Salty

One | Worcestershire

One | Sloan

Rolling to avoid morning sun that had found my bedroom window, I groaned at the sound of papers crunching beneath my arms. I had fallen asleep with the stack for the third night in a row, and instead of pulling them free to avoid further crumpling, they were pushed to the carpeted floor below. Hopefully, they were numbered. If they weren't, I would figure it out. I wasn't even sure if I would ever finish them, anyway. There was a nagging suspicion—the same one as nights prior—that they'd be sharing the bed with me again tonight, and tomorrow, or until they actually ripped and became unusable. It would have made it easier if they were.

The sunlit bed felt empty. Too empty. The adjustment to the open space beside me hadn't been easy, but I was trying to act as though it was. Pillows always found themselves in his place, with my arm wrapped around one each morning. My best friend had tried convincing me to purchase a smaller bed, offering the valid point that the queen-size was too large for the small room I was now occupying. But that was easier said than done. I countered with having no money to pay for a new bed—the truth. It led to Hallie backing down from the subject. Truthfully, I just wasn't ready to give up the bed. Our bed. Just buying new sheets had been torture. His scent was now long gone along with him and his things.

I had only been living with Hallie for three months. Two tiny bedrooms, a shared bathroom, a decent-sized living area, and a kitchen lacking enough space to hold all the items hoarded from Steve's and my kitchen, was all the space the duplex offered. For the most part, I was settled. Everything had been unboxed and put into their rightful places. The space felt as homely as it could. Although, the downsizing led to some minor organizational chaos. Where most women my age stored shoes in the bottom of their closet, I was using the space for baking supplies—baking sheets, cookie cutters, and an ancient Sunbeam mixer I'd found at a thrift store. Since baking wasn't exactly my passion or forte, they would likely live there until I moved on to the next place. I never stayed in one place long. This time was different. As nice as it sounded, I wouldn't have my own place anytime soon. Money had become beyond tight.

I rolled again, this time feeling the unused pen straying from the papers. My eyes remained closed.

"Shit." The frustration was raspy from crying myself to sleep.

I reached beneath my breast, pulling the pen free to keep hold of. I was going to need it to form a grocery list. Forcing my eyes to pry open one by one, the well-lit room was a blur. It was the second complication of a night spent crying. With the tip of my pointer finger, I removed the crud from the corners of my eyes, followed by rapid blinks. Slowly, the space came into focus. A month's worth of clothes laid scattered across the floor alongside the paperwork I was already regretting throwing. Picking them up would be added to the day's to-do list.

"I'm leaving!" Hallie's voice carried up the stairs and down the short hallway. "Try to get out of bed today!"

My eyes rolled just after the front door shut, solidifying Hallie's exit. I loved my best friend dearly, but I needed to move at my own pace, and Hallie was having a hard time coping with my lack of coping. I was trying my hardest. Most days that didn't seem like enough to function. Every day, I focused on one thing. Some sort of simple task, attempting to bring back a sense of normal life. The day before, I told myself I was going to wash my car. It seemed simple—a task that doable from my driveway. If I completely spazzed, I could dart inside without neighbors realizing it. Of course, it didn't happen. Instead, I went through a local burger chain's drive-through in pajamas, bought a small fry, and then cried for an hour, knowing I was going to fail another day's task. I did, however, have to pick up a dollar's worth of change from the floor of my Cobalt to pay for the soggy, dissatisfying fries. The car's floor had been tidied—close enough.