Loser II || WlW

Three

     Zachary is staring at me through the clear glass, his dark eyes sunken in and colored with bags. "Pick up the phone, Jo."

I read his chapped lips, shake my head.

"Goddamnit," he slams his hands into the counter, "pick up the phone! Pick up the phone!" His voice gets louder, booming in my ears. "Pick it up! Pick up the fucking phone! Wake up, Jo! Answer the call!"

I gasp awake, already sitting up in bed, a layer of cold sweat dripping down my chest.

"Fuck," I mutter, rubbing my forehead.

Someone moans next to me, shuffles under the sheets.

My eyes go wide as I pull the sheet back, exposing a naked woman, the singer from last night. "Fuck!" I mutter again, placing the sheet over her, and jumping out of bed.

What time is it? I never fall asleep with a woman over. I never let them stay until morning. I slide a stack of papers off my desk, revealing my phone. The screen shows 7:25 am and one message from Brittany.

On my way.

Oh my god. How did I forget that I asked Brittany to walk me to my 8 am class so we could talk about this winter camp thing? I find my jeans in a pile on the floor, pull them on. I'm looping my belt through the hoops when I say, "Hey..." what is her name "Hey, you gotta wake up. I have to go to class."

The singer rolls over, a smile on her lips. "Skip," she orders.

I let out a single laugh. I have a final today. My last final, and even if I didn't, I have to meet Brittany in less than five minutes. I grab my shirt from the ground, smell it. No, it still smells like rum and pineapple. I throw it in the dirty laundry and pull my dresser open, digging for an acceptable shirt. I go with a loose button down, pull it over my shoulders, grab my backpack.

The singer must have picked up on my urgency because she's sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, pulling her shoes on.

"Did I take one of these last night?" I ask, holding an orange prescription bottle.

She shakes her head. "Not that I know of."

But I never fall asleep without my meds. I grab the two smaller bottles, shake a pill from each and dry swallow them. A glance in the mirror reveals the damage. I pull my fiery hair into a messy bun, try to wipe the sleep from my eyes, and roll my sleeves once.

"You ready?" I ask as I shove a piece of gum in my mouth.

She nods. Maybe if I can get her out now, Brittany won't see her. It shouldn't matter anyway. Brittany made it clear last night that she didn't want to do anything serious. It's not like she asked me to be her girlfriend. The opposite actually. She explicitly told me she wasn't going to ask me to be her girlfriend. But I can't get rid of the gnawing anxiety building in my chest.

I'm halfway up the row of buttons on my shirt, as I lead her through the living room. She grabs her leather jacket that was draped over the back of the couch. As I finish the last button and move to grab the doorknob, it twists.

My mom pushes into the apartment with a small cardigan pulled over her shoulders, a clip board clutched in her hands.

Her expression falls. "Jordan." She sighs, flashes me the disapproving mom look that she's been so fond of lately. She forces a smile at the singer who's huddled behind me.

"I'm late for class. We'll talk later," I say, pulling the singer out the door. I stop because as I begin to close the door I catch a glimpse of my mom staring at a single cupcake on the kitchen counter, untouched.