Page 7 of Afterglow
I can accept that some days are worse than others, but the days when nothing in my life goes right seem to be increasing. I unlock my bike with a sigh. And right on cue, it starts raining.
Of course, I don’t have an umbrella. Or a raincoat.
The ride through puddles is atrocious, and by the time I pull up to my apartment, I’m thoroughly drenched, a strip of wet dust and debris streaked up my back, despite the splatter guard. I’ll have to stop by the laundromat tomorrow. I haul my bikethrough the doorway, and the heavy wood and glass door slams while I park behind the stairs.
My sneakers squish every step of the way to the third floor. The sweat and rainwater combo does not smell great on me.
Zoe and her boyfriend, Alan, glare at me over their coffee mugs when I step through the apartment door.
What a nice, warm welcome.
I pretend not to see them past the shroud of dripping hair covering my face and make a beeline to my bedroom, but it’s a no-go.
Alan nudges Zoe with an elbow.
“Hey,Bea!We wanted to talk to you about something,” she starts.
“Oh, hi!” I chirp, splitting the wet strands apart and pushing them behind my ears. “What’s up?”
My roommate motions to the empty chair across from them at the round kitchen table. “I know these past few months have been rough…”
“But they’re rough on Zoe, too,” Alan interrupts.
She squeezes his forearm to silence him. “I knew we discussed it, but I can’t keep covering your half of the rent.”
I’d argue my case, but it’s too embarrassing to mention the amount of money left in my bank account. My savings have been wholly gouged. “It’s only been a couple of months, and I was gonna reach out to the law firm I used to work for about getting some part-time work?—”
The explanation is ignored.
“We were already kinda planning to move in together when your sublease was up. Alan is gonna pay for the last two months?—”
“Oh, gosh, that’s really generous, but?—”
“If you move out.”
“Move out?” Where would I go? I mean, I could figure it out. I’ve always figured it out. Say yes, Behraz. You won’t owe rent. Find another sublease for even cheaper until you get all this bar exam business outta the way and then?—
“By the end of the month.”
My jaw hangs.
“Thismonth? Like, in two weeks?”
“Yeah.”
Now, I’m in shit. The deepest of shit. Okay, okay. You got this. You don’t have that much stuff. Get it together. This is probably for the best.
“Okay.”
They seem pleased. I go to my room to peel away my wet clothes and shower, making a mental list of things that I need to get done. One, write all this down. I step into the tub and turn the faucet on.
There’s no hot water.
I want to cry. But I don’t.
Instead, I text Indi. She’s the closest thing I have to family left in this city.
Me
