1999

6. Shoplifting

Y/n stood in the kitchen, staring down at the grilled cheese sandwich she had just pulled off the stove. The edges were burnt to a crisp, the cheese oozing out and sizzling on the pan. She sighed but shrugged it off, too apathetic to care about the quality of her meal. It wasn't like she had any plans for the day—just another afternoon spent in her apartment, avoiding the world. With the sandwich in hand, she trudged back to her bedroom, her bare feet shuffling across the cool floor.

Her outfit reflected her mood: baggy, ripped sweatpants that hung low on her hips, and an old Nirvana T-shirt that had seen better days. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the loose fabric of the shirt hung lazily on her frame. The bra had become a symbol of discomfort, a binding she could live without, especially when she had no intention of facing anyone. Her makeup from the night before was smeared under her eyes, giving her a raccoon-like appearance, and she hadn't bothered to brush her hair when she woke up. The strands were tangled and unkempt, a dark curtain framing her tired face.

The clock read 12:00 p.m. as she entered her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a resounding slam that echoed through the small space. She flicked on the TV, her eyes narrowing in on the screen as she flipped through the channels. She settled on MTV, turning the volume up as high as it would go, the noise filling the room and vibrating the walls. It was a comforting blanket of sound, drowning out her thoughts and the silence that threatened to creep in.

Y/n finished her sandwich quickly, not minding the bitter taste of the burnt edges. She tossed the plate aside and let herself fall back onto her bed. The mattress creaked under her weight as she sprawled out, staring blankly at the ceiling. The music from MTV blared in the background, familiar songs from the 90s blasting through the speakers. The rhythm of the music blended with the fog in her mind, and for a moment, she felt disconnected from reality, floating in a sea of sound and nothingness.

Her mind wandered, lost in the haze of her thoughts, as she stared up at the ceiling. She wondered how things had gotten to this point, how she had ended up so detached from everything around her. But before she could delve too deep into her introspection, a voice cut through the music, breaking her trance.

"Y/n!" The voice was muffled but insistent, coming from outside her bedroom. It was Jackie, her roommate, and the sound of her shouting was enough to snap Y/n out of her reverie. She groaned loudly, the weight of reality settling back onto her shoulders. She didn't want to deal with anything or anyone right now, but Jackie's voice grew louder, more urgent.

Y/n grudgingly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She reached for the remote and turned down the volume on the TV, the blaring music fading to a dull hum in the background. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging the leftover makeup even more, and got to her feet. Her body felt heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion that had settled in her bones.

She opened her bedroom door, peering out into the hallway with a frown. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. She wasn't in the mood for small talk or interruptions, especially not now when she had finally found a moment of solitude.

Jackie stood just outside the door, leaning against the wall with the wall phone in her hand. She waved it in the air, an exasperated look on her face. "It's for you," she said, her tone a mix of annoyance and impatience.

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she looked at the phone in Jackie's hand. She hadn't been expecting a call, and she certainly didn't want to talk to anyone. But there was a hint of curiosity gnawing at the back of her mind. She sighed deeply, resigned to the fact that her peace had been shattered, and walked over to Jackie.

"Fine, give it here," she muttered, bracing herself for whatever conversation lay ahead.

Jackie shoved the phone into Y/n's chest with a smirk, her expression dripping with sarcasm. "Here," she said, the word almost a sneer. She turned to walk away but muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Y/n to catch it, "You look like a fucking raccoon."