Wallowing in despair is inevitable. But my last therapist always told me when it seems like everything is falling apart, focus on the things you can be grateful for. Because there’s always something, no matter how small it might seem.

I drink more and glance around my apartment. I love it here. It’s small and basic. One bedroom, one bathroom, tiny kitchen and living space, but it’s mine. It’s not like I need anything fancy. I’m not a scientist like my parents—I take another drink on that thought—and I’m not a brilliant hottie like Eloise—I take two drinks on that one. I just need a job good enough to pay for this apartment. This lovely apartment I love. The best part is the tub, one of those old-fashioned claw-foot things.

More wine goes down my throat. I feel so much better now.

I love this wine.

I love my tub. I love my apartment.

Love is a weird word. Love love love.

I love Alex. Nope.

Where did that thought come from? I don’t love Alex, he’s too good for me.

Someone is crying. Is it me? I pat my cheeks. No. Not me. Another swig of wine down the gullet. I’m not having a meltdown and it’s all thanks to this lovely wine.

My body is warm. Too warm. I go from warm and fuzzy to hot and uncomfortable in quick succession. Time to go enjoy my tub while I can still afford soap.

I stumble into the bathroom, setting my wine on the counter, and then tug off my clothes. I hate these clothes. I shove them in the tiny bathroom trash and then get into the empty tub in my bra and undies.

A quiet sob fills the space.

Is that me? No, I pat my chest, no sobbing coming from in here. I’m not crying but someone is.

My eyes drift shut. I’m dizzy. Tired. So tired. Who is crying?

Ugh. I’m not the only one who had a terrible Monday. I’m so glad this day is over.

Chapter Four

Buuuuuurp.

Groaning I roll over, tugging my pillow over my head.

What the heck?

It’s the same song. Spackle me? Is that what he’s saying?

Sleep recedes, reality intrudes. Brain fires up, trying to make sense of the noise.

Does the neighbor play this every morning? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’m usually gone by now. But today . . . I have nowhere to be today, because I am un-gainfully unemployed. I guess I should get up and look for a job at least. But I don’t want to do anything except hide forever.

I’m probably hungover.