One | Sloan

Rolling to avoid morning sun that had found my bedroom window, I groaned at the sound of papers crunching beneath my arms. I had fallen asleep with the stack for the third night in a row, and instead of pulling them free to avoid further crumpling, they were pushed to the carpeted floor below. Hopefully, they were numbered. If they weren't, I would figure it out. I wasn't even sure if I would ever finish them, anyway. There was a nagging suspicion—the same one as nights prior—that they'd be sharing the bed with me again tonight, and tomorrow, or until they actually ripped and became unusable. It would have made it easier if they were.

The sunlit bed felt empty. Too empty. The adjustment to the open space beside me hadn't been easy, but I was trying to act as though it was. Pillows always found themselves in his place, with my arm wrapped around one each morning. My best friend had tried convincing me to purchase a smaller bed, offering the valid point that the queen-size was too large for the small room I was now occupying. But that was easier said than done. I countered with having no money to pay for a new bed—the truth. It led to Hallie backing down from the subject. Truthfully, I just wasn't ready to give up the bed. Our bed. Just buying new sheets had been torture. His scent was now long gone along with him and his things.

I had only been living with Hallie for three months. Two tiny bedrooms, a shared bathroom, a decent-sized living area, and a kitchen lacking enough space to hold all the items hoarded from Steve's and my kitchen, was all the space the duplex offered. For the most part, I was settled. Everything had been unboxed and put into their rightful places. The space felt as homely as it could. Although, the downsizing led to some minor organizational chaos. Where most women my age stored shoes in the bottom of their closet, I was using the space for baking supplies—baking sheets, cookie cutters, and an ancient Sunbeam mixer I'd found at a thrift store. Since baking wasn't exactly my passion or forte, they would likely live there until I moved on to the next place. I never stayed in one place long. This time was different. As nice as it sounded, I wouldn't have my own place anytime soon. Money had become beyond tight.

I rolled again, this time feeling the unused pen straying from the papers. My eyes remained closed.

"Shit." The frustration was raspy from crying myself to sleep.

I reached beneath my breast, pulling the pen free to keep hold of. I was going to need it to form a grocery list. Forcing my eyes to pry open one by one, the well-lit room was a blur. It was the second complication of a night spent crying. With the tip of my pointer finger, I removed the crud from the corners of my eyes, followed by rapid blinks. Slowly, the space came into focus. A month's worth of clothes laid scattered across the floor alongside the paperwork I was already regretting throwing. Picking them up would be added to the day's to-do list.

"I'm leaving!" Hallie's voice carried up the stairs and down the short hallway. "Try to get out of bed today!"

My eyes rolled just after the front door shut, solidifying Hallie's exit. I loved my best friend dearly, but I needed to move at my own pace, and Hallie was having a hard time coping with my lack of coping. I was trying my hardest. Most days that didn't seem like enough to function. Every day, I focused on one thing. Some sort of simple task, attempting to bring back a sense of normal life. The day before, I told myself I was going to wash my car. It seemed simple—a task that doable from my driveway. If I completely spazzed, I could dart inside without neighbors realizing it. Of course, it didn't happen. Instead, I went through a local burger chain's drive-through in pajamas, bought a small fry, and then cried for an hour, knowing I was going to fail another day's task. I did, however, have to pick up a dollar's worth of change from the floor of my Cobalt to pay for the soggy, dissatisfying fries. The car's floor had been tidied—close enough.

Grocery shopping and laundry was likely pressing my luck, but I was now out of food and clean clothes. With the pen still in hand, I grabbed a receipt from the floor and began adding cheap, healthy ingredients to its back. Knowing expensive ingredients didn't always mean delicious, had saved me many times before. I also had a knack for substituting ingredients when money was really short.

Time was taken to locate clothing suitable to wear in public. It took getting on hands and knees to scoop more clothing from beneath the bed. Socks took the longest, but after I found one white and one black to make a pair, I ultimately tossed them back to the floor and dug out some tacky tan sandals. They were rarely worn and did not match the black skinny jeans or the gray tee I paired with them. This was a victory. Albeit, a small one. I had worn the same pajamas from sunup to sundown the day before; today I was dressed before noon.

The bathroom vanity's mirror was a harsh reminder of what I had become. Avoidance had done my appearance no justice. The woman standing where my reflection should be was a stranger. Months of routinely washing my shoulder-length hair and going directly to bed with it wet had caused it to become an ash-brown nest, barely held together by the only claw clip I could find. Raccoon-like circles had formed around my forest-green eyes, making it look like I had forgotten to remove makeup—I didn't own any. And as much as I wanted to blame the bathroom lighting for my skin's lack of color, I couldn't. Always pale, but now I looked translucent. Cheekbones were clearly defined—hell, all my bones were. I had never been so thin—no small feat for a girl who had grown up malnourished. I felt disgusting as I tried to swipe away the bags beneath my eyes and pinch my cheeks for color. After a few frustrating minutes of no results, I gave up and slapped the light switch to end the misery.

>>

Half applesauce, half fat. If I substitute applesauce for oil, I could buy the cheapest container and use whatever is left of the oil at home.

The fate of Hallie's dessert rested upon my Googled knowledge of cake ingredient substitutes. If I had my way, I would have skipped the last course of the meal altogether. But Hallie had called me as I waited at the laundromat for the last load of whites to finish drying and insisted on making dessert to pair with tonight's soup.

With a heavy sigh, I selected the container of applesauce from the shelf, taking the smallest store-brand container offered. It was tossed into a cart filled with other generic ingredients.

The list had dwindled down to a few items quickly. Money was disappearing even faster. No way would this budget allow for everything needed. Scanning the cart, I decided conditioner was overrated, and I could always steal a pump from Hallie to tame whatever was happening on my head. Hating being one of those people, I tucked the conditioner between two different brands of applesauce and began pushing the cart to the next aisle. Normally I would have considered this a bitch move by making it a hassle for the stocker, but my stress level would not handle a second trip to the health and beauty section. Too many people there actually cared about their looks. It was exactly where my appearance would be judged.

After adding celery, carrots, onion, chicken breasts, brown sugar, and mustard to the cart, I had finally made it to the last item. Tugging my lip between my teeth, I scoured the shelf for my favorite ingredient before finally spotting it right in front of my face. I reached, grabbed, and was surprised when I found another hand had also claimed it. The new hand was larger than mine. It wrapped around the bottle's neck as I held the base. Awkwardly, and without removing my hold, I peered up to the tall stranger, meeting a pair of sapphire eyes that looked too blue to be true. They could only be matched by the deep blue of his plaid, button-down shirt which laid open against his broad chest, contrasted against a stark white tee beneath. Perhaps I looked crazy with my ensemble, but country in Chicago was a look not seen often. He seemed as out of place as I felt. I met his quizzing gaze with my best attempt of an apologetic smile, hoping he would telepathically understand my current mental stability paired with how badly I needed this last bottle. Making the situation even more awkward... he didn't let go.

I didn't react, because I wasn't sure how to. His audacity had me flabbergasted. Smiles were scarce these days, and I offered him one for a condiment. He seriously wasn't letting go. My grip tightened as I continued the stare off with the man whose muscular build made me feel the size of the toothpick that was currently between his lips. Sapphire blues only diverted long enough to glance to the bottle within both of our holds.

"I saw it first?" he said, breaking the hostile silence.

As soon as I heard the deep rasp of his voice, I felt the color return to my cheeks—possibly caused by how infuriating his four words were.

"No." I exhaled to keep my voice from shaking. "I believe I did."

"My hand is under yours."

It wasn't. His pinky was beneath my thumb, and it happened after the initial grip. I pressed my thumb to my index finger, removing the unwanted touch. Dimples burrowed deep into his cheeks as he flashed a cocky grin. The toothpick rolled to the opposite side of his mouth where he bit it.

Oh, he's good. My hand twisted firmly around the label. He thinks his charm is cute. Zero interest, pal.

"I saw it first. I was standing here way before you arrived. You just have longer arms."

"Hmph."

Hmph?

Without letting go, he turned his attention to the items in the cart. When he grunted at them, the last of my patience dissipated. Being judged by what I was buying made me even more annoyed. This guy was about to see me ugly cry over a goddamn condiment. He was seriously underestimating my state of mind right now. I tugged on the bottle.

"Why are you marinating your chicken for soup?" he asked, seemingly unfazed by the attempt to steal it.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He shook his head at my cart before becoming bold enough to reach into it. With one finger, he shifted the items so he could see if there was anything missed beneath them. "There's already enough sodium in your soup. It will be too salty if you marinade the poultry. You don't need this."

How the hell does he know I'm marinating my chicken for soup?

"I like it." I failed at another attempt to jolt it free. "It gives it a unique flavor."

"Where are your noodles?"

Seriously?

"I make them!"

The stranger released a breath through his nostrils, sending a side glance back to me and then returning it to the cart. Having my groceries eye-fucked was the least of my worries this morning, but here I was—my groceries were being violated.

"Tell you what," he began without looking back to me. "I will let go if you can pronounce it correctly."

"What?"

"Say it." He pointed to the chocolate-brown bottle.

My eyes narrowed while being flashed another condescending smile, and my shoulders straightened with confidence. "Worst-e-shire."

The last syllable barely left the tongue before the bottle was yanked from my fingers and tucked beneath the man's arm—safe from crazy women who didn't match their clothes and marinated chicken for soup.

"Soy sauce. It's a game changer. Although I still think you're making a mistake. No one likes their food too salty." The toothpick rolled to the corner of his deep pink lips. Both hands sank into the pockets of his denim jeans just before turning his heel to me.

"Fine!" I watched as he casually strolled to the end of the aisle. "How do you say it then?"

"Fuck if I know!" He saluted while rounding the corner and disappearing from view. "No one knows how to say it!"

Asshole.

Sulking, I turned back to shelves. I was banking on the Worcestershire for tonight's recipe. The laundromat and two grocery stores in one afternoon weren't happening. This trip had been exhausting enough. So, no. Instead, I walked my ass to the ethnic food aisle and tossed the cheapest bottle of soy sauce I could find into the cart, praying the stranger was right.

With a cheaper ingredient, I now could purchase the conditioner. Of course, returning to the applesauce, I found it was already gone. My chin dropped to my chest as one lone tear slid its way down my cheek. Quickly recovering, it was swiped it away, and I returned to the beauty department for another.

>>

"Smells great!" Hallie lifted the strap of her purse over her head, giving it a few extra tugs when it became caught in long blonde hair. Her green scrubs looked rough—saturated in who knows what. It was a rough night at the nursing home, judging by how Hallie dropped herself into a kitchen chair with a groan.

I spooned out a small piece of chicken from the soup mixture and blew on it before dropping it to my tongue. My eyes rolled hard, and I reached for the salt shaker.

"Needs salt," I said with muttered curses.

Worcestershire was better. However, I couldn't help but like the hint of Asian-influence in the flavor. Next time I would use half Worcestershire and half soy sauce to test the flavor. Perhaps adding some Asian-inspired vegetables would kick it up a notch. Stacks of bills were lifted, hoping to find a pen to add water chestnuts to a new grocery list.

"You would not believe this guy at the store today," I said with displeasure. "Such an ass."

I was trying to make conversation, knowing that my best friend was sitting at the table, waiting for me to say I filled out the paperwork. This discussion had become exhausting. We both knew those papers were blank.

"Sloan..."

"No, I did not."

"I know you didn't. That's why I did for you."

"What?" I spun around and held up my hand, willing myself not to burst into angry tears. My stomach was already in my throat. "Hallie, you did not!"

When Hallie shrugged, I made a hurried dash from the kitchen to the stairs. My heart sank when I got to the door. Even though the floor was now bare, I fell to my knees to search for the papers I'd discarded. Gone. Every single one.

Shielding eyes flooded with tears, I tried to catch a full breath. Hallie now stood quietly in the doorway, watching me lose it for the hundredth time in the last few months. I was angry, hurt, and slightly relieved they were gone, but mostly I wanted to vomit between sobs. Hallie moved herself into the room slowly, taking a pillow to hold before sitting beside me on the floor.

I hiccupped. "Why?"

"Because you need something to take up your time. It will take your mind off things." Hallie sighed. "I'm so worried about you, and I know you needed time, but it has been months. This was your dream before Steve. You needed a push, and I'm pushing you. Please don't hate me."

I chuckled as I sat back on my ass with a thump, lifting my shirt to remove the tears from my face. Hating Hallie was impossible. We had been through too much together. Disappointed? A little. Maybe there was a reason I hadn't been able to press the pen to paper and apply for my dream school.

"It's not like you have to go if you get accepted. You can turn them down. You should find out if it's an option first."

"I can't afford it." I sniffled with a shake of my head. "I need a job. Even if accepted, there's no way..."

"I'll co-sign your loan. Do not even try to fight me on it. You won't win. I will forge your name if I have to," Hallie smiled wickedly, "again."

I exhaled a massive breath and licked my tear-dampened lips. I was on the brink of another laugh. Two in a day—a record.

"What recipe did you submit?"

Hallie practically bounced with excitement, gripping her stomach. "Your white truffled lobster mac!" She leaned backwards to the bed and happily kicked her feet into the air. "It's so good!"

I finally laughed. Thankfully, she had chosen a recipe I was confident about. Maybe I had a shot at culinary school. It could take my mind off a doomed relationship. And just like that, my smile vanquished with one thought of Steve. Hallie noticed the change, getting to her knees beside me for a comforting squeeze. This happened most nights, and in all honesty, I needed it.

"It'll be okay. Life threw you a curve. We will get you back on track." Hallie kissed my messy hair as I wept.

How could I get back on track when my life was never on the track to begin with?