VOLUME THREE: GRINDGrind: A form of warfare where repetitive actions are required to advance.The Ten Commandments of the Apartment1. No pets of any kind. Even those in tanks, bowls or cages.2. No music after 9 p.m. Television viewing is okay as long as it can't be heard in any adjoining room or the hallway.3. No unapproved paint on any apartment walls.4. No more than two additional people allowed in the apartment at any given time.5. No parking in any of the designated spaces. Parking can be found at a metered space on the street.6. No hallway adornments.7. No one besides immediate residents of the floor should be given any codes to access the floor.8. No sheer window curtains or any other fabric that does not completely block the view from outside.9. No personal relationships with the landlord.10. The apartment should be kept in an orderly fashion at all times.Any violation of these rules can and will result in immediate termination of the lease
The wind sweeps up the street and blows my hair around behind me. I contemplate putting it up in a ponytail, but I want to look nice for this first date. A guy shouldn't see me in sweats with my hair pulled back until at least date five. If he has potential, maybe date ten.Hair whips around my face again and I reach back with both hands to tame it, holding on to the ends. It's cold in San Francisco and, while I'll never admit this to Aspen, it might be time to upgrade my winter jacket from the thick black fleece I have on today. I'd rather not walk around ready to go on an Artic expedition like Pen, but a little more warmth wouldn't hurt. I'm a southern California girl, even if I've been here almost five years now.I jump a few times and stomp my feet in a half attempt to warm them up. If my date isn't here in five minutes, I'll leave the sidewalk to wait for him inside. In order to make it here on time, I left right from work and my thin black pants offer little protection agains
One hundred and ten minutes of blood, guts, and gun fights later my torture came to an end when the final credits rolled. The only plus for the movie? Repeated gunfire helped silence Chompy McChompson although I could have done without his repeated attempts to push his spittle drink on me.I caught a cab out of there as fast as possible thanks to Aspen's rescue text. With the sweetest smile I could muster, I explained to James how I had to get home to feed Aspen's new cat Mittens. There's no cat, but James graciously accepted my best friend as an irresponsible pet owner. Now I have to cross my fingers he never asks Aspen's sister-in-law about her grey tabby.My calves burn by the time I hit the fourth-floor stairwell and enter the code to open the door to my hallway. It's a few short steps to my wooden apartment door and I let out a sigh when I spot the bright yellow Post-it note stuck to the middle of it. What could it be now?I stop in front of my door not touching the note, bu
Grey walls. Grey carpet. Grey desk top. Everywhere I look in my office there's grey. Well it's not so much an office as a cubical. Okay fine, it's a cubical. Why are cubical farms so gloomy? If they force employees to work on Saturdays, the least they could do is add a little color. It's depressing.The single highlight of my day thus far came from panicky texts from Aspen over Finn's talk of marriage. My bestie's so far gone for her gamer boyfriend I can't figure out why she fights it so hard. If I had a loyal and loving guy like Finn wrapped around my finger, I'd do whatever it took to keep him there forever. If my past taught me anything it's to grab on to a good one and never take him for granted."Marissa, do you have last month's figures for the Cline account?" Scott, another marketing assistant questions from his cubical three down and one over from mine.I stand with the forms and turn in his direction. "Yeah, they're right here. I'm done if you need them."The sheets a
I push twenty dollars through the plastic divider between the front and back of the cab, anxious to breathe air that doesn't stink of cabbage."No change," I say as I throw open the cab door.My hand catches the crutch tucked under my arm and it swings back almost hitting me in the face. I avoid the black eye from that attempt, but navigating around with these wooden legs will be harder than I thought. I've never had crutches before, and I found the three-minute tutorial my nurse gave lacking in a few major details. Like how the hell to walk with them."Do you need help, Miss?" the cabbie asks, but doesn't leave his seat.I wrap my purse with my shoe in it around my shoulder and stick the bottoms of both crutches on the ground outside the cab. "Nope. I'm good. Thanks." With one large push-pull move on the crutches, I clear the cab and fumble with them on the sidewalk for a minute. Somehow I manage to keep my wrapped foot off the dirty ground.The six tiny steps to the front d
I grunt at him but try to follow his quick directions. It's as helpful as the nurse while she adjusted the crutches."Have you never had crutches before?" This question annoys me more than the first and I visualize hitting him in the head with one. But I worry I'd fall over and hurt myself more."No. I'm normally a coordinated person. I've never needed them before.""Let me help." He slides into the spot next to me and takes each crutch while wrapping an arm around my waist.I want to complain, but I'm missing a leg to stand on. Literally. As much as I hate to admit it, I need this man's help.We make it to the elevator faster than I ever could have on my own, and Ryland uses the bottom of a crutch to open the elevator door. As we wait for the ride to start, he readjusts his arm moving it further down causing him to lean over me.He grips tighter and puts the crutches at an angle to better carry us both. "My God you're short."He's so full of compliments. "I'm average. Yo
Objects in the room come into focus as I open my eyes, but my dream lingers right on the edge of my consciousness. The image of Ryland's flexed muscles as he carried me up four flights of stairs last night fades as I wake up more.I'm groggy from the remnants of the pain pill, but I definitely remember Ryland didn't carry me up any stairs. There were no muscles involved. There's no reason for me to be dreaming about such ridiculous crap.Glass clatters around in my kitchen and I tense up on high alert. Who in the hell is in my place? I try to move my legs off the bed, but they're stiff and my crutches are nowhere to be seen. I'm a sitting duck for whoever's out there mauling through my things."Time to wake up, Marissa."Ryland? Why in the hell is he here?I stay silent and consider the option of pretending I'm asleep. Ryland's head peeks around the bedroom door before I have time to adjust myself back on the bed. His smile falters into a tight-lipped frown."You didn't cha
My mouth falls open at his playful and bossy tone, but it doesn't mess with his smile. The man is unperturbed, which frustrates me. Rather than remind him I'm maimed, I move on to the next pressing topic."What's that?" I point to the table in question.He cocks an eyebrow in my direction and raises a hand like he's about to check for a temperature, but I bat it away. "A coffee table.""I realize it's a coffee table, Ryland. Where did it come from?""First, call me Ry. My mother's the only person who calls me Ryland. Second, I bought the table this morning.""You bought a table this morning?" My wrapped foot rests on the floor, the throbbing pressure increasing by the minute. It must be the reason I'm hearing his answers wrong.He slides the table a few inches closer. "Yeah, I stopped by to wake you up this morning and noticed you didn't have one. I picked it up down the road and they delivered it an hour later."My eyes rise to the ceiling as I work through everything he