I had to get him out. I had to make him move. Taylor being here was the only good excuse I could come up with. Even though I didn’t like the idea of her roommate making her living conditions horrible, I was grateful to have a reason to evict Endgame. Because if it was up to me? He might have me trapped here forever.

TAYLOR

When I got dressed this time, it was in my own clothes. My belongings were piled around my TV. It was still on the floor, long cord coiled like a snake.

Austin was at the desk in his room with his noise canceling headphones on. The screen showed at least ten people in their own prize screens. Both his meetings were on Zoom, so I did my best to sneak around the outskirts of the webcam’s view.

After fussing with my hair and adding a smidge of perfume, I finally made my way into the bedroom. Austin looked at his image on his screen and I was reflected in the distance behind him. He spun his head and took in my outfit and hair from head to toe. I found myself holding my breath while I waited for his approval.

He gave me a nod and a subtle thumbs-up. Why did I care? I’d been dressing myself for years before I came here to live with Austin.

I waved at him. After I got my bag together, I slipped out of the bedroom and into the living room. Endgame was not around. I was grateful I didn’t have to confront him, and before I knew it, I was on the ground floor of the apartment. The doorman tipped his hat at me. I nodded back because I had no idea what was expected. I felt around my skirt for pockets full of cash. This skirt didn't have pockets. I missed my pockets.

I knew a tip was customary—I just wasn’t prepared with bills on the fly like this. Would I have to tip him every time I came in or out of the building? That could turn out to be pretty pricey right there.

The doorman didn’t mention any compensation, and if I found out that I had inadvertently stiffed him, I'd make it right. I’d have to ask Austin about it.

My class was packed, but I was able to snag the seat of a student that got up the second the professor started lecturing. The anthropology class was instantly boring and mind-numbingly useless for my field, but credits were credits. Two rows down, I saw the back of a very annoying head. Roberta and her boyfriend, Peter, were slouched in their chairs.

I vaguely remembered her talking about switching her classes, that the chemistry professor expected too much.