Page 3 of Pick Your Poison

Two

Lilith

Fuck, it’s cold.

I pull a baggy hoodie on over my t-shirt and leggings, and go over to check the thermostat. It’s entirely too cold in this stupid apartment. I flip the switch to force the heat to kick on, but nothing happens.

“Great.” I plop my forehead against the wall in aggravation.

When I was a little girl, my dream wasn’t to spend the back half of my twenties in a shitty apartment in a less than stellar area of Chicago with heat that rarely works, a landlord that would rather stare at my tits than do his job, and a year long dry spell… but here we are.

I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen years old when both of my parents died in a car accident. I didn’t really know anyone from either side of their families, so once they were gone, it was just me, myself, and I. After two years in a group home, I was kicked out on my ass and fed to the wolves, for lack of a better word.

Ten years and a mountain of debt, and shitty life lessons later, I’ve got a roof over my head, a work family that I don’t hate, and experience that has allowed me to jump over any hurdle thrown my way.

Except for a broken heater apparently.

I pad over to my kitchen and press brew on my coffee maker, letting the addictive aroma begin its journey up into my nose. While I wait for the liquid gold to finish, I pull out my cell and text my landlord, even though I know he won’t reply. He never does.

But at least I did my part and tried.

Five minutes later, I’m clutching a hot mug and settling onto my second hand sectional sofa to watch some true crime documentary that will surely suck up most of my time for the day. If that weren’t enough, I haven’t been able to shake the beautiful man with the weird eyes from my brain since last night, so thoughts of him will take up whatever time true crime doesn’t. Even though I can’t really remember the details, I even feel like I dreamt of him last night. Dreamt of his hands on me, of him pulling me in so I can feel his warmth and see those eyes up close and personal. I can even feel the vibration of the golden keycard humming from my bag hanging on my door.

The adventurous and lonely side of my brain wants to go. I want to experience something new. I want to go the unsafe route and live a little. And if I’m honest with myself, this back and forth, indecisiveness I’m experiencing is moot. I know I’m going to go. My mind was made up the moment he handed me the key.

I’m only able to consume my show and daydream for a handful of minutes before a knock on my door disrupts me.

I trudge over to the door and peek through the peephole, half expecting to find Louis, my creepy, too friendly landlord standing there. He tends to show up without notifying me first.

But I’m surprised to see that it’s Callie, my neighbor and closest friend in the city.

“Hey, Callie,” I say when I open the door.

“I brought carbs.” She holds up a box of doughnuts from my favorite bakery across town.

“Is that pumpkin spice I smell?”

“You know,” she strides into my apartment and places the box on the coffee table, “no matter how hard you try to be edgy and moody, at the end of the day, you’re still a basic bitch like me. I love that about you.”

“You're lucky I like you,” I say, with my mouth already full of the spicy yet sweet fall themed treat, “otherwise, I’d be offended by that.”

She grabs a doughnut then makes herself at home on my sofa.

“Damn, it’s freezing in here.” She snatches the quilt that I was using to keep warm before she stopped by and wraps it around her body.

“Yeah, I know. I sent a text to Arnie, but he hasn’t replied,” I say, with a roll of my eyes.

“Yeah, good luck with that. He’ll take three days to even reply then be creepy as fuck when he does finally show up.”

“You’re right about that.” I perch on the other side of the couch, facing her. “I’m glad you’re here, actually.”

“As if you wouldn’t be normally? I’m offended.” She takes a bite from her doughnut and tosses her beautiful, micro braided hair over her shoulder. “What’s up? You have that look about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you have something on your mind, you start to look like a sad puppy. Not in a bad way, of course, it’s cute, but I can always tell when you’re overthinking.”

I scoff. “Overthinking is a pretty generous term.”

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