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negativity

          i can't run from her. she's there no matter what direction i turn to. all the looks i receive from the strangers, i ignore as my feet speed up the curb.

          the stairs that lead to the main entrance of the apartment building comes into view and i instantly rush my way up, bumping into a teenage boy along the way.

          i drag my 24-year-old self up the steps instead of taking the elevator because my apartment is only on the 4th floor. it's not that high up.

          what does that girl want? i can't seem to think straight as i unlock the door and let myself into the cheap—and not even close to commodious—home.

          i live off the money i have left in my savings account. nobody would hire me for a job because i seem to spread negativity.

          "well, at least you notice that."

          "holy fuck, stop doing this to me! what do you want?" i yell at the previous girl who is now on my couch.

          she looks around the place in disgust—empty beer bottles on the wooden floorboards, a rug that's never been vacuumed, dust covering almost every furniture, dishes piled up in the kitchen sink; what have i become?

          "you are disgusting." she says.

          "oh yeah? i didn't know that. i've only told myself that, like, a million times!" i fake a cheerful expression.

          she shrugs and crosses her legs on the old coffee table.

          "you're such a boy."

Castaway || mgcWhere stories live. Discover now