The Not So Fabulous Misadventures of Hip, Fabulous and Weenie

I sat in silence listening to the water drip from the outside. It was a comforting noise reminding me that this is reality.

            “Aren’t you out soon?” My room mate asked, sitting up on their bed.

            I open my eyes and stare at the worn looking woman in front of me, “I don’t know what you mean.” I respond.

            She quirks a brow, “Don’t you leave for that meeting or something?”

            I smirk and stand up, the drip dragging my attention to the window. There’s white on the ledge, it must have snowed.

            “It amazes me how quickly time passes. I feel like spring was yesterday.” I say.

            My room mates bed creaks, she must feel uncomfortable, “It drags for me. Winters the worst can’t even enjoy the outside.”

            “No. No, I believe you have it all wrong,” I say turning my attention to her. She squirms under my gaze. “How I see it is winter knows summer is everyone’s favorite. She knows but what is winter to do? Summer brings light and beauty to the world while winter brings darkness and death. But winter tries to be liked. Oh yes she does.” My attention is drawn to the window again, another drip, “She makes light, fluffy, pure flakes fall from the heavens to decorate the dull earth. And the people love it, they do, they truly do. Until it gets too much then they grow to hate it and hate winter. Its winters fault the snow melts and creates ice, it’s her fault people are stupid and go out, its winters fault that people die!” I find myself breathing heavily, my fists clenched. I look back at my room mate, “It’s sad. Truly it is. Winter will never measure up to summer. No matter what winter does, no matter if it’s a warm or cold winter. People will always love summer more.” I look out the window to see another drop fall.

“You’re very passionate about the seasons.” My room mate says in a cautious voice.

I smirk, “I’m passionate about many things.” I say.

I hear the mattress creak in relief as the weight is taken off of it. She must be feeling bold today.

She takes a deep breath, “Is that what you told ‘em?” She asks.

I raise an eyebrow, “Who?” I ask, still watching the drip.

“The cops when they found you. The room was a mess, covered in blood,” She pauses, “You mur-.”

A small snicker escapes my mouth cutting her off, “Don’t. Don’t you dare insinuate what you are about to.” I glance over my shoulder, she looks nervous. Good.

“I’m just repeating what I h-heard.” She stutters out.

“No, you were about to accuse me of something. If you were repeating and just repeating as you claim, you would have said I heard someone say you committed mur…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

I watch her reflection in the window. She seems to get an air of confidence at my sign of weakness. Damn her.

“Murder, the word is murder.” She said stepping closer to me, “You have to fess up to what you did, girl.”

I watch her hand rise from her side. Was she going to hit me? No, she wouldn’t. I can’t let her touch me, “No!” I shout stopping her movements, “Don’t you dare say it.” I close my eyes leaning my head against the window, another drip. I hear her shuffle backwards, she scared. Just how I like it, keep the distance.

A small giggle reaches my ears. My eyes snap open; clearly my time here has been too long. I’m losing my mind. Wait, no I’m not. My room mates’ reflection looks confused. The giggle fills the air again causing my breath to catch. It can’t be her, it can’t. I look out the window and there walking towards the parking lot is a small girl with her mother. She skips happily as her mother keeps a tight hold on her hand. How cute.

I shake my head and turn around causing my room mate to jump, “Want to hear a story?” I ask putting on my best smile.

“A what?” she asks looking at me as if I asked her to help me break out.

I sigh and plop on my bed, “A story, Silly. You know the verbal retelling of events, sometimes true and sometimes heavily embellished or entirely full of crap.” She looks very confused now. It happens often. When ever anyone asks her a question she gets this look on her face like she’s constipated. ‘Do you want to sit down?’ Constipated look, ‘Did you eat?’ constipated look, ‘Your families here, are you going to see them this time?’ cue constipated look. Maybe there is something wrong with her or she is just constipated. The food is bad enough here so that could be plausible.

During my rambling in my head, my room mate sat down on her bed and took to staring at me.

“May I help you?” I ask.

“Yes” she says.

I nod slightly, good we have progressed past constipation, “Now, is that yes to the first question I asked you or the second?”

“First” She says.

“Brilliant,” I sit up in my bed and turn to face her, “Alright, get comfortable. The story I’m about to share with you is neither a happy one nor really a sad one. It is… well, I’ll let you decide at the end.” I say crossing my legs, “So it started about two and half years ago, a young girl made the biggest mistake of her life; trusting people.”