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fadingvitality · 1 year

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Yes Is Only The Beginning

*There were two items I owned, just two, that I’d sacrifice the roof over my head before pawning: the bass guitar my dad bought me and the ring that was my momma’s. The emerald ring was an oversized bauble, but if I squinted I could sort of pretend it went with a glam-rock vibe. Not quite my style, but closer to it.

Damn sale. Damn soap. Damn sentiments.

I was in extreme couponing mode in addition to the ramen noodle diet and there it had been, free item of the week… Caress soap.

The moment I opened the box the scent hit me like a brick to the chest. It took me back to the time when they were both here and now they were both...gone.

She’d always used it, my momma, and the smell of it brought on tears I didn’t have the time or tolerance for. Being human was a bitch. We got sick. We died. We left people behind. Every damn breath took us closer to our last, so there was no time to waste on those saline escapees that ruined up our makeup.

Maybe worse than my emotional disruptions due to a box of soap, I was convinced the eau de chicken flavor packets had scared off any potential roomies interested in my apartment. Everything was ramen’s fault! Well, ramen and Laney. My eyes narrowed at the mere thought of that skanky wench. I was scraping by, even with working doubles at the dive I called my job. Okay, so it wasn’t that bad a place, and the patrons tipped well, but everything seemed like a downgrade lately and the sunshine of hope felt a galaxy away.

There had been one saving grace of all current troubles and traumas: Antoni, my deliciously hot partner in crime, work-husband, and phenomenal chef in the making who spoiled me with orgasmic food I could not otherwise afford. While I smoothed the soap over my skin in a lukewarm shower, my emotions were already bent and the scent of the Caress carried me back to a time I’d been carefree, yet to be affected by the type of grief and loss that changed a person at their foundation.

I sucked up the swarm of feelings that came from an innocent bar of soap. Antoni was taking me as his plus one to a posh restaurant that you only got a reservation for if you had some kind of in. He confessed his in, as was required by our work-spouse status, and it was all kinds of salacious. I’m sure the owner of the place was still feeling Antoni all up inside of him a week later. Antoni was incorrigible and I fucking adored it.

And now, a couple hours later, he was the reason more tears washed my face, leaving dramatic trails of mascara as salty souvenirs down my cheeks.

I’d lost track of my surroundings in the schmancy sushi restaurant, pretty, delicate cherry blossoms etched into my water glass blurred by the storm in my eyes.

Antoni’s words echoed in my honey brain. “I was offered a sous chef position…”

He was leaving me. Not just the bar. The whole ass area. Moving to a place I couldn’t reach by a drive, if I even had a car. I didn’t realize what he’d come to mean to me until it felt as if he was being ripped away.

“Elliot.” He reached across the table and put his hand over mine.

“I didn’t bring you here to break your heart. I brought you here to ask you to come with me.”

Bleary eyes went wide. His smile stretched in recognition of the surprise he’d held back.*

Wait. You want me to come with YOU?

*He laughed. “That is what I just said, but the temptation to repeat it so I can see that shock…”*

Asshole.

*He wasn’t. Not really.

“I’ve already been set up with a two bedroom, two bath as part of the offer. You’re better than what you’ve got going here. Rupert might cry harder than you did just now, but… he’ll survive. But me? I don’t want to miss you every day, Elli.”

The hazel puppy-dog eyes were priceless. I didn’t even need them to push me over the edge.

“Say yes.”

My eyes squeezed shut while I battled against the twitch of lips that held back a beaming smile*

Yes. A million times YES.

*”I was hoping you’d say that.” Before I could register what was happening, he retrieved a box that he’d somehow hidden from me under the table. I put my hands up as he held it out to me.*

What’s this?! I can’t take anything else, not after everything, not after THIS. It’s too much.

*”You haven’t even opened it. For all you know it could be a gag to break up all this smarmy softness we’re swimming in.”

I shook my head at him, but he earned a laugh as I took the box, lifting the lid to see what was inside… and promptly burst into ANOTHER fall of tears.

Fuck. Just fucking fuck. Inside the box was every item of importance I’d put on consignment at the pawn shop. Sentimental belongings of my parents I’d been forced to part with and thought I’d lost forever. I picked up my dad’s set of handmade, acoustic guitar picks, and the long strand of vintage pearls that had been my grandmother’s before they were passed down to my mom.

I shook my head in utter disbelief, and met the eyes of the breathtaking soul that just turned my world upside down in the most unexpected way. I absently wondered what I did to deserve any of it.*

I could kiss you, BUT, seeing how I am already painfully awkward I will spare you the scene.

*I paused, my heart still beating even as it was lodged in a tight throat.*

Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. Not even close.

*His smile at me was something beyond priceless, and it turned me inside out. The heavy weight of resurfacing grief and a whole host of insecurities had been replaced with a flood of fondness and radiating hope. Inspiration was already on the rise as lyrics filtered through my musical mind.

“Get used to it, Elliot. Your ramen era is over. We’ve got a world to set on fire with all of our bad bitch energy. Yes is only the beginning.”

I lifted a fancy glass of even fancier, sparkling sake, my smile strong but humbled by complex emotions. My toast a repetition of Antoni’s last words.*

Yes is only the beginning.

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fadingvitality · 3 years

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The Red Doors Write - Pride -Texts From Last Night

*Antoni was my favorite coworker. Why he had decided to slum when he took a job at Castaways I would NEVER know. He totally had the swagger for posh, hipster, shi-shi bars in the city, but instead he ended up at the place that was a lot more rough around the edges, of course what it lacked in swank, it made up for in character. The place had charm and the patrons were exceptional. He tried to tell me it was me that sold him. I attempted to play coy, but I just didn’t do coy and I was immediately friend-smitten. Besides his adoration for me, there were several reasons Antoni was my work ride-or-die. One, he was in culinary school. HELLO. I was his favorite taste tester, most likely because I scarfed down anything that was non-ramen and raved about the flavor profiles, ingredients and how he was a kitchen God. I was not born with the ability to poker face, and subsequently he was amused by my quirky and over-the-top reactions. But the wonderment he brought to my mouth was not where his awesomeness ended. For our second match, he, like me, was exceedingly bisexual. Not only that, we had both leaned same-sex oriented in our comparable history but had recently come to realize we weren’t meant for a singular Skittle color. Nope, we had been deprived of tasting the rainbow. Tragedy had been narrowly avoided.

It was fate. Destiny. Coworker magic.

Antoni was sooooooooooo my people. We quickly fell into the scandal of rating our patrons on a scale from would-do-sober to not-even-shitfaced. We were the best bartenders at Castaways and Johnny knew it, which is why he had been so easily swayed to let us schedule all our shifts together for Pride month, including the cherry Friday and Saturday nights. To our delight, he handed off the responsibility of decorating to us, and we delivered. In place of life preservers were Unicorn floaties, and I had ingeniously used rainbow ribbon purchased at the dollar store to pinstripe the walls. Antoni had swapped out some of the blue lightbulbs for all the colors of the rainbow and added a bowl of temporary Pride themed tattoos in coconut shells at the entry.

I was too sad the end of the month was looming, because Pride could not be topped. Sexy, beautiful people celebrating love in all its forms and feeling free and proud to do so. It was never short on kinky fuckery either. The vibrations were ninety-nine percent high, with only the occasional disruption to the mood.

Many-a-rule were overlooked during Pride, basically it was like a party we got paid to work at. Johnny said as long as we used our noggins, we could enjoy ourselves and he’d set his eyes towards the sea. Yes, he liked to be cute like that, relating everything back to the theme of his bar. Antoni and I made a rule, no more than one drink or shot an hour. If someone was begging, we had a dummy bottle of water we’d fake a pour with. One drink an hour still allowed for a little buzz but there would be no shit-faced-drunk-and-therefore-amorous Elliot showing ass. Antoni and I did offer ourselves up shamelessly for body shots on request…and he got just as many as me, not surprising, he was smoking hot. Some of our frequenters preferred we take the shots off each other, and we always worked it. I needed rent and he was paying his own way through school. It was worth the exhibition, and it’s not like we hated it, even if we’d never go there.

It was the last Saturday of Pride and Castaways was packed. The night was zooming by and it was already close to ten. We were well prepared for the craziness that we suspected would ensue. This was it and not a soul would waste it.

There was one guy throwing the mojo off, though. He stuck out like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time but didn’t know how to excuse himself from the table. I couldn’t help but notice Antoni was giving him a lot of his ear, like his entire ear, and didn’t seem irritated in the least. I had to investigate. I slid a couple of vodka tonics in the direction of two boys and gave Antoni the head jerk so we could meet up in the middle of the bar. He didn’t leave me waiting, what a gent.*

Alright, spill. What’s with the broody dude camping in front of you?

*”First…One tequila.” That was nearly a sober rating! I gave a little side-eye down the bar. Okay, he was easy on the eyes, just slightly too… sad-daddy looking. My eyebrows lifted as I silently begged for the sordid details.

Antoni slung a towel over his shoulder and turned to wash some glasses at the sink. “His name is Benjamin. It seems Benji has some hardcore bottom curiosity and wants to get him some before the clock strikes pumpkin to commemorate Pride. Specific, I know. And… potential complications.” Just then we both got flagged for some orders. RUDE. “Update at eleven.”

I laughed at him despite the reluctant split and we were kept apart for what seemed like an hour. Not that it was all torture… There was tongue around my navel action courtesy of a hot little thing with pierced nipples, and blowjobs, so many blowjobs. The shot…not the act. The patron that bought a third round absolutely insisted Antoni and I both partake. He leaned in to lick some whipped cream off my neck which was more about whispering in my ear. “Okay, I agreed to give him what he wants.”*

That’s it? *I slugged him in the arm.* That is not the TEA.

*I could see he was hiding something so he got the serious-Elliot-eyes and he coughed it up. “He’s married, but the missus knows. SHE KNOWS.” That was the serious-Antoni-voice that said he knew it was messy but also, fuck it.*

I better be the first to hear from you post disaster, dude.

*He smirked, full on, unabashed smirking as he walked backwards. It was a dirty weapon he wielded like a master. He could totally charm panties off with that thing, and also pound some virgin ass, or so it appeared. As the night progressed, people got louder, threw more money at us, downed an obscene amount of alcohol, and sang off key. Benji was still in the same spot, and if he’d gotten up to piss, I missed it. As if I hadn’t endured enough suspense, Antoni gave me the puppy-dog-eyes and asked for me to close on my own. I agreed on the condition that he feed me delicious things. The deal was closed on a little handshake trend we’d picked up.

“I’ll text you.” He winked and then he was out of there with sad-daddy Benji. Luckily for me Johnny showed up twenty minutes later and hooked a thumb towards the door.

“Get out of here, Indigo. Place looks good enough and I’ll lock up.”

A Lyft ride, short walk and shower later, I was in bed and crashed hard.*

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*I woke to my phone buzzing off the nightstand what seemed like a blink later, but I could see the sunshine peeking under my door, alerting me it was in fact, daylight.

I grabbed my phone off of the floor and saw the text alert from my precious Antoni, and holy crap! It was almost eleven!

I thumbed over the numbers to enter my password and opened right to his text.

“Double high-fived his wife and her sister on the way out. If I’m not the best mistress ever tell me how.” I cracked up, and I really needed the salacious details pronto. I texted back. “Spill.”

I impatiently waited as little dots teased on the screen, while silently appreciating his full sentence texting style. “TOO scandalous and detailed for text, meet me at Menotti’s and I’ll spring for your sprinkled donut.” Drool. I tapped out what felt like a very enthusiastic reply, as it bounced out of my brain and onto the screen. “Sold. I will be there in fifteen but keep your expectations of me on the lower end.” I hit send with a laugh and popped out of bed to get dressed and out the door.*

========================================================================

*I arrived right on time and spotted Antoni at a table outside, my donut and black coffee waiting in front of the empty spot. I leaned down and dropped a kiss to his cheek, before I sat.*

Aren’t you going to eat?

*He waved me off. “No. Already stuffed.” He shot me a look that said “don’t even” and I shut myself up with a bite of donut. “Also, you look flawless. Stop it.” Then he got right down to it.

“So last night, I somehow ended up the priest to Benji’s confessions. He spilled it out in every detail. But the best part didn’t happen at the bar. Anyway, since Benji’s wife couldn’t really fulfill what he was looking for, her sister had suggested she let him get it somewhere else. Find a willing guy to satisfy the urges.

Girl, we got to his place and he was eager. In a blur he was down on his knees slobbing my knob like he’d been born for the job, and then without delay splayed himself for the taking. We are talking face down, ass up, cheeks spread in invitation. NO SHAME.”

I choked on my sip of coffee that I of course chose to take right at the moment the cheeks and spreading part of the story happened.*

But how did you end up high fiving his wife and his sister? I don’t get it!

*”Impatient! I’m getting to that! Shhh. So, after a little prep work a la sous chef, I gave him every inch I had to give. The more merciless I was, the harder he got. Heavens, he was tight. There were moans, there were obscenities, there were...giggles at the door.” My eyebrows flew up.

“Right? So, anyway, he was too busy enjoying my cock to notice my glance over the shoulder where we had not one, but two ladies in the audience of our intimate show. I winked at them, yes, I did. I also had no shame. And then I really gave it to him, winding my hips in dramatic rotation before slamming into him hard and making him wail like a banshee. It was glorious. The smacking, the taking of virgin butthole, the way he proclaimed I satisfied him beyond wildest imagination. I came four times before his ass passed out.”*

Oh my GOD! You ho!

*We both laughed before he kept on, because apparently he wasn’t done.”So I woke up, right? And he’s still crashed so I roam down to the kitchen. I was starved but also, I just wanted to tack on a little exclamation point to the wild night and put my culinary skills to work.

Who do I find? The wife’s sister! She was one of the little voyeurs. Her name was Angie. Turns out Angie gave the idea to her sister, Katie, about Benji getting banged because, get this, Ang has a thing for male-male romance novels. She regaled me with stories of her favorite fictional pairings while I whipped up some eggs benedict and breakfast potatoes for the house. We congratulated each other on likely saving a marriage.

Benji and Katie made their appearance together. His cheeks still looked flushed, but the breakfast spread dispensed with any lingering awkwardness. We got along famously, and it was stupid comfortable. After a breakfast where Benji was notably shifting and maybe still a tiny bit shell-shocked, it was time for me to say my goodbyes. Benji got a reassuring squeeze but the ladies were waiting by the door. I told them I was glad they enjoyed the show and the high fives happened. You were my first text as soon as I hit the Lyft.”

I was cackling. It could not be helped and the man was due a toast. I lifted my coffee cup and he held up his chai.*

To a Pride well done.

*I signature winked and he smirked. “And a Benji.”*

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fadingvitality · 3 years

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The Fourth Christmas

*The lights were a colorful blur through the rain rolling down the windows. Somehow the image was reflective of me. I hated crying. Passionately, emphatically, more-than-anything hated it. I wiped forcefully at my cheeks, aggravated with myself for letting it happen. This year it was hitting harder than others. Damn holiday cheer and all the radio stations with the carols on constant rotation.

My parents had LOVED the holidays with a fierce commitment. Hosting Christmas open houses, annual Nutcracker attendance, gingerbread house making, decorating to the nines, and spoiling me rotten were all part of their fa-la-la traditions. The time of year triggered so much - too much.

My dad would make me peppermint hot chocolate on Christmas Eve while we watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and later National Lampoon’s. Momma would be making an overnight, French toast strata, and stuffing the stockings while I couldn’t see. I never wanted for anything, and by some miracle, their indulging me never led to being materialistic.

And then it happened, my dad had died after a freak accident that had ultimately led to sepsis. There were ups and downs during the course of his illness that we weathered with hope, but ultimately...he didn’t make it. My heart broke in two, though his peaceful last breath had a beauty about it that I would never forget.

Christmas was still months away when he passed, but I dreaded its arrival as the days came and went, spring turning to summer then autumn and finally winter. My mom fought through tears she didn’t think I saw, baking cookies, buying the tree - the sparse kind he preferred over her preference for something fluffy and full.

But there was no more Grinch. No more National Lampoon’s. After he was gone, I couldn’t stomach even the ads for them, it always left me bursting into the hated tears. At that particular juncture in my life, tears were a total disaster, considering how heavy handed with the eyeliner and mascara I had been.

Those traditions had been ours, his and mine. That first Christmas I was only just seventeen, and she had spoiled me with the most perfect and heart wrenching gift. Wrapped in a way that wouldn’t give me a clue, I had a momentary swell of pure joy on sight of his bass.

What had once been his...an extension of his very soul, had been entrusted to me. A shiver shot up my spine, and I could swear he was right there with us. I would cherish it and care for it more than any other Christmas gift I’d ever received.

As the years droned on, I did my best to support my mom, especially as she tended to get down herself. There were no more open houses, so we started going to the movies on Christmas Eve. We would still make the gingerbread houses and over-decorate. When she started crying in the eggs for the French toast strata, I drew a line. I urged her to switch to an eggs bene with home fried potatoes, justifying the switch by saying we needed to balance out the sugar in the cookies with some salty and savory. In many ways our roles had shifted. I always found myself guiding her, and then she learned to rely on me. I tried to comfort her with so much love, she would forget the loss of hers...but I knew, deep down, those were Vans I could’ never fill. My parents would gross people out with how much they loved each other. I had the front row seat to their ups and downs, but they always worked their shit out.

It made sense she carried the loss so heavily, and there was another thing I hated, that I couldn’t fix it for her. I would always wonder if maybe that was what really took her… her fractured heart, her half life without him, the lingering grief that trained behind her. It happened a meager four and a half years later. Four Christmases more, but not nearly enough.

The doctors said it over and over and over but my mind was in deny and reject mode: brain aneurysm. There was a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo and explanations that translated as clearly as Charlie Brown’s teacher handing down an assignment.

Ultimately, she was brain dead, kept alive by machines because she had been an organ donor. That choice had relieved me from everything but the formalities of signing paperwork. I’d not left her side for three days as the arrangements were made.

Her hand was so confusingly warm in mine, and there was no strain in her expression, but peace. I had briefly considered taking her picture because she looked so beautiful, like Snow White in wait...only her true love’s kiss would have her waking on the other side.

A chaplain had come to check on me. While I’d really, really wanted to be left alone, he’d made a suggestion that I would always be grateful for. In asking if there was anything special I wanted to do to say goodbye, I was suddenly stricken with inspiration. It was as if my dad had whispered in my ear. After assurances the chaplain would stay until I could get back, I took off. I made the trip as quickly as possible, returning with my dad’s bass.

At first my fingers were shaky, and I wasn’t sure I could actually make it through. With a deep breath my voice cracked when I started to sing “Across the Universe,” one of my momma’s favorite songs.

My hands eventually trembled too much to continue, tears rolled down my cheeks, but I finished acapella, minus all the accessory "Jai Guru Deva, Om." It was only hours later I said my real goodbye, more than deeply saddened I wouldn’t be holding her hand at last breath.

I was just twenty-two and both my parents were gone. I didn’t have extended family, both my parents were only children, like me. There were many friends, theirs and mine, that supported me but eventually even that waned. I poured myself into songwriting and singing, exorcising my feelings through the medium of music. My refuge. My confidante. I had makeshift, misfit families, composed of bandmates and their different circles of family and friends. I got by. I did my best. I extinguished the darkest thoughts and even darker tendencies. Christmas was my kryptonite, though. The outward bitchiness and bah humbug really came down to a defense mechanism. I couldn’t let anyone see the pain that pooled on my insides.

This year, though, was going to be my fourth without both of them and that struck me. Four without him, then four without both of them. Sitting in my apartment, alone, it felt bigger and more empty than ever. I finally pulled my eyes away from the window, turning my head towards the small tree I had picked up just a little while ago. It was full and fluffy, like my mom had liked.

I’d managed to set aside enough of my tips to swing it, even though every dollar should have been saved and it seemed extravagant. I had also splurged on a few groceries to treat myself to something other than ramen. My eyes then drifted down to the cup in my hands. The shock had worn off to a degree, but still, I was stunned.

The tree lot around the corner was run by volunteer firefighters with all proceeds going to charity. I didn’t want anything big, so my donation was completely meager, but at least I was supporting something meaningful. The guy handling the transactions had been pretty damn jolly, I was convinced he had put in some years as Santa, maybe still was.

He was as gracious with me as he had been to the person that had dropped a mint on the eight footer just before me.

“Your cheeks are rosy, sweetheart, and I’m guessing that’s because of the cold. Give me a minute.”

He turned away from me, doing something I couldn’t see because he was pleasantly portly. When he turned back around, he had a cup in hand, which he gave to me.

"Peppermint hot chocolate, on me. Happy Holidays.”

A familiar shiver wrapped around my spine. I blinked at the man, looking over his shoulder to see he had hot cider, coffee and peppermint hot chocolate in crock pots. It took me a few seconds to find the ability to speak.*

Happy Holidays to you. *I had lifted the cup in a gesture.* Thank you…

*Cup in one hand, full and fluffy yet petite tree in the other, I had walked home in a complete daze. I was in a state of abject disbelief. How had he known? What had him deciding on the peppermint hot chocolate? What if I wanted coffee, or cider? I didn’t know, and I really didn’t care. I’d propped the tree in a stand before I’d kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the couch.

Sitting with the cup in my hands, I clutched it like a lifeline. The physical loneliness was stifling, and heavy. I lifted the cup, the scent of peppermint hitting my nose first, followed quickly by the rich, chocolate steam. Memories swarmed at first sip, and I didn’t swallow them along with the hot chocolate. I closed my eyes as the flavor lingered, an inkling of the Christmas spirit I inherited returning. There was a third, winding chill up my spine. Somehow, some way, I just knew, no matter the depths of loneliness I felt, my parents were right there, with me. Always.*

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fadingvitality · 4 years

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Fading Vitality - Introduction

*The day had started out like a good one should. It was dumb of me to think it would last. Thanks to an overly sauced guy and a generous tip the night before, I’d decided to indulge, going for a wax and full body sugar scrub. I was stupid to think this would get me laid, it had legit been a month since Laney and I had fucked.

When I’d walked into the bar, hello intervention vibe. There were the four of them, my band, in the joint where I also worked. Nobody was set up for practice. Laney was tucked behind the rest of them and I couldn’t resist the roll of my eyes on the approach.*

The hell is this?

*I pegged each one of them with a hard look, unwilling to tuck my tail in any fashion. The whiff of honey and lavender that hit my nose off my skin suddenly felt like a bad omen. Cassidy spoke up, naturally, lead singer by definition that she was.

“El, I respect you so I’m going to be straight up. You’re out. We want to head towards the different vibe and you’re the only one just not on board.”

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. It was suddenly the only word my brain could conjure. So because I hadn’t been afraid to express my opinion that scrapping the past songs and sets completely to go from something more indie to glam rock I was out? My upper lip peaked at one corner in disgust. I’d known each one of them for years. Everyone except Laney who I found when we were down a drummer. This was going to be awkward. The house band at the bar where I was employed just dumped me. My supposed girlfriend, who wouldn’t look at me with her bewitching grey eyes and generous application of eye liner, still in possession of her drumsticks.

Burn. She’d been the one to suggest the fresh direction, so of course we’d fought and when they all rallied around her I’d become a sudden outcast with chicks that I had introduced her to.

“There’s another thing, El.” I wished Cassidy wouldn’t call me that all of a sudden. “Slim doesn’t want any kind of drama so he has to let you go. I told him I’d handle it since the band’s decision brought about the rock and hard place.” She walked over and pulled something out of the back of her jeans. An envelope. “He put in a walking bonus. Don’t blame him, El.” Snatching up the envelope my tone was sharp when I found the tongue that was on the verge of issuing a full blown lashing.*

Stop calling me that. *Looking past Cassidy to Laney, I called her out, because her stoicness was elevating my blood pressure.* You’re just going to sit there and say nothing, Lane? For real?

*She seemed to respond to my call to attention with reluctance, but her lackadaisical tone told me that it wasn’t for fear that she’d avoided eye contact, more an inconvenience. “Moved my stuff out when you were gone this morning. That’s that.”

Rage… absolute rage boiled beneath the surface, little teapot was about to turn full horsepower steam locomotive. But that, THAT, was a satisfaction I wouldn’t allow these bitches, especially Laney, who ended our five month relationship so unceremoniously I wished I’d never gotten her off that night that Fireball played matchmaker.

I flipped up a peace sign à la Alanis, who was screaming in the back of my head they didn’t even deserve that gesture. So I swapped it in my brain for a new line to Ironic…

A Brazilian wax...but you can’t get laid…

No instead you get fucked in a whole different way. Triple whammy. No job. No band. No roommate, because hell if she deserved more than that acknowledgement in my history, and the little spa trip in the morning I suddenly couldn’t afford anymore.

As soon as I punched out the front door, angry tears burned down my cheeks. Murphy had nothing on me with his law. This was the way of my life. Every time things seemed good they turned to shit. Bad things came in threes, right? That should save me for a while, if old wives tales proved accurate.

When I got back to the apartment I’d shared with Laney, I saw my bass guitar she was supposed to bring to practice for me, relieved at least I wouldn’t have to see those cats in the short term, but not at all calmed down. I was saddled with a lease in my name alone and I had to let out everything that had pent up on the brisk walk home. I wasn’t drama, that insult had added salt in the wound. I spoke my mind and some people just couldn’t hand it. I hit the couch, grabbed up a throw pillow and smothered my face so that I could scream at the top of my lungs. After I took the edge off the rage with the release, I dropped the pillow and headed over to the kitchen, rummaging through the junk drawer and grabbing up a piece of paper and a red Sharpie. There was no time to spare; I needed to find a roommate, pronto.

My lettering was as bold as my current attitude and my message was both invitation and warning: “ROOMMATE WANTED. NO SHITTY BITCHES. DOUCHES NEED NOT APPLY.” I tried to soften the language by drawing a heart next to an email address, and smacked it on the window with a piece of tape. Maybe I’d round out the day with some healthy overthinking about all the possible ways I might die, considering my mortality in a world of all kinds of supers was a frequent head trip for me. What was a girl to do when all she had going for her was recognition of her fading vitality? Humanity had destined me to a life of ordinary bullshit and impending death. It seemed even the scent of my too-expensive, sinfully-soft skin was mocking our current circumstance. Being human sucked. Royally.*

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