Misery Loves Company

Chapter 10

Ashley and I met when we were in high school. Both originally from San Fran, we became inseparable the moment we met. A package deal. Two peas in a pod. I was so thankful to be accepted into Stamford because not only was it an incredible college but it also meant I was able to stay close to my best friend. She was scouted for modeling right after graduation and although she traveled a lot, her home base was here. 

With both of us having large sums of income, we decided to rent a luxury apartment in the city at the age of 18. The apartments in our complex took up entire floors of the building. Each floor was designated for one resident. We each had our own bedroom with on suites and balconies, as well as a separate bathroom for guests. The apartment was an open layout with the kitchen and the living room blending seamlessly. Sunlight fell in through the giant windows that made up one wall. It was bright and clean. Ashley had taken it upon herself to fill the empty spaces with different assortments of green plants and although she was the last person I pegged for having a green thumb, she brought a new life to our space. We have lived here together for almost four years now. 

I spend the rest of my Saturday, laying on my bed, watching Netflix, nursing my bottle of whiskey and taking periodic cigarette breaks on the balcony of my room.

"May!" Ashley yells barging into my bedroom, nothing but a towel wrapped around her soaked, gleaming body and a towel wrapped around her head. Here we go.

Not even half surprised by her intrusion, I proceed to sit up from the bed and wait for her to reveal whatever was so important she felt the need to come in without knocking. 

"A couple of us are going out to the club and you're coming," and before I can say anything at all she's rummaging through my closet looking for the sluttiest outfit I own. I roll my eyes when she pulls out a short red dress with thin straps, a low neckline, a small slit on the right side. She holds it up to me examining it against my complexion.

"This. You're wearing this!" she smiles, shoving the dress into my hands.

 "We're leaving in an hour, be ready!" she demands as she waltzes out of my bedroom.

This should be fun. I was planning on sulking in my room alone but Ashley must have smelt the depression from a mile away.

I reach under my bed and take a shot of my whiskey before I even begin to think about getting ready. 

I saunter into the bathroom and look myself up and down. I examine my exhausted eyes and the way the light has retreated since that day. They're dull and dark. The bone structure of my face has become more defined from the loss of a couple of pounds. My hair, thick and jet black, falls to my waist, riddles with split ends. I haven't found the time nor the energy to tend to it. My athletic body has lost some of its shapes but I've still managed to hang on to curves in all of the right places. I stare at the beautiful sleeve of tattoos on my left arm, the rose and compass patterns camouflage my little thin white lines perfectly. You would never know they were there unless you ran your hands down my arm. Something people do seldom now. How ironic is it, for me to have a compass tattoo yet have no direction in life what so ever. 

Reaching into the shower, I turn the water on until it's scalding hot and slide in. I take many more showers now than I used to. It seems to be the only "normal" comfort I can find these days. Embracing the warmth as it surrounds me. I let it flow over my face and down my broken body. Hugging all of the places he used to. I close my eyes and imagine him standing there behind me, embracing me in his strong, muscular arms. He would kiss my neck with such delicacy as if any harder and he would shatter me. Little did he know, I would shatter anyways.

Michael was everything a woman could ever want. At 6'2" his figure staggered over my 5'7"frame, with the muscles of a man who evidently spent a lot of time training and working out. He had beautiful dirty blonde hair that was just enough for me to grab in my hands. I can recount the moments we would lounge on the couch and I would run my fingers through his hair. He had deep blue eyes with a jawline for days. His smile was blinding (he gave Ashley a run for her money). But it wasn't what was on the outside that made me so star-struck, rather his sweet and gentle demeanor. He treated me like absolute gold and I was never left feeling as though I was never good enough. Michael had asked me to marry him after only 3 years of dating. He was my prince charming, my soulmate. We were going to have a big wedding, work at my fathers firm together, have kids, and live happily ever after. I fight back tears. I fight back pain. Snap out of it. 

I quickly get through the rest of my shower routine. Plugging my iPhone into my speaker, I begin blasting music to get my head in the right space for a club. No one wants to look at a sad girl on the dance floor and quite frankly, neither do I. 

After I take my time to put myself together and decide to let my hair flow freely down my back, I put on decent makeup suitable for clubbing, put on some black high heels and head out. I meet Ashley by the door, and as always she is absolutely stunning. She's wearing a short black dress with lace traveling up one side, giving a taste of the side of her torso and her breast. Her hair is pulled into a tight, high ponytail with a pair of very expensive Louis Vuitton heels. No doubt she will be turning heads. 

She looks me up and down and says with satisfaction, "You look hot as fuck!"