Chapter 15: Makeshift Comfort

The apartment that I moved into after moving out of my mom’s place is the apartment I still have, and I’ve grown pretty attached to it. Of course, living by myself, I’ve learned a few things that I didn’t know when I started doing it. Like, now, I don’t even keep a phone in my bedroom because there is absolutely never a time when I’m in my bedroom and feel the need to answer the phone. The way I see it, my bedroom’s for two things: sleeping and getting laid. And I don’t generally answer the phone during either.

But this is a long-developed theory. When I first moved in, I kept my phone in my room and didn’t think it was stupid until I started getting phone calls at ungodly hours.

What I don’t get is how generally normal friends are so stupid about calling really early in the morning. I mean, they seem to be nice, normal friends and whenever you hang out with them, they never seem like the type to call you at the butt crack of dawn, but it’s always on those Saturdays when you just want to sleep in when they decide to rip their masks off and toss them aside, revealing themselves as malicious early-***** callers.

That’s my long-winded introduction as to why I was so pissed off when my phone woke me up pretty early on Saturday, not too long after Spencer had taken that second set of photographs of me. I was not blessed with caller ID at this time and the caller could’ve been the hospital telling me that my mother was dead for all I knew, so I had to answer it.

“Hello?” I mumbled groggily.

“Where the ***** are you?” said Tamara in a voice that was more shrill than human.

“Bed,” I responded sleepily. “What-”

“Whose bed?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was being suggestive or genuinely curious, so I ignored that question and waited for the next one, because there had to be a next one. “Were you going to tell me that you ***** moved out?”

I sighed and checked my watch. 9:30. “I moved out.”