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She laughs and kisses my cheek. “You gave me a key.”
“Ugh!” I drop my head back on the headrest dramatically.
Jordan climbs out and closes the car door. I wait in her driveway until she’s inside, then back out and head to my condo. My body is weak with exhaustion, both physically and mentally drained. My face a blank shell of who I am as I navigate the streets to my underground parking lot. Thankfully, my head is empty too.
I drag my ass to my place and fall face first onto my unmade bed, passing out in a blissful black void.
* * *
Something hits my foot,and I’m jerked out of slumber.
“Hey. Wake up, birthday boy,” Jordan says much louder than necessary.
“Go away,” I grumble and shove my head under my pillow.
“Get up and go shower. Now.” That’s the no-nonsense voice. The “do what I say, or I’ll make you”tone.
My brain is begging me to stay in bed, to sleep for the rest of the day and maybe tomorrow, but I throw my pillow and glare at my friend. “I hate you.”
She’s standing next to my bed with her arms crossed, a hip cocked, and an eyebrow raised. The set line of her lips means she’s about to read me the riot act too. Fuck me.
I roll my eyes and force my body up. “Fine.”
Sliding my feet to the floor, I realize I still have my shoes on. Ugh. Gross. Now there’s concert floor in my bed. When does the cleaner come? Has to be soon, right? Aren’t they supposed to come like twice a week?
I glance around my room and notice my doom piles, clothes on the floor, dishes and half-empty water bottles littered all over the place.
“Don’t you still have a cleaner?” Jordan asks.
“Of course, I do,” I snap as I untie my shoes and kick them off, then pull off my socks.
“From the look of this place, they haven’t been here in months. They better not be getting paid for doing nothing.”
My gut sinks with embarrassment, and I suck the inside of my lip between my teeth. I shrug but don’t reply.
“Seriously, who do you use? You need to call them.”
I stand and start for the bathroom with my head ducked toward the floor. I can’t look her in the eye. My place is awful. It’s a disgusting mess.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “My parents hired someone.”
“You should ask them for the contact information,” she reiterates.
I close the bathroom door before stripping out of my clothes and getting under the spray. The hot water boils the sweat and exhaustion from my body. My hair is crunchy with product and sweat, but I don’t have the energy to deal with it, so I just get it wet and hope for the best before I get out of the shower.
When I open the bathroom door, I open it just a crack to peek into my room, and breathe a sigh of relief Jordan isn’t still standing there. I hurry to my huge closet and pull on another pair of jeans and a crop top T-shirt. I gaze at my pleated skirts longingly, but I don’t have the mental capacity to wear one today. At my jewelry drawer, I select a pearl necklace and put it on.
In the mirror, I lightly caress the pearls with the tips of my fingers. This necklace belonged to Asher’s mother. She left me a few strings of them in her will when she died. The woman was an amazing human. She looked after Marcus and me when she could, loved Asher fiercely, and was a ray of sunshine and maternal comfort in our gray world. Maggie loved pearls, and I used to stare at them when she wore them, which she did often. This string is slightly pink with a gold clasp and hangs to just past my collarbone. It’s my favorite one. She would wear this one when she baked chocolate chip cookies. I smile slightly at the memories of warm baked cookies and mom hugs.
My face falls when her ashen face pops into my head. The cancer was so cruel. Aggressive and all-encompassing. It sucked the life right out of her, before our very eyes. The last month she was alive, we weren’t allowed to see her. Mr. Vaughn banned us from the house. Even Asher. We all slept in a pile in Marcus’s room. Well, when we could sleep. Most nights we just held on to Asher as he cried or sat back as he yelled and punched the walls until the tears came again.
I hate that I still care. That I still follow his career and keep tabs on him. I’ve locked up my feelings for him in a lead-lined coffin and buried it as deep as I was able to. Forced myself to shut my feelings off where he’s concerned, but sometimes, memories of his mom or Marcus bring them to the surface, and it hurts just as badly as when he walked away. I thought time healed all wounds, but after six years, this one still bleeds.
Jordan’s voice carries down the hallway as she paces while on the phone. I swear she can’t sit still for very long.
“How long has it been since you’ve sent someone over here?” She pauses as she waits for the answer. “And why did they stop coming?” Another pause. “I see.”
I pull on a pair of ankle boots and scrunch my fingers in my hair a few times with a microfiber towel, then leave my room.
