Situationship [Complete]

20 | No Sh*t

"Well, what?" I ask him.

His eyes cast downward as if he were ashamed. Heath. Ashamed. He's sitting bare ass on his couch, manspreading, with only a throw pillow covering his dick, but whatever he's about to say makes him suddenly have shame? ". . . I can't," he finally admits.

"What do you mean you can't? You've known about this for months. You—"

"I can't pay for it, Teags."

I purse my lips at him. "You can't pay for it? Really, Mr. BMW Upper East Side?"

He scowls. "My dad cut me off, okay?"

His words take a second to make sense. "Cut you off? Like he won't give you an allowance anymore?" I tease him.

"No. He cut me off completely. Took me off my money market accounts, canceled all my cards, emptied my savings."

I have to stop myself from cackling. "No shit?"

"No shit."

I can't keep it in. "You must be so lost," I laugh.

"Shut up, I'm not playing. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

I cross my arms and shift my weight onto my hip. "Doesn't your job pay you?"

"Yeah."

"Then use your big boy money to buy your ticket before the prices go up. Shit. You act like you're broke."

"I kind of am."

"No, you are not. Have you sat down and made a budget?"

"A budget?"

Jesus. "Yes. Figuring out how much you can spend each month."

His gaze is vacant.

"Oh, my God. Google 'budgeting' and figure it out."

I turn around to leave, but remember my keys. When I slip them into my bag, I look over to find Heath with the most pathetic look on his face. It's like someone kicked his puppy and then stole it.

"You're really freaking out about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he says.

I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

It's not my responsibility to baby a grown man, but a tiny piece of me feels I should help him. The life we live—the ones our parents thrust us into—isn't normal. How many people can live alone in a 2,000-square-foot apartment in Manhattan on an intern's salary? They did not set us up to survive on our own, which was completely intentional. Whatever is going on between him and his dad has reached a new level of petty. I know he'd rather lick a subway floor than grovel to that man, and I can't say I blame him. Heath's dad is a bigger douche than he is.

"Okay, fine," I give in. "Let me grab my stuff and I'll help you figure it out. Meet me in the cafe downstairs or whatever." He still has that stupid look on his face. "Yes, I'll pay for your coffee."