I push my way through the main door between the Chinese takeout and small grocery store, stomping up the stairs avoiding the yellowing walls and down the small hall housing three doors for the apartments.

Apartments is a word I use loosely. It’s basically one room with partitioned spaces and a door for my bathroom. I don’t live in the land of luxury, but right now I’m lucky to even have that.

Fired. Again.

Godfuckingdammit!

This time it wasn’t my fault. Oh no no no. It was hers. By hers I mean my vagina, my dick hole, my pussy, my meat flaps, whatever the hell you want to call it.

I look down as I open my door, sneering at her.

If she’d had just kept herself under control I wouldn’t be in this position right now.

The door vibrates shut behind me as I slam it closed and I stand still, my gaze roving over the room. Small sofa, coffee table in front of it, windows to the right between the sofa and the “kitchen” which consists of three cupboards and one counter with a bar stool tucked underneath it. To the left is a curtain partitioning off my bed and a chest of drawers. And that’s it. My sorry excuse of a life.

Okay, okay, so I’m having a pity party but I’m allowed!

Yanking my hair tie out, I shake my hair out before throwing my purse down onto the sofa. Pushing through to my small bathroom, I take my contacts out with much more force than I should before throwing my glasses on my face—figuratively, not literally.

My skirt is next to go, along with the stupid blouse, and then I’m left standing in my panties and brace.

I’m a sorry excuse for a woman right now, and I can’t help stepping closer to the mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door to analyze myself.

I look defeated, the complete opposite to how I looked and felt only last week.

Back then I was lying in Axel’s bed, his muscly arms wrapped around me, his boner prodding my ass cheek, and his sexy voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear. But that’s exactly what they were; nothings.

Now look at me, more or less naked with no job and rent due in two weeks.

It’s official; I suck at adulting.

“Hey, Soul Sister” starts playing from the living room and I sigh because I know who it is from the ringtone.

I honestly don’t think I can talk to her right now so I leave it as I plop down on the side of the tub, the cold seeping through me and making goose bumps spread over my skin.

When will I be able to do something I love? Something I’m passionate about and can’t see myself doing anything else. When will it happen for me? When will it click what I’m meant to be?

They say your job doesn’t define you, but what happens when you have no clue what you’re meant to be doing? Yeah, you shouldn’t be just what you do, but I need clarification, dammit!

Violet Scott—tightrope walker—I can barely walk on solid ground.

Violet Scott—teacher—sure, because I can barely control my own life never mind a bunch of kids.

Violet Scott—fire thrower—yep, if you want me to set fire to everything in my path.

Violet Scott—blogger—and I’d write about… how not to adult because I’m doing a shitty job of it right now.

I could go on for days, but not one of them is me.

I saw an article last week looking for professional mourners. Maybe I could do that? I certainly have the sad expression down pat. Seventy dollars to go to a funeral for two hours and pretend to mourn the deceased. Actually, that’s depressing. I’ll mark that one off my list as a firm no.

The music plays again and I give up, pushing off the tub and heading into the living room, not caring that I’m walking around nearly naked at 10 a.m. Who the hell cares? Not me, that’s for sure!

“What?”

“Hello to you, too.”

I huff out a long, tired breath. “Sorry, El. I’m having a bad… life.”

She chuckles, but when I stay silent she clears her throat. “Vi? What’s up?”

I wait a beat, the silence stretching between us before I shout, “He got me fired!” I wave my arm about, cringing at the small twinge in my shoulder at the force.

“Wait, what? You got fired?”

“Yep.” I throw myself down on the sofa, pulling my trusty blue blanket over me. “Della announced I slept with Axel in front of everyone. Said I’d broken the contract I’d signed or some shit.”

“Huh?”

“No work relations, you dur dur!”

“Ohhhh… wait, does Axel know about this?”

“Yep.” I side eye the frame sitting next to the TV. His perfect face and stupid eyes watch me as if he’s here in the room. Leaning forward, I push it down so I can’t see his face. “She told me to call him so I did, and guess what? He hung up on me! So yeah, the asshole knew.”

“Hot damn, I’m gonna kick his ass!”

“There’s no point.” I close my eyes and sink back into the sofa. “I just need to forget these last few weeks happened. Start over. Like I always do.”

We’re both silent for a few minutes, only our breathing being heard on the line.

“What are you gonna do now, Vi?”

“I have no fucking clue,” I groan.

“What about… what about doing something with your art?”

I scoff. “My art?” Opening my eyes I zone in on one of my notebooks sitting on the table in front of me. “We’ve been through this before: I can’t earn a living from my art. They’re just silly drawings.”

“Silly drawings that are awesome! Of course you could do something with them. I have an author I’m working with right now who’s looking for an illustrator, I could—”

“Nope.” I sit up. “I’m not doing it, El. I’ll figure something out.”

“But—”

I shut her down, knowing she won’t stop going on about it. Every single time I get fired I have the same speech from her. “I gotta go.”

“Vi—”

“Talk to you later.”

I end the call and turn my cell off. Any other time I would feel guilty, but right now I’m not in the mood to listen to her. I want to wallow in self-pity. Self-pity and ice cream. Now that is a solid life plan.

Who needs a job or a man when you have ice cream? Not this girl.

* * *

I watch Amanda as she opens her eyes, the music in the background starting to choke me up. She whispers Dawson’s name as he appears and a noise escapes my throat.

Every damn time I watch this movie I sob harder and harder.

The scene changes: Dawson talking on his cell and then the train goes by and I lean forward. “No!” I shout when a bullet hits him in the chest, my hand extended as if I can stop it even though I know it’s coming. “They were meant to be forever loves!”

It flashes in and out; Dawson dying, Amanda breaking down, and I sob like a big old baby.

I can’t even cope when she goes to his place and reads the letter he left for her. I’m a ball of emotion and I seriously shouldn’t have watched this movie with how I feel right now. The Best Of Me always gives me the feels.

As soon as the credits roll, my attention snaps to the picture of me and Axel. I can’t look away from his stupid face, zoning in on those broody eyes I know hold laughter and gentleness when he’s looking at me. At least, they used to.

The thought of him looking at me like any other random person wounds me, so I dig my giant serving spoon—the kind your mom uses to dish up everyone’s food—into my giant tub of ice cream. Ain’t got no time for those “normal” spoons and “normal-sized” tubs. I bring it to my lips, opening my mouth impossibly wide to fit the start of the spoon inside. The cookie dough-infused goodness hits my tongue and I moan at the taste.

Ice cream always makes me feel better.

This is now day five of not leaving my apartment and staring at Axel’s picture—I mean the TV. Dammit! What is wrong with me? I need to get over this. It was a few weeks of fun. Fun that cost you your job.

I roll my eyes at myself as I lean forward, switching the TV off and putting the lid on the last little bit of ice cream. Damn, I’ll have to go out to get more soon. How does ten tubs disappear so fast?

My gaze hits the window and I sneer at the bright blue sky. Doesn’t the universe know my life is falling apart? No job. No hanky panky. No drawing. The last one is the worst of them all. I haven’t been able to draw a single thing since I got off the phone with Ella.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” I stroke the cat who still hasn’t left. I’m thinking he’s a loyal kind of guy, unlike some people. “I know I need to pick myself up and dust myself off, but I just can’t this time.”

For every other job I’ve been fired from I’ve done just that, but something is different this time.

I allowed myself to get too comfortable. I let in the notion everything was going to be okay. How stupid could I be? I vowed to my dad I could make it on my own, pulling away from their impossible rules and regulations, but right now he’s the only person I can think to go to. “Maybe he’ll help me?” I look down at the furry bundle beside me as if he’ll answer me. “Yeah, you’re right, he’ll want my soul as payment.”

I snort to myself because my dad is the devil. Not literally—he doesn’t live in hell, although he may as well.

“I’m hungry,” I tell him, looking down at my sweatpants that have several stains on them. Meh. I jump up off the sofa, looking back at the cat. “I’m going to get takeout from Mr. Chung.”

He follows me all the way to the door where I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Holy hell, I look like death warmed over! Bags under my eyes, skin as pale as a vampire’s, and hair you could fry an egg on it’s that greasy.

The cat pushes himself against my leg so I crouch down, stroking his head. “I guess it’s just me and you, dude.” I tilt my head to the side. “I should name you, huh?” I look away, thinking about it, tapping my finger on my chin. “Colonel Fourpaws! That shall be your name!” I announce like it’s the best name in the existence of names.

He purrs louder as if he’s confirming it and I smile wide. “At least someone loves me.”

Pushing up, I grab my wallet and blow Colonel Fourpaws a kiss before heading down the stairs. I look like a homeless chick but I seriously don’t give a damn right now. Wallowing is my middle name.

“Violet!” Mr. Chung shouts at the same time the bell over the door sounds as I open it. “Not see you long time.”

“I’ve been away for work,” I tell him with a fake smile on my face. “But I’m back now.”

His dark-brown eyes trail over me, the small white hat on top of his head skewed to one side. “You in binge marathon?”

“Something like that.” I try to laugh but the sound makes me cringe. “Can I have my usual?”

“Sure, sure. Be ten minutes. I bring to you?”

“Okay.” I throw a twenty down on the counter, breathing in the smell of food, my stomach grumbling. “Thanks.”

Food is the answer to everything. It’ll make me feel better, even if only for a little while.

* * *

I ignore the hundredth message Ella sends me as it scrolls from the top of my cell. Every message is the same: “Stop ignoring me.” “Do something with your drawings.” “Stop ignoring me.”

I can’t deal at the moment. I refuse to adult, instead I’m going to sit here and do just this. Colonel Fourpaws on my lap, cat videos playing on my cell, and him batting his paws at them.

We’ve become the best of friends. We eat together, he sits on top of the toilet while I’m showering—the perv—and we share my bed. He’s the perfect guy. Doesn’t answer me back, keeps me company, and keeps my feet warm at night.

Match made in heaven. Kinda.

There’s only one problem: he’s a cat, not a man. Ugh. Man equals muscles and penises, which leads me onto Axel.

And as if he knew where my thoughts were, my phone vibrates in my hand and his name pops up. Did he know my brain was thinking about him? My eyes widen to epic proportions, my eyeballs sure to pop out their sockets.

Colonel Fourpaws looks at me, his head tilted as if he’s asking, “Are you going to answer that?”

“No,” I answer him, watching my cell as it continues to ring.

Why is he calling me? It’s been a week since I was fired and now he decides to contact me after hanging up on me? Well he can go suck it. I’m an independent woman, I don’t need to talk to him. He’s in my past, a past I’m never going to think of again.

Yeah, right, that’s why his picture is still on my TV unit.

The call ends and as soon as a message pops up with a voicemail, I delete it. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Fuck him, fuck Della, and fuck my stupid heart that begs to hear his voice.

My life is a goddamn mess.