The Perfectly Un-Perfect Guy

CHAPTER ONE

I sat on the couch, an ice cream carton sitting on my lap while my laptop sat open on the ottoman in front of me. My hand, holding a spoon, scooped another large bite, shoveling it into my mouth. I watched the blinking bar on the white document with my eyes squinted as if doing so would magically help me think of what to write next. It didn't.

Groaning, I stood and walked through the apartment to the kitchen where I put my ice cream back in the freezer. I swapped it with a glass of cheap wine from the CVS on the corner and walked back to the couch. My phone lay face down next to where I'd been sitting. Picking it up, I went to my music and picked a playlist that usually helped me write, but when I set my glass down on the stool we used as a coffee table and pulled my laptop onto my lap, my fingers hovered above the keyboard.

It had to have been five minutes later that I found myself scrolling through some random website before remembering what I had been trying to do. Write. Right.

I changed positions three times, scrolled through Pinterest for a minute, turned the tv on, turned it off, deleted a paragraph of my story, rewrote it, went to the bathroom, deleted some more, and evidently gave up. Groaning dramatically, I heard a door on the far side of the apartment open.

Knox, my roommate, walked out and to the kitchen, barely giving me a glance. "I'm assuming the writing is going well from the groaning every five minutes and..." he eyed the wine bottle on the counter, "the half-drunk wine I bought this morning." I placed a hand on my head.

"Oh, yeah it's going great." From behind the door of the fridge, I saw him smile. I shifted to my side. "What? Does my anguish bring you joy?" Shutting the door, I saw Knox with an orange juice bottle.

"I feel like I should answer 'no'..." he waved the bottle around, "but I'm trying to be more truthful. So, yes. Your anguish brings me much happiness."

"Very funny." Pouring himself a glass, Knox began walking back to his room. "Go back to your cooking videos, asshole!"

"Gladly!"

When I heard his door close, I let loose another groan and closed my laptop, wanting to slam it but not having the heart to. After, I downed the rest of my wine and set my glass in the sink. The clock on the microwave read 11:57. I wasn't necessarily tired, but I was bored out of my mind; so I decided to go to bed.

Knox and I shared a bathroom in our small, two-bedroom apartment on the far Northside of Chicago. Most of the bathroom is cluttered with my shit, but Knox only required a small corner and didn't complain. That's why I liked living with him. He was simple and wasn't needy.

I brushed my teeth and face, then took my hair down from its bun and ignored the frizziness. And already in my pajamas, I easily climbed into bed.

It was hard to fall asleep, and I even had to resort to my phone for a social media outlet. Eventually, I guess I fell asleep because next, I remember my five-thirty alarm going off and wanting to die at the prospect of a new day and workweek.

But forcing myself to wake up, I walked groggily to the bathroom where I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and tied my hair up into a ponytail. When I got back to my room, I went into my drawers and slid on light blue leggings, a matching sports bra (Nya bought me it last Christmas), and a white tank that I think I bought at Target. And once I put my shoes on and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, I took my keys and phone and headed out the door and into the apartment hallway.

It was dark and quiet, but I was used to this. In fact, this early, I preferred it like this.

The apartment complex's gym was empty when I got in there. Only one other person came in during my hour workout, but I had my headphones in and didn't pay them any attention.