The Roommate

The apartment door swings open and closes with a slam. The sound of sobbing fills the room.

"God, did he reject you? I knew it. I told you! You were getting in too deep. You belong nowhere."

There's a sound of a purse and a jacket being dropped. Clicky shoes cross over to a drawer to retrieve a spoon.

"I’m sorry. I should’ve known. I just thought-"

Shoes are kicked off and the freezer door opens. A half-empty carton of vanilla ice cream is removed, and the door is shut again. The top is torn from it, and spoon violently digs into the cold vanilla cream.

"Oh really? You thought! Leave the thinking to me, girl! We’re not made to love."

A body sits down on the recliner, curling up under a thinly woven blanket.

"But I was! That’s my whole purpose in life. I love! I love my family, my friends, and-"

"Him?"

Tears are silenced and a sigh escapes a pair of lips. The room is still. Massive amounts of a cold, comforting, sugary treat are consumed until the entire carton is empty. The spoon is deposited into the empty shell and discarded on a coffee table.

"Yeah, him."

"Well he doesn’t want you. I told you that from the beginning."

There's another sigh. A head pounds. Eyes shut.

"Stop it, just stop it. Somebody will want me. If not him, someone. No one can go through life without ever being loved."

"No they won’t! And yes, people like us, well, we’re better off alone."

An exasperated scream silences the apartment once more. A calm fills the room right before an emotional storm unleashes itself. The blankets are thrown off. The coffee table is overturned and a picture is thrown onto the ground, shattering into pieces. CD's are smashed; shoes are thrown at the walls. A cellphone vibrates on the counter only to be hurled against the wall. It vibrates twice more and stops.

Footsteps slowly cross to the phone. A curious hand checks the number. A small smile appears on chapped lips only to be quashed by a-

"Don't even think about it. He just wants to make sure you made it home safely."

"Because he cares?"

"Because he doesn't want your blood on his hands."

A heavy sigh is heaved and the door to a single bedroom is opened, closed, and leaned against. Curled in a ball, hair is let down and falls on a face. Tears return, but quietly. On the door a cellphone vibrates three more times, until finally somebody gives up hope on contacting a weary friend.

"I’m so tired."

Lights turn off. Blankets are sought.

"Just go to sleep. When you wake up, you won’t feel a thing. I’ll take it over from here."

Just sleep.