I shut the door behind me and slide to the floor, back pressed against the door. I let out a sigh of relief; it felt so nice to be back in my own domain. This had been the most exhausting grocery run I’ve had in a long time. Why was he so persistent? Does he have no understanding of social cues? Or does he just not care? Ugh, why am I still thinking about him? It’s not like I’ll ever see him again; this place is massive. What would be the odds of me seeing him again and him recognizing me? Very low, I hope.

Sighing again, I reluctantly get up off the floor and take my bags to my kitchen, if it could even be called that. It consists of a sink, microwave, 4-burner stove, and a fridge that's like half my height, and I’m not even that tall. Like, I don’t even have an oven, but whatever, it's affordable. After I put away my groceries, I retreat to my bedroom, missing the warm comfort of my bed. I flop down onto my tiny twin-sized bed, spreading out like a starfish.

I should probably get changed soon; these bandages are starting to get a little tight. I groan, dragging my hands down my face. I’m so exhausted, I really don’t want to get up, but unfortunately, I have to, if I don’t want to get my ribs crushed.

After dragging myself out of bed, I take off my shirt, revealing bandages wrapped around my chest. I unwrap them and toss them aside. I look in the mirror and sigh, you’d think after all the so-called progress that was made after leaving earth, that better, safer, resources would be provided for people like me, but nooo, why would that happen, because after all, it’s my duty as a “woman” to provide new life for the new world. 

I tug on a new shirt, supporting some sports team that no longer exists. I sit on the edge of my bed and glance over at the calendar on my nightstand. I still can’t believe that it’s been a year since this whole thing happened. I mean, technically, it had been a work in progress since 2105, so about 7 years now. It all just happened too fast; it felt like one day we had just gotten the news, and the next we’re boarding spaceships. I haven’t seen a picture of Earth since it happened, but I imagine it was brutal.

A knock on my door brings me back to reality. That’s odd, I wasn’t expecting anyone today. I go to open the front door, and to my utter surprise, standing on the other side was Wesley. How the fuck did he find me? He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a sound out, I slam the door in his face.

“Hey! Open up!” he knocks on the door again, “I just want to talk.” Against my better judgment, I grab a piece of paper and quickly write ‘How did you find me???’ before sliding it under the door.

“Oh, well… you aren’t that quiet, for someone who doesn’t talk. I just followed the sounds.” 

I scowl. I am super quiet. There’s no way he’s telling the truth. I pace back and forth in front of the door, trying to figure out how he could’ve tracked me down.

“...Could you please let me in, it's kinda cold out here.”

I hate having people in my apartment; it makes me feel vulnerable. And I hate feeling vulnerable. I crack the door open slightly, just enough to peek my head out. He smiles, “Hi, again,” he says, his smile growing wider. Ugh, that smile pisses me off. I almost shut the door again, but the tiny bit of empathy inside me convinces me otherwise when I remember that he is wearing literal rags, and it’s only getting colder as the day progresses. I sigh and open the door all the way, stepping back to let him in.

“Thanks! I knew you weren’t as mean as you pretend to be.” Pretend? How dare he! I am not pretending anything! I scowl at him and shut the door behind him. I cross my arms over my chest and turn to face him. I look him up and down; somehow, he managed to look worse than when I last saw him, which was under an hour ago. There is something really weird about this guy.

He rubs his neck nervously. Why is he nervous? If anything, I should be the nervous one; he’s a stranger, and he’s in my home for crying out loud. 

“Uh, nice place you got here.” He says, taking in his surroundings. I get that it’s polite to say that type of thing, but there’s no reason to straight-up lie. If we had rats or cockroaches here, this place would definitely have an infestation.

“So…how are you?” He asks, I swear, he gets more awkward each time he opens his mouth. I stare at him as if to say ‘Seriously dude?’ He seems to get the message and clears his throat awkwardly. “Ok, ok, I’ll get to the point. You uh, never told me your name.” Oh my god, is this guy serious right now? He followed me all the way home just to get my name? I face palm and walk past him into the small living room. I grab a sheet of paper and write one word, ‘Edi’.

“Oh! So your name is Edi? That’s a nice name, though I don’t think I’ve seen that spelling before. Not that it’s a bad thing, I actually think it’s really cool and unique,” he rambles. I roll my eyes. Wow, this guy is an awkward mess. After a long moment of silence, I get a whiff of an awful scent. Unsurprisingly, it was coming from Wesley. I sigh and grab his wrist, dragging him towards the bathroom.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Wesley protests, I open the bathroom door and shove him inside. I point at the shower and shut the door. God, what am I doing? Why am I helping him? He’s a stranger for crying out loud! After a bit of pacing and contemplating every life choice I have ever made, I come to the realization that he will need clothes, and I groan. How much am I going to do for this guy? I grab a sweater I’ve never worn and my least favorite pair of pants and leave them outside the bathroom door. 

When he emerges about 20 minutes later, with clothes on but hair still covered in shampoo and conditioner, I let out a groan. I swear, is this guy helpless? I drag him back into the bathroom and shove his head into the sink. If he doesn’t know how to wash his own hair properly, then I’ll just do it for him. I can’t let him leave looking like this; he actually looks worse than when I found him. I turn on the faucet and start rinsing his hair, the right way. After I finally finish, I dry his hair. Wesley looks at me, clearly confused. It’s not that big of a deal; it’s not like I just gave him a place to live and an endless food and income supply. 

When his hair is dry, I push him out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Thankfully, this time, he got the message to leave. “I’ll bring you your clothes back after I get them washed, I promise!” He says, grabbing his rags, er, clothes, and walking out the door. I really hope he doesn’t have a washer and can’t afford to pay for one, because I’ve had enough Wesley for more than a lifetime.