Tangled With My Roommate

Chapter-3: The Worst Roommate

|| Arabella ||

I was sitting on the park bench all alone in the dark with my luggage on either side, with no idea where to stay tonight.

Yes, I was now officially homeless.

My aunt didn't even let me enter her house anymore. Apparently, she thinks I would never leave if she didn't kick me out like that. I mean, what was with that? Today was literally the first time she told me to leave. But all of that was cleared when I heard my cousins laugh from inside. It was just a twisted joke to them. They were making fun of my misery.

So I just mumbled a small thanks to them and took my things and decided to never look back.

I wandered for a while until I reached a park, and now I have been sitting at this bench for a few hours now. I saw people walking their dogs, playing with their children, and couples romancing. It was pleasant to watch.

Before I realized night had already fallen and the park was empty.

"I need money," I murmured to myself as my stomach growled. If only I had that, I could rent a little apartment and stay there. I couldn't use my hair's money, in case I need it for some other emergency. Not that a hundred bucks were any good. But now as it stood, I didn't think I could even continue going to school. I couldn't have that luxury while still working.

Oh, wait, didn't I used to have a part-time job?

But I haven't been at work for the last five months. I have been so deep in my grief, I completely forgot about it. Maybe I should call my manager and ask if I could start working again. I took out my phone and called the restaurant manager where I used to work.

"Hello, who's this?" The sharp voice rang from the other side.

"Hello, it's Arabella, Ms. Tomlin." I tried to keep the nervous tremble from my voice. This was my last hope.

"Arabella who?"

"Arabella Laurel. I used to work in your restaurant—"

"Haven't you already been fired?"

"Sorry, what?"

Ms. Tomlin cleared her throat and repeated, "You have already been fired for not showing up at work."

No, no, this couldn't be happening.

"But I informed you that my mother died."

"Yes, but you never contacted afterward, so we hired another part-timer three months ago."

"But—"

"We are done here. Don't bother me again." With that, the line went bad.

I dropped my phone on the grass below and buried my face in my knees. I started crying. This was so hopeless.

My mom always used to say that there was good in bad. Where was the good here? Where should I look to find something positive? Nothing was good. Everything was horrible.

"I hate it. I want to be with you, Mom," I sobbed like a little child.

I felt a hand on top of my head and stopped crying. I raised my head to meet a pair of dark gray eyes of a man, his expression clouded with sympathy. "What's wrong, little one?" he asked warmly.

"I-I am so p-pathetic." My voice trembled as I spoke.

The man patted my head and sat on the bench beside me. He seemed to be in his mid-forties, and he looked decent in his gray polo shirt and jeans. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked.