Riley Brooks appears to be leading a charmed life on the outside. On the inside, she's spiraling as a result of a toxic relationship. Once the relationship comes to a tumultuous end, she loses very nearly everything, her sanity included. As an effor...
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I awoke from a vigorous shoulder wobbling as Brent's concerned face faded into view.
Through a wagging cigarette, he asked, "Do you have narcolepsy or somethin'?"
I rubbed my eyes. "Heh. No. Just tired, I guess."
Brent stepped back to give me room to get out of his truck. "I'll say. You were snoring really loud."
My cheeks flushed as I stumbled out. "Was I really?"
"Yeah," Brent flicked his cigarette butt to the gravel and squished it with his boot. "It seemed really nice. It made me tired just watching you."
I smiled as I followed him up the three flights of stairs to Owen's apartment.
Before we even got to the door, I knew which one it was by the loud music.
Brent rolled his eyes and banged a fist against the door. Then we waited a minute or two before he did it again.
After another minute, I suggested he text him, but he shook his head. "He hasn't answered me since the funeral."
To my left was a window with broken blinds. I peered through, but there was some sort of thickness in the air that made it too difficult to make anything out.
"I wonder," Brent mused, and tried the door handle. It was unlocked apparently.
"Dumbass," He muttered as he opened the door and we both stepped in. The room was thick with yellow smoke and a sinister smell that made my nose prickle with revulsion. It seemed to a potent mixture of rotting food, cigarette smoke, and body odor. It seemed fermented too, like we were the first people to open the door in weeks.
As we stepped through, I accidentally kicked a beer bottle across the floor. From the loveseat, Owen turned his head away from the television. His eyes were wide with surprise but cloudy with inebriation.
"The...fuck are you doing here? How did you get in?" He slurred and tipped a beer bottle against his lips, half the contents dribbling on his stained shirt.
"Your door was unlocked, you dumb-fuck. Why haven't you been answering me?" Brent accused, but then softened the razored edge of his demeanor. "Been worried about you, man."
Owen shrugged and his eyes shifted to me. "Riley? Is that you?"
I waved meekly.
Groaning, Brent covered his nose. "It smells horrible in here, man. Like.... rotting food and actual, literal shit. Did you shit in here? Oh my God..."
Owen gurgled out a laugh, turning his attention back to the television. "Well, I haven't done the dishes in a while."
A snicker that resembled air hissing from a broken pipe came from a man on Owen's recliner. He looked grimy; the perfect accent piece to the living room.
