I hum. “Even if it’s miles away from you?”
I hear my best friend pause from her end. I know she’s desperate for me to return to Montana, but she’d never say it. She knows how long I’ve wanted this.
“Whatever makes you happy, Mae. I’d offer for you to stay with me, but if my landlord found out, he’d have me evicted, and the last thing I want is to end up living on the streets with the rats.”
“Why not? You’d blend right in.” My lips tug into a smile.
“Haha, very funny.”
“I’m going to see if I can get by. I’ll start looking for other veterinary practices that offer the same training program. Some positions may have opened up.”
I’m not holding out much hope, though. Not a lot of veterinary practices offer the program.
“You could always just marry a rich man, you know?”
“Well, when you find one that’s actually hot, well-mannered and not a raging asshole, let me know. Colorado’s seriously lacking in that department.”
Flo laughs and says, “I’ll keep an eye out for you,” before ending the call as I pull up outside my apartment.
I glare at the brick’s peeling paint and chipped windows. The balconies show severe neglect, with overgrown weeds and rusted outside furniture. My old roommate used to smoke out there, and instead of throwing her cigarette buts away, she’d litter the floor with them, leaving it stinking of smoke.
We hadn’t settled for the worst place in town, but this apartment complex isn’t far off. It was within budget, though, and I’d told myself that the second I had enough money, I’d move to a nicer location—away from her. But then she disappeared and left me struggling to pay her half of the rent.
I knew I should have made her sign some kind of contract. The lease is solely under my name, but our landlord, Greg, doesn’t care who stays here as long as he gets his rent money on time.
She always gave me strange vibes, but I was under pressure to find somewhere to live at such short notice, and having someone to split the monthly rent with sounded like a good idea at the time.
That was before she began chipping off parts of random people’s headstones and bringing them home to perform seances. It scared me half to death to hear her screaming in the middle of the night, surrounded by candles, claiming that a ghost had appeared and tried to possess her body.
Safe to say, I’m not going to miss her.
I breathe in the chilly November air before entering my apartment.
Dropping my bags by the front door, I shrug off my white veterinarian coat that I have no use for anymore, laying it over the back of my small, green couch. It’s second-hand and lumpy, with a gaping hole in the back, but it was free, and that was all that mattered at the time when I had nothing to spare.
Chump, my tortoise, glances up at me from his pen, his slow movements making me smile. His little legs stick out from underneath his thick shell, moving in the most awkward and ungraceful way. He’s not cute. Not in the same way a puppy or kitten is, but he’s mine, and I appreciate his sagging skin and beady eyes regardless.
He feels no need for social interaction, so he doesn’t mind me being gone most of the time. But it’s nice to have someone to come home to. I tell him my problems, and although I know he doesn’t understand me, it’s nice to have someone—or something—there to listen.
He's expensive to house. His food and bedding don’t come cheap. But I’d never consider giving him up. He’s part of a memory I don’t want to forget—my last tie to my father.
Settling down on the couch, I allow my head to flop back, my eyes fixated on the ceiling above. The silence feels too loud. It’s giving me time to think. There’s a sudden absence of purpose that rushes through me, knowing I won’t be waking up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to tend to dogs with respiratory problems and cats with parasites.
I’ll be starting from scratch, but I’m not a quitter. There’s no point sitting here feeling sorry for myself when it won’t change anything.
I’m dragged from my thoughts by a knock at my door, and I roll my eyes and prepare to plaster on a smile for my neighbour, who probably needs toilet paper again, but I’m surprised when Greg is standing on the other side.
He gives me little time to compose myself.
“Mae, your rent. It’s late.”
I furrow my brows, eyes tracing over his receding hairline and lopsided eyes before realising how rude it is to stare. It’s hard not to when he looks like a gerbil, though. “Late? No, it’s not.”
He looks at me as if I’m pulling his leg. “Yes, it is. Haven’t you seen any of my emails? Your payment for last month didn’t go through.”
“Are you sure?” I immediately grab my phone and sift through the countless emails I haven't had time to open.
A cold wave rushes over me, a knot forming in my stomach as Greg says, “Do I look as if I’m not sure? I have the paperwork.”
