Abby
“Insulin is synthesized, from the INS gene, as a preprohormone in the β-cells of the islets of Langerhans of the pancreas. Specific protease activity cleaves the center third of the molecule, which dissociates as C peptide, leaving the amino terminal B peptide disulfide bonded to the carboxy terminal A peptide,” Professor Sucre drones on even after a two-hour lecture with no breaks.
I take my notes and look back at the students. Most have their heads rested on their desks, no one is paying attention to the Professor anymore, except me. Shaking my head I turn back to listen to his words even though I’ve known all this since I was ten.
Insulin is my best friend, my only friend, since I have Type I Diabetes. I inject insulin three times a day, after every meal, and I know every possible thing about this disease. Though most people find it boring, I don’t get tired of listening to these facts about the magic inside our bodies over and over again. It gives me peace of mind like I’m in control of things.
I smile and put my pens in order of their length and color when Professor Sucre starts to draw the insulin secretion mechanism on the whiteboard. He doesn’t use a projector like the rest of the professors; he makes notes, writes down the schemes, and draws the mechanism by hand and I love it. Technology makes me nervous, I love putting things on paper by hand. With my pen in hand I’m in control.
I know what you’re thinking; that I’m a control freak. Well, I am and I don’t care. I love things in a certain way, my way. I love thinking about the possible problems before they happen and I figure out their solutions beforehand so I won’t have to deal with sudden changes. People say expect the unexpected, I don’t. I don’t like unexpected. The unknown makes me nervous, stressed and scared.
As I draw the mechanism onto my notebook my cellphone vibrates on my desk. Grabbing it I read the text:
*Where is the rent, Abby? You said you’d never be late.*
I frown. This is the kind of unexpected I don’t like at all. Carly should have paid it yesterday. I didn’t see her when I got home late from the library so I didn’t ask her about it, but it was her month. I growl internally. This is why I don’t have friends. People always mess things up. I like being alone. I shouldn’t have agreed to be roommates with her in the first place, but I had to. Living in the dorms isn’t something I can do. There are too many people, too much noise, and also those common showers give me the creeps. A big no. But apartment rent is too high for me to pay on my own. The money my dad sends is barely enough for my tuition so sharing my rent with someone is my only solution. So, this scheme led me to Carly. I send her a text.
*Didn’t you pay the rent?!*
Carly and I aren’t friends, we can just barely tolerate each other’s company. I don’t like her and she doesn’t like me, but it works for us since we don’t worry about making pleasantries and giving fake smiles. We both live in our own world in the same apartment and totally ignore the other’s existence.
Minutes pass, but there’s no reply from her. My leg starts to bounce, it’s an anxious habit. If she didn’t pay the rent, I’ll have to pay, and I can’t because I don’t have enough money. Maybe I can ask my boss for an advance. I shake my head to myself. He would never ever pay me early. The guy hates me, but tolerates me since I’m the one who keeps his place in order. I pull the elastic band from my hair and re-do my pony tail. Another nervous habit of mine.
Finally, Professor Sucre dismisses the class. For the first time ever I sigh in relief that the class has ended. Grabbing my notebook and textbooks, I hurry out of the class to get home.
Carly must be home since she’s not working today. I try to call her a few times, but the line goes straight to the voice message. I groan.
I walk faster to my apartment.
My apartment is in a Victorian place, third floor. It’s old but clean. My neighbors are all old people, either couples or living by themselves. As I enter the building there’s no sound, no blaring music or obnoxious laughter. The walls are empty, the halls are empty from any distraction. I smile and walk into my apartment. Everything is in its place, just the way I like it.
“Carly?” I holler, but there’s no answer.
She’s probably with her new boyfriend, I think as I shake my head. The girl never learns her lesson. She finds a new boyfriend, falls head over heels in love, and finally comes home crying her eyes out because the guy got what he wanted and then dumped her. I don’t understand this relationship thing. Sex is one of the biggest reasons, I get it. But I don’t think it’s that big of a deal after I lost my V card in the high school prom. It’s just a ridiculous action with awkward grunts and wet kisses that cover you in spit. Oh, and it hurts a lot. My vibrator does a much better job than pimpled face Clark who wanted to be my Superman. His words not mine.
Cringing at the unwanted memory I knock on Carly’s door and enter when there’s no answer. Her room is empty… like really empty besides the furniture, but they’re not hers anyway. The furniture came with the apartment.
Where are her things?
The girl is a make-up maniac, uses every shade of lipgloss she has for creating the best color combination before setting foot out of the apartment. But now, the vanity is empty. The door of the wardrobe is open as always but instead of the chaos created by her clothes, there’s nothing inside.
I frown. What is happening?
I see a paper on her nightstand, it has my name on it. So I pick it up.
Abby,
I’m moving in with my boyfriend. I’m sure you don’t mind.
Bye
PS: Oh, and I changed my phone number but I don’t think you need it. So well, keep being weird.
Carly xo
What?
She’s moving in with her boyfriend. Well, correction: She’s already moved in.
Is she kidding me?
Why didn’t she tell me before?
Darn.
I’ve never felt such a huge need to swear out loud, but I don’t do cuss words.
How will I pay my rent now? I did all the shopping yesterday and most of my money went to groceries. With that in mind I run to the kitchen and open the refrigerator only to find it empty except for soy milk and my oatmeal. There is a post-it there.
Abby,
Since you’re obsessed with eating healthy I took all the “unhealthy” stuff to my new place.
Thank you for not minding.
Carly xo
Well, I do mind! She’s stolen everything from my refrigerator and left me with rent I need to pay and a refrigerator to fill up again.
I hate her.
I hate her boyfriend, whoever he is.
I hate people.
And, I need a new roommate. Fast. Someone who’ll pay this month’s rent. ASAP.