Sloth

I downed my shot of vodka and heaved myself out of the crater that was my chair and made my way back to the kitchen. I was about to pour myself another shot, and was considering actually mixing a drink when I heard a knock at the door- unusual, unless it was someone for Corrine. I settled for another shot of vodka and went to open the door.

When I saw who it was, I slammed the door in the persons face. Josh, I thought. When would he learn to just fuck right off? I didn’t want to see him, and I wasn’t all too sure when he would want to see me either. I was surprised when the door didn’t slam shut. I looked down and saw a scuffed, steel-toed work boot holding it open.

“For God’s sake, Kristine, open the door,” Josh yelled, banging at the door. I contemplated throwing my full weight against it, and recruiting Corrine for help, but changed my mind. Too much work. Instead, I stood aside and watched as he fell into the room, red faced from anger and the cold. I didn’t even speak to him, but I downed my shot and slammed the glass onto the half privacy wall by the entrance and returned to my chair. For a while, he stood at the door stupidly. I sighed, wanting to get rid of him before Corrine came in and this turned into a disastrous conflict with my loser ex.

“What do you want, Josh?” I asked, smiling and digging through the chair’s cushions for the lost television remote. He paused for a moment, and so did I, remaining completely silent so I could hear his ragged breathing. I could almost imagine I could hear his heart beat, fast and uneven.

“I-I...”

“Come on Josh, spit it out. I don’t have all day to waste here,” I said, and smirked to myself, knowing full well I had the entire day to waste here. There was hardly ever a time when I was actually obligated to do anything.

“I want you back!” he gasped, and ran his hand through his hair, which was scraggly and unkempt- not at all like Josh. I looked up at him and took in his appearance.

“That’s what I thought. Get out,” I said, and began channel surfing, looking for my typical distraction- Jerry Springer.

“No, Kristine! You have to listen to me, please,” he begged, and I glanced up at him once more.

“You look like shit,” I said, and settled into the chair, reaching down to pull the lever that made it recline. I snuggled into the warm, worn leather and smiled to myself. Today was going to be a great day.

As soon as Josh got the hell out.

“Kristine...” he whispered, then emotions crossed over his face, “You’ll never change, will you?” he said, sounding almost angry, but more frustrurated and hurt than anything.

“No, I won’t. Get out before I yell for the bitch to come dispose of you.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave.” He held up his hands and took a step back until he bumped into the wall. “Just know that I still love you,” he said, and then left abruptly. How I loathed it when he did this. I no longer had feelings for Josh, and sometimes, I questioned whether or not I ever had feelings for Josh, but whenever he came over, begging me to take him back, it left me feeling unsettled, and uneasy. I’d never tell anyone that, of course.

Lust

I’d hardly read the first sentance (The secret to finding the perfect client is...) when I heard a knock on the door. I paused, listening intently, and hoping it wasn’t for me. Kristine could deal with whoever they were. I went back to reading, biting my nail as I went along, when I heard another bang, then muffled voices. So Kristine went to the door. The moment I heard the door close again I could almost feel the tension in the air from here, as if suddenly some of the oxygen was sucked away. I held my breath and listened harder. I couldn’t quite make out their voices from here, that was, until I heard Kristine yell. I closed my book and tiptoed to my door very carefully.

Though Kristine was a huge, ginormus prick, I suppose I cared enough about her to protect her from house-invasions and angry people- I assumed this time it was Josh. I sighed to myself. He wanted her back so badly, and yet again he came back to fight for her. How often was he here, once, twice a week even? I cringed as I heard my name; bitch. In all honesty though, I suppose I was. More than once Kristine had yelled for me to try and get Josh and various other ex-boyfriends to get the hell out of the house, and they always listened to me. Personally, I found this somewhat odd, considering Kristine was the intimidating one with the s&m boots.

I heard Josh give up, and he left. For a moment I argued with myself, debating whether or not to go and see if she was okay, then I groaned and went into the living room, knowing damn well how she would react to me.

As I sat down on the harder, less comfortable couch across from her, she hardly looked up. For a nanosecond, I thought I saw her eyes flick over to me, but then she returned to watching her show- Jerry Springer. I followed her gaze and rolled my eyes, not understanding how she could watch this show. Across the bottom of the screen words scrolled: Who’s my babies daddy? I smirked inwardly. I gathered my courage and opened my mouth, and immediatly her eyes snapped to me, ready to shoot back a snide remark. I knew better than to ask if everything was okay.

“How are you?” I asked, instead, and braced myself for her response. She muted the TV and I broke my gaze, watching the people scream soundlessly at each other on the screen. I looked back when she remained silent. I almost thought I saw emotion cross her face, and she frowned, but then her face was wiped blank and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Peachy,” she responded, and turned the volume back up, louder now than before. She pointedly shifted her body so it wasn’t open to me, and I sighed and stood up again.

She was perfectly fine. Typical Kristine.

Wrath

I devoured my hotdog as I walked through the crowded streets, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my coat and not caring how many people I rudely bumped into. Their angry remarks and glares meant nothing to me. By the time I got to my room, I was hungry again, and almost more angry than before. Except now for an entirely different reason. I couldn’t stop worrying about my mother.

For the past months, she’d been in and out of rehab for drugs, alcohol, smoking, and abuse from my father. If anyone had a hard life, it was her. Since then, my father divorced her, took all of his money and got his ass out of there as soon as he found out my mother had a problem.

Little did he know how many other ‘problems’ he’d caused. My father, Kevin, never contacted us anymore. He left my me with nothing, and my mother with even less. I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to pay for my mother’s rehab, since I was busy in rehab of my own, and had no job, nor any means of supporting both of us. From the court’s order, however, my father was forced to pay me five hundred dollars a month. For a while, I was tempted to shove it back in his face, to not accept his money, since he didn’t mean for it to go to his only daughter anyways. Then common sense took over. I had no way of supporting myself- no one wanted to hire a girl with a crazed mother and a plethora of problems of her own.

I sighed and flung myself onto the bed, and I stared at the ceiling for a while until the phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered, a little to angrily, I decided and sat up, leaning against the wall on the top bunk.

“... Yolanda?” I heard a weak voice come from the other side of the phone, sounding more feeble and frail than I had ever heard it before.

“Mom?” I asked, speaking quietly, so my roommate, who was in the bathroom wouldn’t hear. I didn’t need even more people finding out about my personal issues.

“H-how are you?” she stuttered, and I groaned. She wasn’t getting much better, and her withdrawl symptoms were getting worse.

“I’m fine, mom. How are you?” I responded, tucking my knees up to my chest and crossing my fingers in my lap.

“Me... I’m doing great,” she said, sounding very much falsely happy. I groaned to myself.

“No, you’re not doing great. How’s treatment?” I asked, and I heard her sigh from the other side and... sniffle?

“It’ll kill me before the drugs do,” she said, and I could almost picture her smiling sadly on the other line. Almost. It had been so long since I had actually seen my mother, healthy, and sane. The last time I had, her hair was falling out, her skin was yellow and taut, webbed with thin blue veins. Dark circles resided under her eyes which were now hollow looking, and not bright as they used to be.

“Have you heard from dad?” I asked, and I heard her breath intake sharply and pause for a moment. She breathed out heavily.

“Yes. He’s suing,” she said, as if it meant nothing. My heart stopped.

“What?!” I practically screamed, then lowered my voice, remembering the room mate who was currently taking a shower, likely with problems of her own. “Sorry,” I whispered. “What’s he suing for?” I said, my voice sounding hurt, even to myself. I felt as though I was going to tear up at the sound of my mother’s voice.

“Abuse,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, and thick with tears, “he claims I abused him, slipped him drugs, and abused you.” She sounded compeltely defeated.

“Oh god, mom...” I muttered, shaking my head, and feeling a tear break free of my eye and tumble down my cheek. It landed on my jacket, leaving a dark stain mark. “What...” I began, but realized she wouldn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know, hun,” she said, as if she’d read my mind, “I don’t know...” I angrily wiped the tears from my face, and came to a simple conclsion.

Kevin Anderson must die.

Avarice

As I walked back toward the parking garage where I stached my car, I noticed someone run past me, her jacket flairing out behind her. It was the same girl I had just saw in the stoor a minute ago. The one who had looked extremely lost, but ended up purchasing a few interesting things. I noticed now that she wasn’t carrying her bag. I looked back and watched her as she ran, and I stopped.

“Hey, are you okay?” I called after her and she skidded to a stop and looked back. I raised my eyebrow and I saw her eyes flick immediatly to my eyebrow ring. She frowned. So she’s one of those sort, I thought.

“Yes, well, no. I misplaced my bag...” she muttered, looking around.

“Where was the last place you were, when did you noticed it missing?” I asked, walking with her slowly to wherever she was going. She stopped infront of a park bench.

“I was sitting right here, then I noticed it was gone when I went to pay for my things in that store back there,” she said, sounding panicky. She looked rich. I was willing to bet she lost a good few hundred dollars in that purse, if not more.

“Try and relax,” I said, “What was in it that was important?” I asked. She paused for a second, then ticked things off on her fingers, sounding completely hopeless.

“My wallet, my driver’s license, my money, a healthcard, my student card...” She trailed off and I thought of the one reasonable thing. Someone stole it, and if someone stole it, she wasn’t getting it back. That, or she left it behind, some wonderful, caring citizen found it and took it to the nearest police station and would give it to her when she went to find it.

Not in a million fucking years, though.

Whoever took it likely pocketed the cash, and tossed the rest of it beneath the subway.

“Well...” I began, not sure how to comfort her.

“I know, I know. It’s gone. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” she asked, and brushed her hair from her face angrily.

“I’m not really sure. Do you go to U of T?” I asked, and she nodded. “Well, you could talk to the people there. I’m sure this happens alot. She nodded again and sniffled.

“Where are you going now?” she asked, and I pointed to the parking garage.

“Back to res. I’m just going to get my car now. How about you?” I said, and she followed me to my car. I shifted my bags as I unlokced the trunk then threw them in.

“Home- res,” she said, and shrugged with a smile.

“Get in,” I said, and tossed her the keys over the roof of the car so she could unlock her side.

Pride

I ran out of the shop, my heart beating like a frantic rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. My purse was gone. And it had everything in it that mattered. My student card, my driver’s license, my health card, and a good five hundred dollars. My stomach did a flip as I ran down the crowded road back to where I was sitting last when it was with me- at the park.

I honestly did know better. It was Toronto, the purse would be gone. If for whatever reason, a charitable angel found it, it would be brought to the nearest police station. What really happened, was someone snagged it, took the money, and probably threw it in the nearest trash can.

I smiled cynically, when someone yelled out.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I looked back and saw the girl from the shop I was just in. Her bag swang at her side as she jogged a few steps closer. I explained my situation to her, and she nodded every now and then, asking me the usual questions like, “Where did you put it last?”, and “when did you notice it was gone?”. I explained that to her too. The last place I remembered having the bag was at this bench here.

I gestured vaguely at the bench and she nodded, looking thoughtful. Again, my eyes slipped up to her eyebrow ring and I cringed. I’m sure it was visible.

“Do you go to U of T?” she asked, jerking me back and making me remember staring wasn’t polite. I met her eyes and blinked a few times.

“Oh, yeah.”

She turned then and I followed her to the parking garage where her car was.

“Get in,” she said, and tossed the keys at me. I caught them, shocked and unlocked my side, clamouring into the car and passing the keys back to her so she could start the car. The old vehicle shuddered to life and she turned a few dials, cranking the heat up full blast. I shivered at the sudden warmth and placed my hands in front of the vent, and the warm air slowly worked the numbness from my fingers. The next thing I noticed about her, was that she drove like a maniac. I guess she saw the look on my face, because she smirked.

No slowing down involved, though.

“Jesus Christ-” I shouted as she slammed on the breaks and skidded to a stop at a red light. I paused halfway through my sentance. “Wait, have I even asked your name?” I raised an eyebrow and took a few deep breaths, still attempting to calm down.

“No,” she said, and floored the car again when the light turned green. I sighed.

“Okay, what is your name?” I asked.

“Elise Bell,” she said as she pulled into the school’s parking lot.

“Elise Bell...” I repeated. “I bet people call you El Bell, huh?” I said with a smirk. She nodded.

“All the time.

“I’m Meghan Coben, by the way,” I added as she walked away from me towards the stairs to the second floor.

“Nice to meet you, Cob.”

Envy

I screamed and flung myself out of bed. Bright, hot flames flew up my wall along the curtains, climbing higher and higher at remarkable speed like something being swallowed by a wave.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I yelled, and flung my window open. The flames exited the window in a whoosh, tongues of the flame whipping outside and curling around the window flame. Thick black smoke gushed from the window. I looked around frantically, wishing I could remember where the fire extinguisher was, or if I even had one. Surely there was some kind of law...

I looked out the window. I was two stories up. What could I possibly do? I picked up my cell phone and called 911, quickly telling them what was happening, and where I was. I paced around the room like mad, hoping the fire department would get here soon. I didn’t think it would do any serious damage, other than the fact that I would lose my curtains. For a moment, I imagined what would happen if my wardrobe was to catch fire, and I swore my heart stopped. My clothes. My shoes! I shuddered and glanced out the window again. The fire department still wasn’t here.

Of course they wouldn’t be here yet. It was Toronto, and this was prime rush hour time.

The wind shifted and the curtains were blown further into the room, the flames reaching out to brush my face. I screamed and back up, pulling my hair behind me where it wouldn’t be a candidate for a bonfire. Water, I needed water. I groaned, realizing I had nothing to bring water in from the bathroom to here.

“What the hell else puts out fires?” I muttered, as I began pacing again, further from the window this time. “Snow? Yes! Snow! We have snow here...”

I wrapped my hand in an old pillow case and ripped the curtains down, throwing them out the window onto the pavement, and the snow below. I watch as the flame consumed my curtains until all that was left was a small, smouldering pile of ashes. I sighed and went to the bathroom to get soap and rags. It would take hours of scrubbing to get all of the ash and soot out of my room and off of the walls and window frames.

I stopped my cleaning nearly just as soon as I started and looked out the window. I hear the sirens approaching and finally saw a single red firetruck pull into the parking lot. I watched as someone got out of the truck and looked around, up, then at the ground where the remains of my curtains lay smouldering. They shook their head, and I immediatly felt very stupid. I realized now how many calls like this they probably got.

I waved out the window and the man nodded at me and headed towards the entrance.

I let him into my room and we talked for awhile about what happened. He gave me fire safety tips, told me not to light taper candles, gave me a fire extinguisher and went on his way. I flopped back down onto my bed to think about shoes, this time without the candles. I suppose I learned my lesson. I cringed. Now everything smelled like smoke, and probably would for

What a life altering experience.

Gluttony

I was nearly asleep when I was jerked awake by a scream. My eyes snapped open and I looked around, and up towards the campus’s apartment building. Flames poured from a window on the second floor on the west side. Even from here I could see someone walking around inside. The curtains were ripped from the window then fluttered to the ground looking from here like a single, firey autumn leaf. Shortly after that a fire truck blazed by, its sirens off, but its lights flashing nontheless.

I stood after a while, when the fire truck left, and went to the apartment building. I counted the windows up and over, and then wandered around inside for a while until I found the persons room. I knew I had found the right one- the entire hall smelled like smoke. I was surprised there wasn’t a hoard of people lined up at her door waiting to know if she had torched her room or not. She answered the door after a few knocks and I was shocked to find how calm she looked- not at all like she had just set fire to her room and her curtains.

“Can I help you?” she asked, leaning against the door frame and coughing a few times. I shook my head.

“No, but can I help you? I noticed you torched your room,” I said. She led me into her room and I sat on the edge of the bed while she scrubbed at her walls.

“No, no. I’m fine. I just probably shouldn’t light candles anymore.”

“So, you lit your curtains on fire with candles, huh? I can say I’ve done that a few times,” I said, and smiled. “Do you want some help?” I asked, waving my hand at the window that was still very much blackened. She nodded.

“You wouldn’t mind?” she said, and handed me a cloth.

“Not at all,” I said. “Chocolate?” I passed her a Hershey’s kiss and got to work scrubbing.

Hours passed before we were finally done.

“Alissa?” I looked up when I heard my name.

“Yeah?”

“Do you live in res? Or in an apartment?” she asked, scrubbing vigorously at a spot that refused to come clean.

“Oh, I live with my parents,” I said, and I could feel the colour rising to my face as I said it. Please don’t ask anymore, I prayed, please. But she didn’t say anything more. She left me to my own thoughts and my own problems.

The next I glanced at my watch, I realized my mother would be coming by any time now.

“Sorry, Gertrude, I have to go. My mother should be here soon, and she’ll be mad if I keep her waiting.”

“That’s no problem. Listen, Alissa, thanks for the help. I’ll see you around, hmm?” she said, as I opened her door. A rush of clean air, greeted me. I grinned.

“Define ‘around’?” I shouted at her as I walked down the hall. I looked out the window and I could already see our beat up white box of a van waiting in the parking lot from the large windows that lined the hallways.

“Next saturday, at the party!” she shouted back.

“Shit...” I muttered, and jogged down the hallway and down the emergency stairs.

“I’m really sorry I’m late, mom,” I said, as I clamoured into the van and wedged myself into the seat. I buckled the seat belt around me and shifted around so it was no longer cutting into my arm.

“You should be, I’ve been waiting for ten minutes now. You’re selfish, Alissa. What if I had other things that were more important to do than sit here waiting for you?” my mother shouted over the sound of Chantal Kreviazuk blaring on the radio. I blushed crimson.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, and pointedly looked out the window. She probably didn’t hear me anyways, but pulled out of the parking lot sharply. She didn’t speak to me the whole way home, and only yelled at me to tell me to get groceries out of the trunk as she slammed the door and went into the house. I sighed, positive she would overreact about things until she was dead. Even then, when she was old and crippled I could see her crabby as ever, shouting at me for weak tea and her daily medication.

I shook my head and began to haul groceries out of the trunk.