete douchebag and tell him what a useless piece of sh*t he is.

Peyton also leaped to her feet. That's quite clever! She started to cry and started to move to the music.

Mia remarked, "But first, we have to make you look hot."

Peyton cast her gaze inside. Her slacks had an unidentified stain and her t-shirt had a stain from the Thai she had spilled on herself during her catastrophic supper. That was most likely from the gathering. As she was leaving, one of the younger children grabbed her and begged her to bring back Cinderella.

"I'm wearing the cutest thing! Peyton cried out, glancing back to see the abandoned clothes bag.

"One of your outfits for a party? Mia questioned in an unclear tone.

Peyton picked up the bag and remarked, "It's perfect," revealing the gorgeous blue dress as she unzipped it. It bore a striking resemblance to the one from the live-action movie released a few years prior. It's just what all men anticipate us to be. They want us to be attractive at the ball so they may flaunt themselves in front of their friends, but they also expect us to be knelt down when we get home.

Mia laughed and spewed wine up her nose. "Pardon me?"

"Not in that manner! Peyton furled her brows. "They expect us to be on our knees, cleaning the kitchen floors and cooking for them and all that, like Cinderella."

"Well, I'm not sure what century you're in, but there's this little thing called women's liberation-" said Mia.

And just what benefit has women's liberation brought me? Exasperated, Peyton questioned. "I have to work, take care of the house, look well, and avoid coming off as a ballbuster by being neither overly domineering nor timid. Otherwise, I risk seeming like a doormat. I'm so over-contradicting myself! All I want is to be myself!"

"Sister, preach this! Mia pointed her phone toward Peyton and said.

"All right, here it is. My serious promise. I will no longer make an effort to win over guys! I'll put on clothes only for me. For me, I'm going to eat. I'm not going to the gym because I think I have to look good in order to attract a man; I'm going because I want to. I'll wear sweatpants to the bar if that's what I want to do. God help me, I'll leave the home without applying makeup or styling my hair. I'm done living my life in hopes of attracting and then maintaining a relationship with a man. What did that cocksucker Dale do to me after I done everything for him? married a showgirl on a goddamn scale. For heaven's sake! Not that he was all that terrific a boyfriend. In any case, why the hell do I need a man? I'm a self-sufficient, independent lady who is free to do whatever the heck I want. Men are only useful in the bedroom, and Dale wasn't particularly skilled in that area either. I don't even need a man for that since I haven't experienced an orgasm that wasn't self-assisted in three fucking years! What about the whole issue of the double standard? What? Why is it that when a woman engages in sexual activity, she is labeled as a crazy, nymphomaniacal slut, but it is acceptable-in fact, encouraged-for males to do the same? It's all a farce, this whole affair. The days of males having to haphazardly scatter their seed throughout the landscape to preserve the species are long gone. Some of those fools should never procreate, in actuality! N-E-V-E-R.

"Awesome! Mia purred.

But I'm getting off-topic. Peyton said, staring directly into the phone's camera, "To all the men of the world." "I've had enough trying to win your favor. I'm over the entire marriage and love trap! And that's it! Peyton came to a stop. Her memory of the "light bulb" moment became clear. "I'm over-loving. You become foolish in love. Love compels you to say and do things that you otherwise would not. You become someone else out of love in an attempt to win back the affection of another. Okay, I'm through with it. I will only love myself. No one else. Do you desire this? She let go of the clothing bag and took a few photos, without revealing much in her tattered yoga pants and loose top. Then, you'll need to convince me that you're worthy. It's past time that a man bowed down to me.