The Hopeless Romantic's Guide to Loveless Life

The refrigerator hums in harmony with the incoherent ramblings of the morning Soaps. Lizzie taps the bottom of my cat-covered coffee mug on the table as she stares into the empty pit, probably trying to spot her heinous reflection in what little of her nasty herbal tea is left. She won't see it, though, because she's a reflection-less bloodsucker with no soul to see.

"Look, I know you're mad," she says softly, peeking up at me, "but—"

"Angry," I correct her. "I'm angry, not insane."

Her pretty face is scrunched up in confusion. She's never been the most useful tool in the toolshed, obviously. I glare at her, resenting the way she still looks like a princess with smeared makeup and bags under her eyes. Even the twenty pounds she's gained while being fed on by a parasite haven't made her look terrible.

"Whatever," she sighs. "Me and Hal are going to try and make this work. It's what's best for—"

"Best for whom?" I shout, leaping to my feet and sending my chair to the ground. We're both surprised by my sudden outburst, but Liz starts to cry. "Fuck," I mutter.

"Why are you being like this?" she sobs, pushing the mug away and folding her arms on the table under her head in an attempt to hide.

Gaping at her idiocy, I spit, "Because you're a fucking dipshit."

Immediately after the words leave my mouth I slap my hand over it. My eyes are wide, heart pounding. Now I'm about to cry; I'm a terrible friend. What kind of monster says that to an emotional wreck of a pregnant woman? Apparently me.

"You're such a bitch!" she wails, getting to her feet and frowning at me. Tears are sparkling on her cheeks. Her shirt is stretched over her obnoxiously large stomach as she waddles away with as much dignity as she can muster. I watch as she goes into her room and slams the door.

"FUCK!" I shout and slam the heel of my hand against my forehead.

Yaco leaps onto the table and tries to rub against me, but I push him away and then storm back to my own bedroom. Flopping on my bed I bury my head in the pillow and pretend to suffocate. I've never been very good at reigning in my temper, especially around people I'm used to. With my friends I can be a total bitch, something I'm not particularly proud of, but around coworkers and strangers, you might take me for a sweetheart.

My growing kittens mew, galloping across the floor like a herd of wild horses toward my bed. Their razor claws climb up my blankets and onto my bed where they commence Kitty-Battle Spectacular and throw down all around me.

I'm delusional. I fucking have twelve fucking cats. WHAT—THE—FUCK?

"Fuck," I groan.

Two days later I'm sitting across from Liz and her boyfriend/baby daddy Hal. The addressing of the awkward silence is really just superfluous, but I like to use that word, so… Picture this: Me, sitting on the outside end of a booth beside my dearest friend Cam who is with her loving fiancé, enjoying absolutely no consumable food because a) I dislike eating in public and avoid it at all costs, and b) Liz and I are not speaking to one another and her scary male partner is with her, staring me down.

I say "awkward" you say "silence".

Awkward. …

Awkward. …

Yeah, pretty much. (Props to Wallpaper for that. I love his glasses…)

"So," Camellia breaks the ice, setting down her giant cup of coffee, "you're going to move in with Lizzie, Hal?"

The aforementioned Hal, a grungy musician who could probably wear Liz's itty-bitty clothes, nods his head in response and fails to hide his bitterness by refusing to relent his glare. To be honest, it's the eye contact that bothers me; Hal is one of those "typical skinny musician" types, with skinny jeans, tight shirts, etc. I could take him in a battle, no doubt about it. I am only intimidated by his attractiveness. And life success… His band is doing really well, earning a few nods from some serious journalists and fellow craftsmen.

"It's not too far away from your studio, I hope," Cam offers kindly.

"Nah," Hal shakes his head.

In the ensuing silence everyone seems to take a sip of their coffee, save for me. I don't do coffee. Or tea. Or anything, really. I drink water, it's good for me.

"Oh good lord," Benjamin finally breathes, slamming his hands on the table. We all share wide eyes, terrified that the kind Ben Tennant has suddenly snapped and become a serial killer. "Can we just acknowledge the facts, for fuck's sake? We're adults, not preschoolers," he grumbles. "Liz, you're an idiot," he tells her bluntly. Hal gets defensive, but I see her take his hand to calm him down. "You should have realized that having sex leads to babies. We're all worried for you, not happy. Hal, it's great you're going to be there for Liz, but your musical ventures are not going to be so supportive if they pan out. You seem like a decent guy, but I'm bias and therefore am obligated to dislike you. And since you are allergic to cats, you're throwing Ronnie out on the street, another reason to want to kick you in the balls."

"Fair," Hal grunts with a shrug. Oh, a man of many words.

"Now, we all know Ronnie's a bitch—"

"Hey!" I shout, leaning forward to look around Cam and glare at him.

"But," he continues, "she's a pretty sincere person. How many other people do you know who would take in eleven extra cats? I mean, I think she's nuts, but you have to be sweet to starve just to keep some animals alive. And you have to realize that she's been covering three fourths of the rent in that apartment for months. After Cam moved in with me, Liz and Ronan moved into the smaller place, and not long after you knocked Liz up. Then she started getting sick and with the wedding season ending, she's been tight on cash. Meanwhile Ron works seven jobs—"

"Four," I correct him.

"Four jobs, and is a slave to her cats. You're just throwing her out on the streets," he sighs.

"But why can't she live with you?" Liz asks meekly, peeking up a Ben after sneaking a glance at me.

"Really?" he replies evenly.

Ben's apartment is about the size of ours, only it's a loft and costs a million times more. It's on the fifth floor of some sketchy building in the city, a reasonable distance from the hospital, and not too far away from Kensington Academy for when Cam starts to work. (Read: Tiny lovers' nest where cats and friends alike are turned away due to "lack of room".)

"I think we should stop talking about this now," I announce. And with a laugh I say, "I'll find a place to stay. I'm sure Gray's lacking estrogen in his man-pad or something."

After brushing hair from my face I stare down at my hands, consciously avoiding eye contact. Not only am I completely embarrassed that my best friend's fiancé had to defend me, but I know that everyone else knows that my brother, Grayling Sexton, would rather saw off his own arm than let me move in with him.

"We'll find somewhere for you to go," Cam says reassuringly. I nod without looking at her.

Truth is, I'm hopeless. There is no way that I can afford a place of my own and I can't even imagine the type of freak who would take in a desperate cat lady with twelve feline friends. There is not a place in this area code where I can live like I have been. I'll either have to get two more jobs, sell my cats to the Chinese restaurant, or live on the streets. I mean, I could move back home, but that would require admitting defeat and I never ever ever ever ever admit defeat. Ever. Besides, the simple joy of avoiding my sister's self-satisfied smirk if I were to come crawling home for help is enough motivation for me to live off of the free saltine crackers in the deli.

Ten minutes later Liz is looking like she might erupt. While I totally enjoyed the creepy casts made of fallout victims in Pompeii, this is one kind of volcano I would prefer to avoid. So while Hal ushers his girlfriend to the bathroom, Cam, Ben, and I make our way outside to wait on the sidewalk. It's windy out, and uncommonly quiet, but dearest Camellia can never resist an opportunity to act like my wise and experienced older sister. Not that my older sister is wise and experienced…she's more of a practiced dictator.

"It will all work out," she says gently, smiling against Ben as he holds her sickeningly close. "I'll ask around and see if anyone's looking for a feline fanatic."

She and Ben laugh, I smile and say, "I prefer cat lady."

"I wish you didn't," she sighs. "I makes you sound like some hopeless old crone."

"I am hopeless. And it can only get better if I start at the bottom."

"That is truly sad," Ben chuckles.

"Says the anesthesiologist," I grumble.

"Come on Ronnie, you're the only one in control of your future," he offers wisely. I can't help but glare. Cut me a break; the two of them are from long lines of disgustingly rich people and were provided every opportunity for everything. I'm from a pair of environmentalist psychopaths who went on a warpath to singlehandedly provide me with shit. My parents obviously discovered that love skips a generation because they're so happy it hurts while Kodiak's closing in on forty and still "playing the field", Mavis is a snobby bitch who only married to have more control over another human being and spawn robots, Grayling is…well, he's just too much of an asshole for anyone to love, and I'm a cat lady.

"I'm a believer in fate," I tell him stubbornly and earn a shake of the head.

"Of course you are."

When Hal and Liz emerge from the café, Ben and Cam bid adieu and walk back to their love shack. Hence I am left with my backstabbing friend and her lover to venture back to my cats, obviously the only creatures who still love me.

Liz is snuggled under Hal's arm, her giant stomach protruding like some sort of sickening abscess. Even after purging all of the food she's eaten all day, with her makeup smeared as usual, and her hair like a tumbleweed from a cheesy western film, Elizabeth Fink is still beautiful. She's always been beautiful, and she's really talented. Last summer she sang at the wedding of the latest reality show couple and she's been to Yankee Stadium a few times. She has the potential to be very successful, but I think she's scared. And now with a baby, she's lost. Or she thinks she is.

I'm pissed that I let her sign the lease for the apartment instead of doing it myself, but looking at her and Hal now, I think that this will be good for her. Hal isn't a bad guy, he's just reserved. He's not an ogre, either, and he's just as talented as Liz, obviously. His band is getting really popular on the underground circuit; I say they'll be major news in at least a year. He seems to really care for her, too, so I hope they work out, really. For moral reasons, though, I'm obligated to be upset.

I work four jobs. Four. I'm lucky if I have three hours off, let alone a day. In fact, I'm not even going to be home for more than twenty minutes when we get back. My night shift at the bar will be starting sooner than I would like and I have to walk a trillion blocks just to get there. And then after that I walk over to the grocery store as an overnight cashier, then I go to the bakery for the morning rush. As for the florist, I only work there on the weekends, but I usually pop in a couple times a week to arrange some flowers. My boss there is pretty flexible with my hours. She kind of has to be.

Covered in flour, I climb into my bed, kittens attacking my clothes because I smell like fresh bread. My eyelids are collapsing, and I'm not fighting it, but my phone starts to ring. Why I answer, I have no clue, but after mumbling a greeting, I hear Cam on the other end.

"I found you a place to stay," she says excitedly.

"Humph," I grunt.

"It's really great, I promise. You'll love it! It's just that…"

I don't hear whatever it is Cam tries to tell me because I'm too tired to listen and my body dies out before I can attempt to fight.



#stupidfacedd by Wallpaper, look it up. It's funny. Aside from that, we'll all cross our fingers that this story gets kick-ass.