Page 51 of Sexting the Boss

I gesture wildly at the sink. “Are you planning on cleaning this up anytime soon?”

She blinks at me, expression flat. “I’ll get to it.”

I wait.

She doesn’t move.

“Maybe before the cockroaches file for a lease?” I press.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s just a few dishes, Sasha. Jesus.”

My blood boils. “It’s every dish we own,” I snap. “Do you ever plan on washing them? Or are we just waiting until a documentary crew shows up to film an episode ofHoarders?”

She sighs loudly, like I’m the one being unreasonable.

“You know what?” I say, grabbing my phone. “Forget it. I’ll do it. Like I always do.”

She shrugs. “Cool. Thanks.”

And just like that, she puts her earbud back in.

I stand there, chest tight, hands shaking, watching as she tunes me out completely—like I’m nothing more than background noise.

Something inside me twists, hard.

It’s not just the dishes.

It’s everything.

The long hours at a job that pays me peanuts.

The suffocating loneliness of a city that doesn’t care if I sink or swim.

The fact that I could disappear tomorrow, and no one would notice.

I swallow past the lump in my throat, turn on my heel, and head straight for my room.

I slam the door shut, crawl into bed, and grab my phone.

Me: Tell me something. Have you ever lived with someone who acts like you don’t exist?

A response comes almost immediately.

Unknown Number: That bad of a day?

I stare up at the ceiling, hating how raw I feel.

Me: Worse. You ever walk into your own home and feel like an intruder?

Unknown Number: Explain.

Me: My roommate is a ghost. Except instead of disappearing, she haunts the living room, ignoring me unless I remind her that I pay half the rent.

Unknown Number: Sounds like a nightmare.

Me: I wish. At least then I could wake up from it.

A pause. Then?—

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