

A blaring alarm. It started in a faint distance, building up until her dream self could no longer deny the external forces pushing her into the waking world. She lay in bed for a few moments, wishing that she had not woken up alone yet again. She would be in the warm arms of her beloved again soon enough, but the remaining year of the engagement seemed to creep by so slowly. Like ivy taking years to climb the old cherry tree that had stood in her parents' yard as long as she could remember. 
She lets out a slow, heavy sigh while rolling off of her air mattress. Her room is incredibly untidy. She makes a mental note to continue sorting things for the yard sale. It's this coming weekend. She growls to herself. Unemployment is getting to her. She would be student teaching soon enough. But she needed a job to pay for what her student loans could not. She cursed her teaching program. If it were not for their accounting error, she would have at least $1400 more than she had right now. More than two months' rent. 
She considered the hiring fair she had been to the evening before as she sat up. A soulless, corporate mess she had no interest in otherwise except that they were hiring for the Christmas season. She hated perfume stores. But, if they needed workers, she was willing to whore herself out for the season.  Unfortunately in the group demos she had been put with three others who knew the store extremely well. One had even been a manager at a store that had closed. The former manager had been bright and cheery and known everything about the company. She knew what was in every shampoo, every bubble bath, and every cuticle cream. 
Suddenly a light tap at the door brought the girl on the air mattress back to reality. 
Come in.
Morning. I made you tea.
Okay.
Iced, the way you like it.
Thanks. Is it mixed with anything funny?
You are never going to forgive me for that, are you?
Absolutely not.
Her red haired roommate deposited the glass gingerly onto the low bedside table. She was dressed for work already. As she turned to leave, the girl on the bed giggled. 
What's so funny?
Nothing. Except the miniature cat attached to your shirt.
Ugh. Really?
One of her cats must have decided that shirt was this morning's bed. Would probably be less of a problem if the cats were not both black. The girl on the bed shook her head. She hated cats so much, and her roommate's did not help change her feelings. She missed her dog, now dead over a year. She sadly recalled that night. She had gone to class, leaving her parents' home. She had fed him, and kissed his little black forehead. He had not been well. When she returned, the house was eerily quiet. Her mother came out to tell her they had had her dog put down. They had not asked or told, they had just done. No pain stings as much as the unsaid goodbye.

