I swear he existed just to drive me insane.
The worst part, though, was how annoyingly polite he was while invading my privacy. He’d knock before entering a room but would come in anyway before I’d even said, “Stay out.” He cooked meals he claimed were healthy, forcing me to choke down kale salads and grilled chicken when all I wanted was macaroni.
I hated it. Hated him. Hated Max for thinking I needed this. I’d spent so long convincing myself independence was better, safer, less disappointing, and here was Sasha, casually taking every ounce of freedom I had left, one container of protein powder at a time.
I considered leaving at least once a day. Fantasized about throwing his clothes off the fire escape, maybe flushing his stash of supplements down the toilet.
I was over it, but apparently, that didn’t matter. I’d barely survived the first night, and now I was waking up to the blender roaring in my kitchen like it was trying to launch itself into space.
“What the actual hell?” I yelled as I stumbled from the bed half-asleep, hair sticking out in every direction. It was way too early for whatever nonsense was happening out there.
In the middle of my kitchen stood Sasha, bright-eyed, smiling, and transferring something green and suspiciously sludgy from the blender into a cup. He looked way too pleased with himself, like he’d accomplished something remarkable in waking me up at this ungodly hour.
“Good morning!” he chirped with zero awareness.
I narrowed my eyes, moving closer to inspect the crime scene. “What is that?”
“It’s breakfast in a cup,” he said proudly, holding the glass between us like a peace offering.
I stared at the liquid, barely disguising my horror. “It’s ... green.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Kale, spinach, protein powder, some chia seeds?—”
I held up my hand to stop him. “Please don’t say chia seeds to me before noon.”
His smile faltered, but only a bit. “It’s good for you.”
“So is sleep, Sasha,” I shot back. “You should try it sometime. Preferably right now, so I can actually enjoy my morning.”
He ignored that, pushing the glass closer, practically waving it under my nose. “Just try it. You’ll love it.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “I can assure you, I won’t.”
“Just a sip?” he pleaded, giving me that look—the puppy-dog eyes I was pretty sure he reserved for getting his way. “Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I stared at the cup again, then back at Sasha, who still looked disturbingly cheerful for someone who’d been awake before sunrise. “The worst?” I repeated, arching a brow. “Death by liquified vegetables.”
His smile widened. “Trust me, you’ll feel amazing afterward.”
I sighed dramatically, taking the cup from his hands and sniffing at it cautiously. It smelled exactly as awful as it looked. “This is a war crime,” I muttered under my breath before taking the smallest sip possible.
Instant regret flooded my taste buds.
“Oh my god. It tastes like punishment.”
Sasha laughed. “It grows on you.”
“I’m not looking for a fungus, Sasha,” I said as I handed the cup back. “Keep your breakfast to yourself. I’ll stick to coffee and carbs, thanks.”
He shook his head as if he pitied me and returned to blending the rest of his green concoction. I watched him for a moment, annoyed, sleepy, and contemplating how my life had spiraled to this tragic point: forced to drink kale smoothies at dawn by an overly enthusiastic giant named Sasha.
My mother didn’t raise me for this.
“Get ready for a run.”
“A run?” I repeated. “At eight in the morning?”
“Yes.”
