I'm a Mess | (#Wattys2018) ✅

I'm a Mess

I stared at my phone from across the bedroom. It was ringing. And it wouldn't stop.

Bring. Bringg. Bringgg!

Shut up. No. Sleep.

BRINGGGG!

I unleashed a growl, throwing aside the covers to stomp over to my dresser. Rubbing my eyes, I squinted at call number who dared force me to get out of bed.

Paul.

"Shit," I swore, fumbling for the swipe button.

"Paul, hey. Sorry for making you wait. Is this about the date we scheduled for next Wednesday?" I chirped, smiling even though there wasn't anyone in front of me. There was a rustle on the receiving end, then a hesitant squeak.

"Yeah, about that... Can we like, reschedule or something? I just remembered I'm busy that day."

Wednesday was my only free night right now. I had to work late on all the others.

"Um. Wednesday is my only free night, Paul..." I cringed, tightening my grip on the phone.

"Oh. I guess I could cancel my plans with my mom-"

"N-no! Your mom? You should've just started off with that. Uh, l-lemme check. I-I'm sure I could figure out s-something..." I stuttered, guilt tugging at my heartstrings. I couldn't make him cancel his plans with his mom. He rarely got to see her. Sifting through the multiple papers splayed across the dresser, I plucked out my planner which was buried at the bottom. I was booked for the next week and a half.

"I don't think I can see you for another week and a half. I'm booked. Sorry," I sighed, snapping my planner shut and chunking it back on top of the mountain of bills.

"Oh it's fine, we can figure out something. Thanks for understanding," he replied in a chirpy tone.

"Oh, no problem. Thanks for letting me know-"

Click.

"Ahead of time." The sound of my hamster running in his wheel made up for the silence of the morning. He squeaked, paws scratching at the plastic as he exercised.

"Another morning, another run, huh Squeaker."

Squeak was his only response. I stood there on the corner of my bed, my phone lost in the sea I called a blanket.

God, help me get through another busy day. And maybe conjure some money while you're at it.

The phone dinged. I yanked out the covers, straightening them as I searched for my phone. It was from my boss.

You told me you'd be here by ten o'clock. It's currently ten thirty. Get here fast and bring me my damn coffee. Regular, three brown sugars, four hazelnut creams.

I typed back.

Yes, sir. 

I stomped over to my closet, throwing on a black dress shirt, slacks, and some sneakers I'd colored black with a sharpie. After feeding Squeaker, I made some coffee for the Big B, grabbing the sugar packets and mini hazelnut creamers.  It was cheaper and more convenient to just make the coffee at home and pretend it's from Starbucks. Picking out one of the many paper Starbucks cups and lids I'd stolen last month, I readied the coffee, whisking myself and the Big B's cup of joe out the door.

---

"You're late, Stevenson." Handing him his coffee, I shrank from his authoritative voice, backing towards the door. 

"Not just yet," Mr. Bean snapped, sipping from his cup. I slouched, sitting in on of the chairs where his clients sat.

"Do you know why you're in here right now?" He exhaled, propping his feet on the desk. I squirmed under his gaze, averting my eyes to the ground.