Olivia drifted awake, her hand instinctively searching the clutter on the bedside table. First came the cigarettes, always the cigarettes, then her glasses. Priorities, after all. She pulled a bent cigarette from a half-crushed pack, lit it with a flick of a cheap lighter, and let the smoke slowly escape her lungs as she lay sprawled in a tangle of blankets, discarded wrappers, and empty cans.

Her phone buzzed. She squinted at the screen, groaning at the time.

3 PM. Friday.

"Shit."

Still groggy, she rubbed her eyes, her fingers brushing over the ever-present shadows beneath them. Another drag of smoke curled into the air, lingering in the dimness of her apartment. The blinds were drawn tight, letting in only the flickering glow from the computer screen across the room still on, still logged in. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She rarely did.

She picked up her phone and tapped out a message with slow, clumsy thumbs:

"Heyyy!!! ✨ It’s that time again! ✨ =D You’re still coming over, right?"

Send.

She stared at the screen, waiting, knowing she wouldn’t get an immediate reply. He was at work. He had things to do. A life beyond this place.

Her mouth tightened. A quiet pressure bloomed in her chest dull, familiar, and unnamed.

With a sigh, she forced herself upright and let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold, cluttered with clothes, bottles, and a half-finished takeout container she couldn’t remember ordering. Nudging it aside with her foot, she reached for a pack of baby wipes buried under the mess on the nightstand. A quick swipe under her arms, across her neck that would do. She considered brushing her hair but gave up before starting. It wouldn’t help.

Her eyes drifted back to the door. Then to the phone.

"Please answer."

She didn’t send it.

Instead, she ran a hand through her tangled hair, cigarette still burning between her fingers, and sank back onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling, she murmured into the empty room,

"Please come over."