~Rewritten from July 2019 to August 2019~
With their friends recovering from the blow of the past, all Gianna and Roscoe have to do is continue with their own lives while sharing a space. However, one night throws a wrench into the pairing, changing...
The day I told my parents to fuck off was one of the best.
It was your cliché case of the doctor and lawyer coming together to create me, who refused to follow in their footsteps of doing something I hated for the rest of my life. The day they gave me a guitar was one of the worse, because according to them, it was the day I began 'wasting my life away'. After all, 'more courageous people are allowed to pursue music, but we just want to make sure our daughter has the best possible life'. Or some bullshit like that. But getting into music was one of the best decisions I've ever made. It feels good to take another language and translate it to something everyone understands. Where would we be without music?
They eased up a little when I got into Juilliard. Firstly, they didn't think I would do it, but since I did, they now think I might make it into something other than teaching. Of course, my dream isn't to teach or even be a world renowned musician. That's a bit of a high reach. Instead, I just want to land gig after gig and support myself through those. Travel the world and explore new places.
Life's been working itself out for a while. Get into a good school, get an amazing job teaching lessons at the YMCA, good health, and a clear path ahead of me.
Except for some reason, any man that I invite into my life seems to want to send me into a mental breakdown.
"Okay," Roscoe sighs, putting his hands up. "Okay...maybe you came from a chaotic household where your parents let you run amok, but in here, we don't leave our sheet music all over the damn floor."
"Dude, I'm doing homework. Do you expect me to memorize the notes?"
"Ideally, yeah!"
Let me be honest: I was completely excited to live with Roscoe. Not only was it my first time living on my own terms, but I was living with the guy I've been pining over for five years. It felt like things accidentally fell into place for us, and I had this dream that we were going to get to know each other, he'd realize what a catch I am, and then we'd fall in love and get married.
As you can see, that didn't happen. Instead, I realize how infuriating he is. It's apparent that he likes his space, he's a neat freak, he nearly burns the place down every time he cooks, and if he burns one more shitty incense, I'm going to shove the whole bundle down his throat. Not to mention that I can't do homework because I need my space, and according to him, the whole apartment is his space.
We've been living together for a year and a half, but it feels like ten and a half. Maybe more.
"I don't have time for this," I huff. "I have work in the morning, and I haven't gotten anything done because of your incessant complaining! Are you not aware how tough this material is?"
"I'm aware, but I'm just asking to keep your work to the table, not spread all around the living room. What if I wanted to bring guests here?"
I shrug, staring at him. "Who likes you enough to visit?"
"Plenty of people!"
"Like?"
"Like..."
"Like no one. Okay? And if someone's coming over, I'd be happy to push all my shit to the table and be quiet as a mouse, but until then, I happen to live here, too."
He sighs, running a hand over his face. "Fine. I won't say another word."
Yes, he will. He's been getting on me about my mild messiness for the whole time I've been living here. He should know by now that I'm not willing to change for his sake. I pay rent and bills here, too, so I deserve a right to live the way I want.
He finally leaves the room and leaves me back to my work. I pick up my tan guitar and place a sheet of notes in front of me. Not complicated, but a little tedious, just like this living arrangement.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What's on your mind, tulip?"
I look up at Seth, a personal trainer at the same building I teach music lessons at. Quite unfortunately for me, the only reason he really talks to me is to flirt with me, even when I'm just minding my own business. I was only packing up my guitar, about to drive straight to my first class of the day, when I happened to catch his attention and he has to stop me.
And according to him, I look troubled anyway.
"Nothing, don't you have to be a creep somewhere else?" I frown at him.
"Not until noon," he replies, checking his watch sarcastically. "Seriously, I want to know what's up."
"Nothing you can't help with." I zip up my guitar bag and sling the instrument over my back tiredly.
"Boyfriend problems?"
"He's not my boyfriend, and you know that."
"Well, what else do you call a man you live with?"
"A roommate?" I give him a dirty look. "And this isn't even about him. I just had a bad morning."
It is important to note that every morning is bad for me considering I have to get up at four every morning for my five A.M music lessons, and then jet off to class at eleven until four, coming home to an insufferable man that I just can't get over. And then I have to go to bed and do it all over again the next day.
But this funk is about something else and I'm not even sure what it is myself. I just feel this dark cloud looming over my head, this pending dread. Like the stars are aligning in the most terrible way.
Ignoring more of Seth's invasive questions, I leave the building and get into the car that my parental units got me for my eighteenth birthday and as a graduation gift. Like most days, the rest of the day passes by quickly, music class after music class filling my brain with useless notes and theories. Bars and measures and accents and chords and rhythms and pulses and tempos and volumes...
I want to shoot myself.
Finally, class is over and I'm going home with more homework than I went to school with. I fumble with the keys to the building, my fingers freezing from the nippy fall air. I get the door open after what seemed like five minutes, and climb the stairs to the second floor. The door to the apartment is right next to the opening of the stairs, so I just race up to get the flight over with.
And almost running into the one person who may still like Roscoe.
"Uh..." I stall, finally knowing what that impending sense of dread was.
Mordecai turns and looks at me, his eyes widening minimally. "Hey."
