I didn’t need an alarm clock. My quarter-life crisis woke me up at the ass crack of dawn with a slight panic attack and a craving for carbs. I didn’t give in, though my damn mouth watered at the idea of a toasted bagel slathered with cream cheese. I ignored the temptation and feasted on cardio instead. Fucking delicious. And for dessert, I did an online manifestation meditation video guided by an Instagram influencer with big breasts and a bleached smile. She was good. By the end of the video, she had me half-convinced I could manifest the perfect life and the perfect man.
Apparently, if you genuinely believed that your pussy deserved to be thoroughly fucked, then mother universe or Oprah would dropkick that motherfucker right into your lap. And I lived by that.
I rolled my razorblade-thin shoulders back, threw my strawberry blonde hair up in a bun, and slipped on an oversized shirt and some navy LivyLu yoga pants before going out into the kitchen to greet my roommate, Shelby. “Morning,” I said in a painfully cheerful way.
Shelby was barely awake and fumbling through the kitchen in search of coffee. “Why did I move in with a morning person?” she groaned.
“Because you are a strong, independent woman who likes to challenge herself,” I replied sarcastically. “You took a chance on a Craigslist ad, and the universe gave you me. It’s quite serendipitous.”
“You’re watching those manifestation meditations again, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I’m going to manifest a more positive conversation by not responding to that.” Shelby and I had a unique relationship. When I transferred to the University of Texas for the summer semester, there weren’t any housing options for a last-minute transfer student. I checked Craigslist on a whim and ended up moving in with her the next week. We were opposites in every way that counted. She was a few years older than me, and a local photographer. Shelby was impulsive and disorganized. She wasn’t unmotivated, per se, she just couldn’t keep set on one particular thing. She changed her mind like the Texas weather and had the financial freedom of a trust fund to do whatever she wanted.
She didn’t even need a roommate. Her skyrise condo in the heart of Austin was easily worth more than my entire undergrad degree. She just wanted the adventure of “sharing her life with someone” and got me. I wasn’t sure if she regretted that whim or not, but I’d take advantage of my oversized room and walk-in closet for as long as she’d let me. I wasn’t exactly hurting for money either. My dad was an executive for Plotify, a music streaming service, but he wanted me to get at least a semblance of the college experience—which meant a healthy dose of ramen noodles and a strict allowance every month.
“Well, if we’re talking about the universe, Mercury must be in Gatorade or something, because my vibes are all off. Like literally, I ran out of batteries for my vibrator last night and I’m ovulating, so you know I’m horny as hell,” Shelby said. I rubbed my temples. There was so much wrong with that statement that I didn’t know where to begin. “Did you use the last of the coffee?” she complained, with a loud sigh.
“Nope. My body is a temple,” I replied. “I don’t do instant coffee.”
“A temple of anxiety meds and Diet Coke,” she snapped back. Damn, she was on the struggle bus this morning. I made a mental note always to keep the kitchen stocked with caffeine.
She continued to wrestle with the kitchen cabinets, looking for her instant coffee. I personally didn’t understand her obsession with the crap. It tasted like fermented dirt—and I might have known what it tasted like because I stole the last of it just yesterday.
“Are you sure you didn’t take it?” she asked again. This time, she spun around to scrutinize me, boring those mud-brown eyes into mine as she twisted her bright, box-dyed, red hair on her finger. I gave her frumpy black pajamas a once over before answering her.
“Positive,” I lied, making her huff in annoyance and drop the conversation. This was payback for stealing my Burberry sweater last week and spilling a strawberry margarita all down the front. That overly-sweet sugary shit was hard to get out.
“Do you have class today?” she asked. I raised my eyebrow. She probably didn’t even know what day of the week it was.