After You

chapter one

My alarm goes off at exactly 7am. I push the snooze button four more times before I drag myself out of bed, eyes half shut as I head for the bathroom. The water is tepid at best, but it wakes me up.

I do my makeup, smearing foundation over my face, lining my eyes with black, staining my lips a pale pink before I slip on my underwear, then a white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt. I leave my long, dark hair as it is, flowing down my back to the point where it almost gets caught in my zipper. I find my black heels hiding beneath a pile of laundry, then rummage through my bag to make sure I have everything needed to get through the day: phone, purse, keys, portable charger, water bottle, hand sanitiser, headphones.

I'm ready to go within half an hour of waking, a feat I've managed to fine tune since I moved cross country four years ago. Believe it or not, but I actually used to spend close to an hour getting ready. Now I choose sleep each and every time.

Though I try to be quiet as I pass by Liv's room on my way to the kitchen, the floorboards squeak beneath my bare feet, and I hear Liv groan a protest on the other side of her door.

"I'll make you coffee," I tell her, but all she does is groan some more and swears at the fact that it's the morning.

Our shared apartment is small and cramped because of our many belongings – a sofa so large it almost blocks the entry to the hallway to our bedrooms, shelves stacked with books that I refused to part with when I moved, walls covered in photos of both Liv and I, and basically everything from laptops to iPads covering the surfaces of the coffee table and side tables – but it has a homey feel to it. The kitchen is usable but dated with pale mint cupboards and wooden bench tops, mixed with more modern appliances like a blender, coffee machine, and toaster – all of which I'm going to use now.

With all the appliances going, creating a cacophony of noise that there's absolutely no chance of Liv staying in bed at all now, I text a few of the girls from work to see whether they want me to grab them a coffee. I do it most days anyway, but I always check because I really don't want to buy Jessica her latte with almond milk and she doesn't want it; no one at the office but her likes the stuff.

I get a response from everyone by the time Liv walks into the kitchen, bleary-eyed but awake. I push her coffee towards her without looking, responding to the text messages assuring everyone I'll grab their drinks on my way.

Usually I don't get responses so quick, but then again, maybe today being a Friday has the girls anticipating that it's going to be a doozy.

"You're amazing," Liv says as she clutches her mug between her hands. She looks as though she can't even keep her eyes open.

"It's coffee."

Liv shakes her head, blonde hair falling into her eyes despite it being tied back into a messy bun. Effortless is her middle name. "But it's lifesaving."

Liv is a year older than me, and I met her on the very first day I got here. She was looking for a roommate, and I answered her ad. Originally I thought I'd had the wrong place, because when she answered the door, I thought she was a supermodel. I know everyone says that about their best friend, but for Liv, it's the truth. She's tall, lean, and looks good in anything and everything she wears. She has long blonde hair, blue eyes to match, and has such lovely gold skin I often wonder if it's from a bottle or if she's just naturally that gold.

She welcomed me with open arms, only knowing my name and what I looked like. That was it. Strangely, we hit it off straight away like we were long-lost twins, and haven't looked back.

"Are we still on for drinks tonight?" I ask her.

She nods as she moves around me to grab the popped-up toast, and to pour the contents of the blender into another mug.

"One hundred percent," she replies. "What time was it for again?"

"Six."

She smothers her toast in jam before taking a bite. "And you're still good for tomorrow night?" she asks.

"Unfortunately."

Liv rolls her eyes. "Two hours and we'll leave," she says.

"I don't even know them," I say. I finally take a sip of my own coffee, because the last thing I want to do is burn my tongue.

Liv smiles at me. "Just think: free alcohol."

"Free alcohol isn't as good as free food."

"We'll get pizza on the way back. I promise."

"Are you able to bring me spare clothes for tonight?" I ask her instead. Because I really don't want to be going to a bar in clothes I've been in all day, and I would much rather be in jeans than a form-fitting pencil skirt that screams professional when I want to be anything but professional once I've knocked off work.

"I can do that," she says. "Anything specific?"

"My clothes are on my bed."

As Liv eats her breakfast in her pyjamas, I finish off my coffee in my work clothes. I rinse my mug in the sink before I sling my bag over my shoulder, and slip my feet into my heels.

"See you at six, okay?"

"Mmm," Liv replies into her mug, and she waves me goodbye as I head out the door.

The short elevator ride from the third floor is quiet and uneventful, which is unusual because usually I get stuck with all the other workers. But for some reason, not today.

The foyer is just as quiet, the only sound being my heels clicking against the tiles as I make my way towards the busy street – which looks bright and sunny and beautiful.

The street outside is full of people coming and going, and I thrust myself into the throng as soon as there's an opening. It's not even 8.30am and the day is glorious and warm; summer is almost here. And I should've brought my sunglasses, because every time I look up, I'm briefly blinded by the glare off the windows of the buildings all around me.

Starbucks is a ten minute walk from my apartment, and by the time I get there, pulling myself away from every other person traversing the sidewalk, the line is just inside the doorway.

Though I've agreed to get coffees for everyone, I know I'll be pushing getting to work on time by the time I get served. But then, I can't survive without my morning, barista-made coffee.

By the time I receive my order and I've loaded the precious coffees onto a tray, I have ten minutes to make it to work – and I am exactly ten minutes away.

I've never been a waitress, so trying to power walk while keeping five coffees within a cardboard tray and avoiding the morning crowd is difficult. But I somehow manage, and thankfully only spill small amounts onto the cardboard instead of my white blouse.

That is, until I arrive at my building. Shared with a few other businesses, we work on the fourth floor along with a lawyers firm. I think a few hundred people work inside the twelve storey building, but considering I've never met everyone, I can't be a hundred percent sure.

The biggest hurdle for me should've been the turnstiles within the entrance – I spy Jessica through the glass front, pushing through with someone from another company – and maybe it's this distraction, or the fact that I'm hurrying, that I don't notice someone coming up beside me until it's too late.

The tray of coffees gets caught between us, and the hot liquid spills down the front of my white – now brown – blouse.