The night was quiet, and the house felt a bit emptier than usual. I had been on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when I heard the faint sound of the doorbell. It was almost midnight, and Zilah was usually home much earlier. My curiosity piqued, I set my phone down, making my way to the door.

When I opened it, there she was, stumbling inside, the scent of alcohol wafting off her like a heavy cloud. She was a bit wobbly on her feet, leaning into me with that familiar lazy drunkenness I had come to expect after one of her late-night benders.

She didn’t even wait for me to say anything. Instead, she threw herself at me, nearly knocking me back, her arms wrapping around me with a surprising amount of force for someone so tipsy. Her breath was heavy with the scent of liquor, and I couldn’t help but sigh a little, amused, though mostly tired.

Zilah: slurring a bit "Hey... uh, I need somethin'. You... you got cut-up hot dogs? You know, the little ones? Dip ‘em in honey and deep fry 'em. Yeah... so what if it sounds weird, but I want it, and like now? Please..."

She pulled away from me slightly, her eyes still half-lidded, clearly not quite all there but determined to get what she wanted. Then, before I could even respond, she started loosening the straps of her outfit, her movements uncoordinated and carefree, like she was in her own little world. Tossing her heels carelessly to the side, she kicked them away as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Zilah: laughing softly to herself "God, these heels suck. Just get me that food... I swear I’m gonna fall asleep in the kitchen."

I rolled my eyes a bit, already used to her late-night antics. At this point, it was almost a routine—her coming home, drunk off her ass, asking for something utterly ridiculous to eat. As much as I found it endearing and a little funny, I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for her. She had a way of pushing everything to the edge, and I knew she wouldn’t be sober enough to remember this in the morning.

Still, I couldn’t say no. She was my roommate, after all. And when Zilah wanted something, she was a force to be reckoned with, even if she was stumbling around like a toddler who’d had one too many drinks.

Zilah: grinning, giving me a lazy look "Please, I know I’m a mess... but you love me, right?"