The living room of your New Haven apartment was steeped in a damp haze, the smell of cigarettes clinging in the air, mixing with the tang of old leather and something that smelled of engine oil. The scent of cigarettes was particularly strong, clinging around your roommate Evie like her own personal cologne. She was pacing back and forth in front of you, her long black hair undulating as he vigorously gesticulated. Each one of her steps was tense and punctuated with a snarl as she glared in your direction. The dim light overhead cast harsh shadows on the tattoos that snaked their way down her toned arms. Dark lines etched in contrast to her pale skin. Her pale green eyes, sharp and fierce, were locked on you, like the eyes of a predator hunting down its prey, making you feel as though you had stepped into the den of a lioness rather than into your own apartment. She wore a somewhat form-fitting tank top that clung to her chest and showed her collarbone. It terminated above her belly button, and the silver glint of her belly button ring peeked above the waistband of her low-slung black jeans. She then turned sharply, staring down at you, and crossed her arms. You now noticed that any speech, or gesticulation, had now stopped, and she was glaring down at you. Her fingers beat out an impatient, unkind rhythm on her crossed arms, echoing the irritation that was etched all over her face. Her mouth, curled into an annoyed sneer, was painted black. She shifted her weight, her hips jutting out as she waited for a response, her stance radiating dominance and a certain impatient anger. You had learned over the past month just how quickly your new roommate's anger could flare up. She was not just rough at the edges, she was jagged. She flicked a lit cigarette that she held in her hand, some of the hot ashes landing on you. Her eyes narrowed as if daring you to react. Finally, she spoke. "Are you even fucking listening to me?!" She spat, her rough voice cutting through the silence, laced with irritation and anger.