Amelia, Run!

My first thought every morning is why? I hate to get up every morning to do adult stuff but I guess those are the cons of being one. I thought that when I finished High school I could to do whatever I want, and that included getting up whenever I want, eating pizza for breakfast, lay in bed all day and make my own decisions but that dream only comes for those who don’t work and/or study and have the right economic status. I work on a little café on the other part of town but today was my day off. One has to be a good member of society if one wants to make it far and have the privilege in the end to look back and see that all the hard work was not in vain. This is what you call the American dream, right?

Why?

What woke me up was the song Bad Day by Daniel Powter on the radio. I groaned and cursed under my breath; I was tired of that song. Heck, half of the word was tired of it. I can’t believe they still play it on the radio. It’s not that the song is bad because it isn’t. I loved it one point in my life like when my friends and I sang it on one of those rare occasions when we got to go on a road trip and ended up on the border of Canada. On my daydream of the past I got up and slowly walked to the living room. My eyes were very irritable from the sun and I had to shield them with my arm. Stupid hang over.

I never learn.

I didn’t even dare to look at myself. It’s too early to see what kind of disaster I look like so I got naked and headed to the shower but before that I took my phone to see if I had any notifications. It was dead so I plugged it into the charger. I washed my hair, scrubbed my elbows and armpits and sang JG Wenthworth’s commercial song until I was clean. I didn’t even want to see the dirty water that rippled down the drain. When I got out, dried myself and wrapped my hair with my towel and got out naked with my dirty clothes.

My bed looked comfortable and I jumped on it and took my phone. I had to turn it on and in the mean time I looked at my ceiling. I like my room. It was small but comfy and on my price range. The walls were a light blue, the window was small but I could still see outside. I mostly have it closed because one time a pigeon entered and crapped all over my floor and bed sheets. I have learned my lesson. Oddly it was open making the notebooks and papers on top of the little night stand flutter so I stood up and closed it. Quickly, without thought, I took my phone and texted Brad: ‘You alive?’ And then I giggled. He was probably passed out on his bed so I didn’t expect him to answer quickly. Heck, I didn’t even expect him to call me.

“Barely,” he answered with a raspy voice. “Are you ok?” he asked. “I have a weird urge to ask you that. That’s weird.” He grunted again and then mumbled. “What a headache.”

“I’m good, other than the typical ache I am fine. I must have slept in a weird position.” I sat on my bed trying to remember what we did. “What did we do last night?” I press the palm of my hand over my forehead. “I don’t remember.”

Brad grunted again. “Me neither… well, I don’t remember getting home. We probably went on auto pilot.” He forced a chuckle. There was a long pause and then we laughed. “Well, we did get fucked up. That’s for sure.” I agreed. I put my phone of speaker and went to my drawers and took out some shorts, my galaxy braw, black panties and a black v neck shirt.

Finally I looked at the mirror and noticed that I had a scratch that started from the left side of the middle of my forehead and got lost on my hair line. I touched it but it didn’t hurt. It looked weeks old but I don’t remember getting a cut that big. Then I felt a tingling sensation on my wrist, I just shook it, made some fists and took my phone. “I feel like I was hit by a truck,” I added. “I’m gonna make coffee, do you want some?” he grunted and I took that as a yes and hung up.

Twenty minutes later he was knocking on my door. Well, first he tried to open it by rattling the door knob but when he failed he had to do the latter. When I finally received him, he was wearing a green, worn out t-shirt that had a t-rex with a sombrero, some pink shorts with white flamingos, a pair of sandals and his keys over his neck. His hair was in different directions and he smelled of tooth paste and incense. Without saying hi, Brad entered handed me his favorite coffee mug that he brought from his own apartment and sat on my couch and took out his phone from his back pocket. “So,” he didn’t look up. I went to the small kitchen that was connected with the living room by twenty feet but divided by an old kitchen island that had some papers—sketches, my keys, some plastic cups that I don’t remember taking out and an empty vase that had some flowers but I had to throw them away because they died. Beside it was a small cactus.

“So,” I said while taking his big, white Starbucks coffee mug and my coffee mug with the print of Kiss by Gustav Klimt and filled it with caffé con leche. Well, mine had more black coffee than Brad’s. He doesn’t like strong coffee.

“Did you text the girls?” I added two big spoons of sugar on mine and one on his and walked to the couch and handed him the coffee.

“Nein.” I took a sip of my coffee and grimaced. It tasted bitter, almost metallic. I looked at Brad and he looked like was enjoying his drink. Maybe it was the after taste of last night? But I brushed my teeth… I placed the mug on my thigh and tried to forget the awful taste.

“Man,” he grunted. “My head hurts!” I nodded and on instinct I took another sip and chocked. It really tasted bad. “What?” I shook my head and dismissed his comment with a wave of my hand and placed my mug on the floor. “Anyway, you know who texted me after I talked to you?” I shook my head. “Your cousin.”

“Ismale?” he made a face.

“God, no! The other one—the brother.”

“David?” he nodded.

“It was strange. He told me that his mom demanded him to reach you but you didn’t pick up so he texted me. Your family is weird.” I left my phone on my room but I didn’t receive anything from him or anyone from my family. “You should call him later. Anyway, when do you start to work again?”

“Tomorrow, double shift. I need the money.”

Brad took another sip and wished that mine didn’t taste bad. Maybe he was faking that he was ok with it but he is not the type to hide his opinions and sugar coat them. He will tell you no matter what. Because of that, the four of us had many confrontations. To be true, he had toned down his ruthless words but still one or two would “escape” him. “What you need is another job.” I shook my head.

“It’s a miracle that I got this one. None of the other jobs that I’ve applied had called me and the ones that did for interview made me waste my time because in the end I wasn’t even considered.” It was true and it made me feel so bad about myself. Maybe it was because I was mediocre, wasn’t enough or that they didn’t like how I looked but I tried to shake those negative thoughts out of my head. Not everything is about me. “I just need to keep saving and when the seasonal come, I’ll apply.”

“Like this seasonal?” he took another sip.

I groaned. “Leave me alone.” He smirked.

“Maybe it’s because of Rey?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Girl! You can’t fool me!” he pushed my arm. “Look, I know how you feel—”

“Of course you do! You want to fuck his brother.” he shrugged and nodded as if there was no point to deny the fact.

Then he gave a little dreamy sigh and bit his lip. “Uriel… why do you have to be so hot?”
I wrapped a strand of my hair around my index finger and chuckled. “And straight.” I added. Brad nodded and took one of my worn out cushion and hugged it with his free hand.

“Well, you know like Aster would say: ‘I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.’—”

We both smiled and finished in union. “Oscar Wild.”

Rey and Uriel are brothers that we met when Brad and I were in our third year of university. At first I thought that he was cute but when I kept talking to him and looking at his art and how skilled he was my little crush grew a bit. I was fascinated back then and I couldn’t stop thinking about him and his sketches and his future plans. He was very sure that he was going to get out of here and become a famous artist and surprisingly he is moving forward. One time he went to Miami to go to an art activity about murals. I don’t recall the name but he sure was very excited. I saw the pictures on Facebook and I couldn’t help liking them all. I sure wanted to go with him—and his brother!

The difference between me and Brad is that he can flirt with Uriel. Though he knows that there is no possible way that the angel would fall for him, he still does it. It always starts with: ‘Hey there, Uriel. When are you gonna model for me? I’m a bit rusty and I need to practice.’ And Uriel would answer with a laugh: ‘Go back to work.’ I forgot to mention that he is the manager of the Starbuck that Brad works. If it wasn’t because Uriel recommended him, he would be working in another job far from his beloved angel.

“Well,” he patted my thigh and got up. “I gotta go, it’s one in the afternoon and I go to work at three.” He went to my sink, washed his mug and kissed my hair. “Gotta run!” I winced.

As he closed the door without noticing, an unbearable pain struck my head. I pressed my temples with my fingers and hunched my back forward. The pain spread to my forehead, down to my eyes and down to the back of my head. I got up and knocked the mug to the floor, spilling the now cold coffee. What was happening? My body kept trembling and now my body ached all over. I staggered back and my knees gave out and I fell on them. All I could hear was my own voice screaming: ‘RUN!’, ‘RUN!’, ‘RUN!’, ‘RUN!’

And then I fell on my side and everything went black.