Carolina: A H.S. Fanfic

01

Elaine Scott

With a huff, I took off my apron and tossed it onto the hook next to the door.

Mitch heard me closing the door a little louder than I intended, alerting him that I had finally arrived home after a long day of work.

I don't remember ever being happier to be in this apartment.

Despite the creaking staircase that made an obnoxious noise every time you moved, the door that you had to ram into to make it close completely, and the cold draft that always seemed to hang in the evening, I hadn't noticed any of it. Not today, at least.

It felt so good to be home.

The walls that were painted with light cream were chipped in some places. The place became more alive because of it. Walnut wood lined the doorways, just as was used for the apartment's floors. The walls lacked decorations, but it wasn't really in need of them. It had enough personality on its own. The entryway was a little narrow, but we paid it no mind. It was just big enough to let you get through without whacking your arms on something. Across from the kitchen was Mitch's room. His door was usually shut because he liked his privacy. Continue walking and you'll reach the living room. It consisted of a coffee table, a television set, and a few plants. Nothing too special, but the two windows on either side provided access to the fire escape. I spent almost all of my time there. It was peaceful. On the left side of the living room stood the door to my room. It's sometimes mistaken for a closet, and people tend to wander inside. I had to put up a sign that said "Please, keep out". At least it sounded polite.

Nevertheless, I loved my apartment.

It wasn't actually just my apartment either. Mitch owned it. I was staying with him until I could get back on my feet. But... not exactly for free.

So I worked at a coffee shop down the street, just one of many in the City of Angels. It wasn't exactly my life plan to be out of college and working as a barista, but with as many hipsters that live here, I'm making pretty good money. At least enough to pay my rent every month.

It was long days like these where I regretted not following in my father's footsteps to become a doctor.

"You're home late," I heard Mitch state from in the kitchen.

I sighed and walked across the room, making a left to where he was.

Mitch stood behind the refrigerator door, hunched over, his oversized plaid shirt hanging down over his blue jeans while he leaned. His dark brunette hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, as usual.

"Don't even get me started," I responded, irritated by my long day.

I watched as Mitch pulled a Coca-Cola out of the fridge, tossing it in his hand. He stood up to face me, closing the door to the ice-box with his free hand.

"Was it really that bad?" He asked.

He was talking to me, but his eyes were on the soda tab he had in front of him.

I just shrugged my shoulders at him and watched as he popped it open and peacefully drank his soda.

I didn't want to bore him with the horrific details of my eventful day. Besides, Mitch was never the one for much conversation. That was something that I liked about him.

But, the cold, hard, truth was, it really was that bad.

The first thing that happened was I spilled hot coffee all over a man in line. It was all my fault for not paying attention to where I was going in the first place. Even though I offered him something on the house, he just stormed out. Who can blame him? I was then yelled at by my boss for spilling the drink and scaring away the customer.