habits of my heart (h.s.)

one

Looking back on it now, I wasn't really sure what had drawn me to Apartment 12D in the first place. Maybe it was because of its convenient location, only a few blocks away from where I went to school. Maybe it was because of how professional the flyer looked, which was the complete opposite of my previous living situation.

Or maybe it was just because I was desperate.

Yeah, that was definitely it.

+++++

"So my best friend--well, former best friend. I can call her my ex, right? Can exes be friends? I don't know. Probably. Anyways, not the point. So my ex best friend and I were actually roommates in the dorms for our freshmen and sophomore year, and come junior year, we decided, hey, why not move into an apartment together? And I know you guys are probably like, how can two twenty-year-olds afford an apartment in New York City? Well, she was suddenly rich--I just didn't know the real reason why. Yet."

I paused for dramatic effect, but when it looked like no one was interested in learning the real reason behind my former roommate's sudden cash surplus, I shrugged. So they weren't interested in theatrics. I could live with that.

I continued, "Anyways, so our experience living together last year was so much fun. We had a quiet place to study on the weekdays and we were close to all the good clubs and bars on the weekends. Basically living the New York City dream, am I right?"

Once again, no answer.

"That was a rhetorical question," I lied. "Anyways, right before the fall semester started this year, she asked me if it was okay if her boyfriend moved in with us. Well, I didn't really see the problem, because it wasn't like we didn't have the space, and also, he was rich. Not to sound shallow. Just....come on. Instead of a sugar daddy, he was kind of like a sugar roommate. Although my best friend was getting both sides of the benefit coin, so I guess she could afford to call him her sugar daddy." I paused, and this time I was no longer anticipating a reaction. "I thought you guys might find that pun funny."

However, to my surprise, I ended up receiving an answer this time around. Unfortunately, it wasn't exactly the one I had been waiting for.

"As....intriguing as this story sounds, could you get to the point, please? I still don't see how this answered our question about why you would be a good addition to the loft." That had come from Harry, the British guy whose grumpy expression and receding hairline made him look a lot older than I was sure he was.

"Right, I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I'll get to the point, I promise. So, my best friend, let's call her Ella--"

"Why can't you just call her by her actual name?" Harry questioned. (Well, really, it was more like a demand.)

"Um, long story short, her lawyer forced me to sign a confidentiality agreement, so legally, we kind of have to stick with Ella."

"Are you kidding me--"

"Harry, she'll never be able to answer your question if you keep on interrupting her," Natasha, the second roommate, reminded him. She was intimidatingly pretty, with curly black hair and caramel skin, but she looked a whole lot nicer than Harry did, which made me feel better about the situation.

"Anyways, to get to the point, it turned out that Ella's boyfriend 'James'--another fake name, by the way--was actually one of the leading drug dealers in New York City, which was why he had so much money. So it was bye bye, sugar roommate, and hello monitored prison visits! I obviously couldn't afford that place on my own, since I'll be paying off my college loans until I'm eighty five, which is why I had to find a new place. And....now I'm here." I finished my story with an awkward smile, waiting for them to return it. Thankfully, Natasha, and the blonde guy sitting next to her, both did, but Harry's expression remained stoic.