roommates; solangelo

001

NICO~

(A/N: This is unedited, so feel free to point out any mistakes you find! I will try and update at least twice a week!)

"I'm sorry but I don't think you fit the position, please--"

"Why not!" The blonde girl exclaimed throwing her hands in the air. Her eyes were a soft brown, and wide, like a deer in the headlights. She had many great qualities, and a few bad ones I was willing to overlook, but I wouldn't have too because she looked like she was 16, ran away from home, and I could hear her no good boyfriend outside the door. I had seen him at the beginning, he had black hair, bright blue eyes, and piercings everywhere. I was even willing to try and ignore some of those things, but the no-good boyfriend was very homophobic and was wearing a shirt that said something about 'sins' and I wasn't going to try and overlook or ignore that. I don't go around wearing shirts exclaiming 'I hate straights' so why do you get to patrol around town in homophobic shirts? I could never overlook that, and I was sure the girl had similar beliefs.

"You don't get the apartment, but here's so life advice, Hunny, you should go back home, maybe put some clothes on, and dump that no good boyfriend of yours, you don't need a roommate, you need your parents how old are you 16? 17?"

"I'm 15, and he's good, he's really nice, I bet you would get along," She smiled and I wanted to throw a jacket over her tank top. I was 22, it would almost be illegal to live together.

"I doubt that," I smile at her once again, a fake smile, I haven't generally smiled in a while. "Goodbye Bethany," 

"Bu--I--Wha?" I closed the door in her face and walked over into the kitchen. Whenever I had a sucky day, like this one, I would bake. I mean bake a lot. Cupcakes, cakes, cookies, brownies, the list goes on. It calmed me down. If I wasn't going to be a writer, I would be a baker. One of the only reason I  didn't go into baking was I baked on crappy days. If I bake every day, what would I do on my crappy stressful days? Work? Yeah no.

I needed an outlet, I needed to have something to do because rather I wanted to admit it to everyone, I had issues. Having your mother die in front of your eyes, then your sister getting in a car accident, then your father leaving because I reminded him of his family and that it should have been me instead. Not to mention I think I had depression. I've been taking pills for it since my sister died when I was 10. When my dad left when I was 12, I was put into a foster home, and they really helped with the depression. (Note the damn sarcasm) all they did was give me the pills. They didn't help me, they just made sure I had them when I was supposed to and sent me to a therapist. Let's just say I ran away from the home as soon as I could, which was like a month later.

I didn't like my therapist at first. I hated her. Who was she to want to get to know me? Then I realized I was being ridiculous and we started talking. I had nightmares at night and Racheal, my therapist, really helped with that. She tried to tell me how to deal with them, her tactics worked sometimes but they barely worked. They just woke me up faster. We hadn't found anything to help the actual dreams or to help after I wake up. 

I was getting lost in thought. I hadn't slept more than three hours last night and was extremely tired, but I hated sleeping because I would dream of Bianca. I looked down at my hands and realized I had backed four batches of cookies, which meant an hour and a half at least went by, which meant the next roommate candidate was coming and should be here any second.

I hated the fact I was going to need a roommate, they would be there for my worsts, and my worsts were bad. Sadly I needed one if I was going to continue to pay rent. I could move to another complex, but this one was perfect. It was close to my university, so I was going to stay, and with a roommate. I started to throw the bowls into the sink when I was interrupted by a knock on the door.