Where am I?
My head pounds frightened loud, the blood rushing through my veins like boiling water.
A bit of last night oozed into my skull; weed, lots of weed, and old vodka. My boyfriends old shitty vodka he must have left the last time he was here.
Looking around the room, the heel of my palm digging into my forehead to ease the pain, I saw the bright light of New York City sun blaring through my clear Windows. Cars blurted profanities outside and I groaned, swaying on my feet as I stood.
Ernest went home early last night. Said something about his work and then took off, ignoring my goodbye and the smile Id wanted him to see.
A lot of things like that have been happening lately. Where I try and nobody noticed. Just a smile and a small cry will bring me back to normal, how I usually was.
I'm not sure what happened to the clear headed, smiling Alfred that would laugh at any small thing because life just seemed so bright. The sun would make him smile and a headache made him feel human.
But I didn't have that luxury today. My never closing blinds were apparitions, not keeping enough light out. I wanted to lay in the dark and silence until the headache went away and I would have to get to work. The sun, bright and everlasting shine through my translucent blinds and burned me, my eyes squeezing shut in an effort to block out the headache.
I trudged groggily towards the bathroom, my bare feet brushing against the concrete of my floor. The door to the bathroom had been broken for quite a while so I didn't bother trying to fix it after it kept falling from the hinges. There wasn't room in the apartment to hide away. No closets, just all open, unavoidable space.
The mirror showed me a heavy faced asian, my cheeks puffy and my eyes red, my brown curly hair sticking out towards the sun outside. I sighed, pulling out my tooth brush and quickly brushing them. Splashing water in my face broke my tired self in half, leaving its sad twin brother, morose.
It followed me to the fridge, where I pulled out an apple and bit into its hard surface. Staring out across the small space, I saw Ernest and I's bed clean, the covers untouched. Checking the clock magnet on the fridge, it was about 8:00 am. Ernest worked at a factory just outside the city. Since he was the manager, he only had to clock in 35 hours a week.
If I'd calculated correctly, then he usually only left at one pm, so that met...he should've been home by now.
Sighing, I sat on the step that elevated the tiny kitchen. A quick glance across the living space was needed to find something to distract me. Nothing caught my eye. A pile of books Id read more than a few times lay by the window and we didn't have a T.V. The apartment talking up most of our money. It took out the money and treated it to the gas bill and water bill until it was worn dry, as sad as I am.
"No more Oscar Wilde." I mumbled, Slipping my apple between my teeth. Ever since I'd met Ernest, he'd been obsessed with him because he's was named after a character in The Importance Of Being Earnest. I'd read that more often than not, usually when Ernest doesn't make it home.
He'd say, "I was held up all night," or "Someone forgot some things on this important document so I had to fix it." So, I would wait until he'd come back. My shift doesn't start until five but I had a feeling that today Id have to work more because Marie never does shit anymore.
So Id wait until I'd have to trudge down to the bar across the street and be dismissed and never tipped while being ordered around like an animal. Then, on Fridays, my boss would graciously hand me a check. It barely let me pay for a months rent, let alone new books.
