Something cold was pressed to her foot. Cold and… damp. With a start, she jerked to consciousness, sitting up and drawing her feet towards her, staring with crazed yet bleary eyes around the room. At the foot of her bed, Prattie whined and wagged his tail, grinning.

“Damn dog,” she grumbled, flopping back on her pillows and making sure to drape the sheets over her toes. The damn dog took this as an invitation to climb on the bed with her, untrimmed toenails digging into the skin of her legs and butt as he scrambled to lie, half-beside her, half-smothering her, in the whopping six inches of space between her body and the wall.

With an annoyed growl, she wriggled out from underneath her pet, barely managing to get off the bed without falling over. She glanced at the clock and sighed huffily. It was barely eight in the morning, and she needed the sleep. The night shift was killing her, and having a dog wake her up in the wee hours of the morning was not helping.

Grumbling incoherently, she wandered towards the bathroom, pausing long enough to pound on her roommate’s door. Jonathon was probably in bed, hungover, with whatever skank he’d picked up at the bar last night, but she wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic. After all, she had been out working her ass off while he was getting drunk and laid.

“Your dog woke me up! Get it the hell out of my room!” she yelled, and was satisfied to hear the groans of someone being awoken unpleasantly. Turning away from his door, she made her way over to brush her teeth and wash the remnants of sleep from her face.

Her reflection made her pause as she dried off.

How long had she been at this job? Two months, three? It was starting to wear on her, but now the changes in her appearance were stark and cruel. Her hair had been long, glossy and smooth, but now it looked lanky and rough. Her skin was blotchy, pale and almost gray-toned, and her eyes looked sunken, underlined by heavy dark circles. God, she looked like a junkie.

Sighing, she turned away from the mirror, moving out into the hallway to see Jonathon edging out of his room. He glared at her, the handsome planes of his face twisting in anger.

“Don’t you have any fucking manners?” he snapped.

This was the last thing she needed. Eight a.m., and his dog woke her up. She took a deep breath, as if she were trying to calm herself.

“Don’t you have any fucking manners?” she snarled. Oh, she was loud, she could hear movement from his room, and it gave her a jolt of righteous satisfaction. He opened his mouth and she jerked a hand up. “No, shut the fuck up. I don’t care what you have to say, I don’t give two shits how drunk you are or how hot what’s-her-name is. I spent last night working my fucking ass off, earning money, while you went out to get wasted and bone the first whore to look your way. And don’t tell me that’s not what you were doing, you still reek of alcohol and sex. Are you gonna call her, Jon? No. Do you remember her name? No. Are you gonna do the same thing, different girl tonight? Yes.”

He was gesturing frantically, trying to shut her up. Instead, feeling particularly vindictive, she shoved past him and kicked his door open. Some sleep-rumpled, naked blonde snatched a sheet around her chest, looking horrified. Jonathon grabbed her, tried to pull her away, but it was too late. Dangling there, where he’d lifted her from the ground, she gave the woman a nasty smirk.

“You didn’t actually believe him when he said he’d call, did you?”

“God fucking dammit, Leslie,” he shouted, right in her ear. Abruptly, he dropped her, and she stumbled a few steps, catching herself in the doorway and turning around, furious.

“Oh, what? Now you don’t get the usual morning quickie? Go fuck your dog! It fucking woke me up because you don’t take care of it. Because you’re too busy drinking and fucking your way through the bars!”

“You’re so full of shit!” he shouted, but he had no leverage in this one.

“I’m full of shit? When’s the last time you saw me drink? When’s the last time you saw me bring some random, faceless guy home? When’s the last time you saw me go out at all?” She was in his face now, every word bitten off, loud and angry.

“It’s not my fault that you never wanna do anything!” he protested.

“It’s not my fault I never have time to do anything, because I’m too busy working to pay the bills. When’s the last time you paid for anything but a pack of condoms? When’s the last time you bought fucking groceries? You haven’t paid rent in three months! I had to get this fucking night job to support your ass!”

He didn’t say anything, but Blondie had gotten dressed (in record time), and chose to throw in her two cents.

“Wow, you’re a total bum,” she said, wedging herself past the pair, her purse slung over her shoulder. Patting Jon condescendingly on one of his bare shoulders, she added for good measure, “I faked it, by the way.”

And then she was gone.

Jon watched her go, his mouth hanging open, and turned back to Leslie as the door slammed. “You bitch!” he screamed. “You fucking bitch! What the fuck gives you the right to chase off my guests?”

Her voice was completely cold as she turned to him, although her eyes remained furious. “The fact that it’s my apartment. Now, you owe me three months rent. I’m calling my lawyer once nine o’clock hits.”

He blanched, and then his usual self-assured smirk fell into place. “You’re not calling a lawyer, come on.”

“Hand over the fifteen hundred you owe me for rent, electric and cable, and maybe I won’t. Maybe.”

He couldn’t do anything other than stare, and she turned away, walking into her room. Grabbing the dog, she jerked it off of her bed, dragging it out of the door. Prattie whimpered, crying in the plaintive, sorrowful voice of an unloved dog.

For a second, she felt sorry for the poor mutt.