BETHEL

1

A loud tap jolted me awake, shattering my peaceful dream. Yawning, I stretched and glanced at Debby, my only friend, who was giving me a pitiful look. "Seventh time this week, babe. Don't you sleep at night?" she asked.

I smiled weakly and adjusted my hair in the mirror. "You know I work four jobs, some of them night shifts," I replied. Debby rolled her eyes.

Debby was a dark-skinned woman with long brown hair, average height, and a curvy figure. She was the only person who kept me sane in this chaotic cinema. "Hurry up," she teased. "The theater won't clean itself."

I groaned and started cleaning up the theater, scrubbing gum off the seats and picking up popcorn from the floor. By the time we finished, I was exhausted. Debby, feeling sorry for me, offered to cover my night shift.

As I gathered my things to leave, I thanked Debby again for her help. "Anytime, love," she said. "Say hi to your man-baby for me."

I sighed. "He doesn't even know I'm coming home today, Debs. Why can't you guys get along?"

Debby looked at me seriously. "You need to stand your ground. How do you expect me to get along with someone who makes you work so many shifts just because he can't get a job?"

"You know how he feels about low-paying jobs," I defended him. "He wants something better. He's trying his best, and I can't force him to do something he doesn't like."

I knew I'd shouted at Dave a lot, but he never listened. He was my boyfriend, and aside from Debby, he was the only family I had. I felt like I had to try to change him.

Debby scoffed. "So how do you explain the bottle beside him 24/7? I'm telling you for the last time, kick his sorry ass out of your house before it's too late."

I rolled my eyes. "I know I have to," I muttered.

As I walked home, I bought takeout for dinner. I was too tired to cook. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and sleep.

When I entered my apartment, I was immediately hit by the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. My anger flared. I had warned Dave not to do this in my living room, but he never listened.

Before I could say anything, I saw a horrifying sight: several people passed out on the floor, surrounded by cocaine. This was the final straw.

I went to the kitchen, grabbed a frying pan and a wooden stick, and returned to the living room. I banged on the pan loudly, waking them up. "You have ten minutes to get out of my apartment," I shouted. "If you don't, I'm calling the police."

After a few moments of confusion, they stumbled out of the apartment.

Finally, I locked the door and went to my room to confront Dave. I was furious. Who did he think he was, allowing drug addicts into my home? Without my money, he'd be living with his parents, not in my apartment. As I entered the room, I saw something that made my heart sink.