I roll out of the half-deflated air mattress as my ringtone blares, cutting sharply through the pounding headache that’s hitting me like a ton of bricks. I try to blink away the blurriness as I look at who’s calling, my stomach threatening to revolt if I don’t either decline the call immediately or answer the fucking thing. 

“Turnitoffff!” Bubbles groans from another room. It’s muffled but I hear the clank of a toilet seat lid, so she must be in the bathroom right now. 

“H-hello?” I mumble into the phone, deciding against my better judgement to answer the call.

It’s my boss. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” She asks sharply. “You’re more than four hours late to work.”

“What…” I squint hard and look at the time on my phone. It’s 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday. I vaguely remember going out to drink with Keely last night but it’s mostly a blur except for her trying to hug me again. “Shit.” This isn’t the first time I’ve done this with my big boy government job and I’ve had to beg for forgiveness each time. “I’m so sorry–” I start my begging but am cut off by the sudden urge to vomit onto the ground next to the air mattress. 

The amount of puke that comes out of me is, frankly, astronomical, and when I’m done I collapse onto the ground next to the puddle I’ve created. I forget my boss is still on the phone until I hear her go, “Are you done now?”

I weakly pick up the phone which is splashed with some of the contents of my stomach. “Yeah,” I say, trying to put on an air of confidence but my voice comes out feeble. “Sorry. I ate something bad last night. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“I don’t think so,” My boss snaps. “I’ve given you too many chances. This is an important job and I don’t think you can handle it.”

I stumble to my feet and wipe my mouth. “No, seriously, I can be there in an hour flat. Just give me another chance,” I cringe at how desperate I sound.

“I don’t want to see your face here again. You’re fired,” She says definitively, and hangs up the call.

“Fuck,” I hiss in annoyance, tossing my phone listlessly onto the air mattress. I worked hard for this job and I’m pissed that I got fired over something dumb like this. I’m reliable, I’ve just been going through a bit of a rough patch, that’s all. I’m upset at my boss and also at myself, but I know myself and I know I’ve been doing good enough work to not warrant being fired. This is ridiculous. 

I turn to go to the kitchen to retrieve the cleaning supplies so I can clean up the mess I made and jump when I notice Beatrice leaning against the entryway to the den. “I was starting to think you died in your sleep,” They say with a smirk on their face. They ash their cigarette into the carpet and stomp down on it.

“Kinda wish I had,” I mutter, looking around for a pair of sweatpants as I realize I’m only in my briefs. “Just got fired.”

Beatrice hums. “That sucks, I guess,” They say half-heartedly, “What are you gonna do now?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my hungover brain not doing well with two tasks at once- juggling the conversation and looking for my damn pants. I find them under the air mattress and fall over trying to put them on. Beatrice laughs at me. I shoot them a glare.

“Like, for money,” They say like I’m stupid. “If you don’t have a job you don’t have any money. As stupid as Keely is I’m not going to just let you take advantage of her kindness and not give anything in return… you live here now so you should be helping with the rent or utilities or something.”

I get back to my feet and push past them into the kitchen. “I dunno,” I say listlessly, “Got any ideas?” I rummage around in the cabinets, searching all of them, for the cleaning supplies and grab them once I crouch down and finally find the baking soda and dish soap in the very bottom cabinet, but nothing else that would help get rid of the stain. Nothing in this apartment makes sense in terms of where things are. Looking around at the state of the place, though, I doubt Keely and Beatrice would even notice another stain. I still opt to try to clean it as best I can.

“My dealer Levin needs a hand with the business,” Beatrice offers, “Last guy got thrown in jail for getting caught with like… a shit ton of meth.”

I straighten up with the cleaning supplies in my hands and give Beatrice an exasperated look. “Do I look like a drug dealer? You know I work for the government, right?”

“Yes,” They say, looking at me with a confused expression, “You do, actually.” They then give me a cocky grin. “And you worked for the government. You don’t anymore, so your schedule is wide open.”

I sigh wearily and think about Beatrice’s offer. They’re right, I really shouldn’t be taking advantage of Bubbles the way I did the twins and Mell. That’s just asking to get kicked out again and without a job or any other friends in the area, I really don’t want that to happen.

“Yeah sure,” I say halfheartedly, “Why not.” I shrug and Beatrice grins. I’m not particularly excited about what I’m getting myself into but I know it’s what has to be done. I go back to the den to clean up the mess I made as my head continues to pound.

Keely

“As stupid as Keely is…” Is all I hear Beatrice say from the den as I stay hunched over the toilet bowl. Tears sting my eyes from the discomfort of the hangover I’m feeling combined with the hurt I feel from them saying that. I feel like they think I’m some kind of joke when they say stuff like that about me to other people. It doesn’t really give people their own opportunity to get to know me at all for more than just my lack of common sense so a lot of the time, thanks to Beatrice, people come into a friendship with me already with their mind made up that I’m some sort of dumbass.

I know I’m not very smart, which is an insecurity of mine, but I don’t even get the opportunity to even pretend sometimes before Beatrice tells everyone how dumb I am. At least I can get by being pretty enough that more often than not people don’t even care. Beatrice has been one of my closest friends besides Lola for years so I don’t let them know what they say about me hurts my feelings. They keep me from getting taken advantage of by others and they bought me alcohol before I was able to buy it for myself. I don’t want to lose them, especially since I haven’t heard from Lola in a few months.

I check the time on my phone. It’s a little past two and I have play rehearsals soon. After dryheaving one last time, having no more contents in my stomach, I  get to my feet and flush the toilet. I end up going out to the kitchen in just my bra and panties to gulp down some booze so I can function normally. I then join Squid and Beatrice in the den where Squid seems to be cleaning up puke from the carpet. I take the bottle with me and continue drinking as I enter the room.

Squid and Beatrice have stopped talking and cleaning the mess just to stare at me as I join them, so I remove my lips from the bottle and hand it to Squid, who stands to take it from me, plastering a grin on my face. “To like, cure the hangover.” Putting on a happy face and being cheerful and upbeat makes me feel more normal around others since the depression I deal with can be crippling and I don’t want others to see that side of me. It keeps people from asking me if I’m okay for the most part. The only time people ask if I’m okay now is when I’ve clearly had too much to drink. I prefer that over talking about emotions. I’ve kept up the charade for so long that it’s what everyone else in my life sees as normal, or maybe they’ve just come to expect that from me, except for my brother, who knows the full extent of what I’m like. 

My brother who isn’t talking to me right now because I can’t quit drinking and last time we saw each other, in May, I wrecked the car of his dreams that he’d worked so hard to buy. We then got into a screaming match about how I’m becoming like my parents, which hurts because they’re a bunch of neglectful crackheads. I just drink a bit too much. We haven’t talked in three months.

Squid takes the bottle with a sour look on his face. “Sure, why the hell not?” He says, resigned, “Not like I have anywhere to be today now.” He takes a huge swig from the bottle and sits cross-legged on the ground near their air mattress. I slide down next to him and Beatrice disappears back into the living room. 

“You get like, fired or something?” I ask, taking turns drinking from the bottle with Squid.

“Yeah,” Squid says bitterly, “She doesn’t wanna see my face at work again.” 

I wrinkle my nose. “That’s bullshit,” I complain, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, I guess,” Squid grumbles with a sigh, “I’m gonna work with Beatrice’s dealer instead.” He heaves like he’s about to be sick again but nothing comes of it. He hands me the bottle and I take a few huge gulps before handing it back. 

“Levin’s like, a total jackass,” I say, my turn to sound bitter, “Good luck working with him.” I don’t like Levin. He isn’t just a weed dealer, he also deals hard stuff like heroin and meth. He comes around every now and then to do business with Beatrice and to smoke on the couch with them and whenever he’s over he asks if I’d like to work for him and gives me all sorts of creepy looks. I think he has some girls that do sex work for him. He’s the one guy who gives me attention that I’m definitely not and will never be  interested in fucking. 

Beatrice tells him to knock it off every time he comes at me with the suggestions that I work for him but he keeps doing it and they just let him continue to come over. It’s gross.

“That’s comforting,” Squid says, sounding miserable, “What’s so bad about the guy?”

“He like, turns people into crackheads and heroin addicts,” I spit out, “Makes people act like my fucking parents. It’s awful.” 

Squid looks questioningly at me as he hands the bottle back to me. There’s like, maybe one or two small sips left. “Should I not work for him? I just want to be able to help contribute to the apartment while I’m crashing here.” He sounds slightly sheepish and apologetic as he says this.

I’m not feeling drunk enough to take on the day yet. “You can do what you want but if you start smoking crack I’m kicking you out,” I say sternly, giving him a sharp look, “Deal it if you have to but like, don’t do it, and I don’t want to know where you’re keeping that shit if you keep it in the house.” I don’t feel right knowing Squid is about to start working for that jerk and I worry he’ll end up in prison for it but he’s an adult and can make his own decisions. Hopefully the decisions he makes doesn’t end in him ending up a crack addict. 

I get to my feet and go back to the kitchen for something stronger to drink, but then make a pivot to my bedroom to put something over my bra and thong first after Squid calls to me, “You realize you’re still basically naked right?”

I emerge from my room a moment later in a pair of shorts and a low cut purple top, and flip flops on my feet since I have to head out soon. “I’m just worried about you working for him,” I continue musing from the kitchen as I dump most of a bottle of vodka into an orange juice container, mixing the two drinks well enough where it looks almost like normal orange juice. I’ll bring this to play rehearsal with me. “I don’t want you to like, end up addicted to hard drugs. Those things ruin lives.” I look over at him where he can see me from his spot on the ground. The den looks straight into the kitchen from a side view. “Need another drink?” I ask with a giggle. I decide to end the conversation about drug dealers, starting to feel uncomfortable and upset about the subject, and hold up the bottle with the remainder of the vodka in one hand. In the other hand I hold up my screwdriver cocktail that’s at least like 60 percent more vodka than orange.

“I’ll have more later,” Squid says with a frown, waving dismissively, “Thanks though. You need a ride to your rehearsal?”

“That would be nice, thanks.” I give him a smile. “We should probably get going in like, ten minutes at the latest.”

“Stop by Levin’s on your way home,” Beatrice calls to Squid from the couch, “I’ll text you his address and let him know you’re coming.”

“Alright,” Squid sighs a long sigh, looking exhausted, and gets up off the ground. “Lemme just figure out where I put my boots and get a shirt on and then I’m ready.”