Okay

.15.

Tossing the empty carryout container in the sink with the rest of them I unlock my phone.

Birdie's text is waiting for me.

I know I can't keep blowing her off. She doesn't deserve that.

Me: on the mend finally

I'm such a dick.

Letting out an annoyed breath at myself, I fall into the couch. The plastic that's still clinging to the one side crinkles, the rest of it crumpled on the floor at my feet in shreds.

My phone vibrates and I drop my eyes to wear its resting in my open palm.

Birdie: I want to check out this new restaurant that opened. Meet me for lunch?

Glancing at the time, I realize that would mean I'd have to get my ass moving. I stink. And I'm not convinced I have any clean clothes.

Birdie: you do sort of owe me. I know you hung out with Holt.

God I'm a piece of shit.

Me: alright when do you go to lunch?

Birdie: 45 meet me at my work.

I toss my phone to the cushion beside me, getting up feels like a bigger feat than I know it actually is but I can't help it. Everything feels heavy and I'm not strong enough to carry it.

But I force myself up because I've been a shit friend. I am one. And I owe Birdie. For more than just blowing her off only to hang out with Holt. Not that he gave me the chance to blow him off. He just showed up at my door.

"Get up you lazy piece of shit." I mumble, scolding myself.

It takes me five more minutes before I manage to pull myself from the couch, discarding my clothes along the way to the bathroom. Not waiting for the water to fully warm up, I step in hoping that the cold water will wake me up slightly.

It doesn't.

It's stupid of me to think that it would. Nothing wakes me up. Nothing makes me feel alive. At least nothing I deserve.

Stepping out of the shower, I realize I forgot a towel not that I know where a clean one is. Maybe in a box I haven't opened. The water pools on the tile floor where I leave it to take care of it's self walking through my apartment naked.

There's a roll of a paper towel in the kitchen, I know that for sure. Ava sent Mo with it a few days prior. Essentials, things that being an adult I should have stocked in a cupboard but I don't.

Ripping some paper off a half used roll, I wipe my damp skin with it and discard it in the sink with the rest of the trash. Eyes lingering on the mess of garbage, I'm instantly disgusted with myself but cleaning it seems too daunting so just like I've done every other day since I moved in I blow out a breath and leave it.

I switch my search to clean clothes. Or at least clothes that don't smell. Rifling through the last remaining boxes, I find a pair of jeans I haven't worn in forever, the knees almost worn through and a stray pair of boxers. I tug on a wrinkled shirt, probably permanently creased from where it's been buried and forgotten. Smoothing my hair down in the mirror and running some product through it, sad blue eyes stare back at me.

I flash a smile at myself, hoping it masks how miserable I am. But my smile looks forced and painful and I feel even more defeated. I think about bailing on Birdie but then I read her text and my guilt for being so absent sends me through the door and to the sidewalk.

I considered driving but I'm hoping a walk will keep me distracted enough that by the time I reach Birdie I'm able to push some of my constant misery to the side.

Reaching Birdie's place of work a short fifteen minutes later, I spot her instantly even with her hair straightened and the crowd of people around her. She's taller than most everyone she's talking to, elegant and exotic with her bronze skin and hazel eyes that even at my distance I can see.

She must feel me watching her, her eyes meeting mine and a smile lights up her face. It's contagious, my lips curling into a smile to match hers and I feel my heart pick up pace.

"See you later Hannah!" Someone from the group calls as she starts to make her way toward me.

She turns for a moment her dark hair fanning out in the air with her momentum.

Hannah.

I guess I always knew her name wasn't actually Birdie but no one ever called her anything but that.

When she turns back her arms open up, wrapping around me in a greeting that makes me want to crumble into a million pieces at her feet. Like maybe she could put all my brokenness back together for me until I'm stronger than I am now.

But as we pull apart, I smile nudging her as she links her arm through mine and we start down the street.

"Hannah huh?"

This breath of laughter escapes her, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly as she tucks her long hair behind her ear. "Yeah. It's weird right?"

It's not weird. It's beautiful. Like her.

"Birdie doesn't necessarily scream professional." She adds.

I'm trying not to stare at her but all I want to do is take her in. Her fingers warm on my arm where they rest, the blazer that she has on rolled at the sleeves. Her make up is meticulously subtle, enhancing her already perfect features but not taking away from her natural beauty.

"You seem plenty professional." I tell her. "Whether you go by Birdie or Hannah."

I purposefully say her name, testing it on my tongue. It sounds just as enchanting as when someone else said it, it's perfect like her. It suits her.

She laughs through her nose, her eyes rolling slightly. "Thanks."

I almost tell her I'm being serious but I know she'll only think I'm trying to flirt. She never has taken my compliments seriously.

"Why Birdie though?" The question now buzzing in my mind.

And as if it was the most obvious thing in the world she says "my dad's favorite player is Larry Bird."