Tipsy

Three

Chapter 3

Hallie

Bare feet met icy wooden floors. Any other day, this was annoying. It would wake me before I was ready. On this morning, I was wide awake before stepping out of the bed. There was little sleep had because of a certain roommate banging on his drum set all night. Not even my headphones could drown him out. I thought Mikah was finished around three in the morning, but he had only stopped to make mozzarella sticks. He didn't even offer me any.

I rushed across the room, knowing a warm shower would be the best way to start the day. Upon opening the door, it was not surprising to see the drum kit still blocking the way out. It was all the other furniture that had joined it that was the problem.

"Mikah!" I hollered, eying the maze of furniture preventing me from leaving my bedroom.

Every chair from the kitchen and living room, along with end tables and the coffee table, was intricately piled from floor to ceiling. There were even chairs brought up from the restaurant blocking my exit. My attempt at pulling a piece of the drum set shifted everything. He left me with a giant game of Jenga.

After calling out his name enough times to know I wasn't being ignored, I figured Mikah had left the apartment. I gave in and called the only other person I could. Ollie—being the workaholic he was—admitted to being in the kitchen below my feet and vowed to free me as soon as he could. That meant Mikah was not at the bar either. He couldn't be in his room at the hall's end; he'd be trapped, too. Either he'd slept on the couch or hadn't slept in the apartment.

Knowing there was no way to make it to nursing clinicals on time, I gave up on the shower. I changed into my white uniform and donned my name badge, with student in large capital letters along its lanyard. My long blonde hair was piled high on my head with a navy headband to pull any stray hairs out of my face—one that matched the tiny, jeweled stud in my right nostril. The look was complete with a pair of the most hideous, solid-white and slip-resistant sneakers no one could pull off fashionably. The same uniform day after day was boring. At least when working at the nursing home, CNAs had the option of what scrubs they wanted to wear. The only part of this ensemble that could change was the headband.

While I waited for my savior, I packed my books, a pocket drug dictionary, and a phone charger. That's when I noticed I had missed a call in the haste to get ready. The name Jodi Reynolds joined a notification of a voice mail. My adoptive mother—although the word mother was rarely used—became a parental figure in my life at fifteen years old. After spending that long in foster care, calling two complete strangers Mom and Dad seemed wrong. Jodi and Maverick, Rick for short, were the only names I used. It seemed too late to change that tradition now, and honestly, I had no desire to.

Sniffles began the voice message. It's me, honey, Jodi began. He, uh... he left again. Rick didn't come home last night. The credit card shows a hotel bill on your side of town. Has he called you?

I bit my cheek and deleted the message. Their marital issues were nothing new. The last thing today needed was their relationship problems piled on top. Rick had not called, and that meant it was only a matter of time before he would. With the sound of the apartment door opening, I dove to my nightstand, where I kept my Ativan. They weren't needed often. Only the times when my stomach was tangled into tight, unrelenting knots.

"Hal?" Ollie called out. I could already hear him disassembling the pile of furniture.

I swallowed two half-milligram tablets and washed them down with a bottle of water from the same bedside table. "I'm here," I said.