I stared across my tiny-ass studio apartment. The main room was small and barely held my day bed, sofa chair, and bistro set. The TV sat atop a cube storage unit where all twelve cubes were stuffed solid. Then, there was my joke of a kitchen where you couldn’t even open the oven all the way, thanks to the fridge…which also didn’t open all the way. There was no counter space, and only a sink.
Fifteen hundred a month was insane for the small space, but with no car and just enough money to get by, there was no way out. I was stuck in the vicious cycle of insane rental prices in an expensive and crowded city.
If I lived with Atticus, I had a feeling my bathroom would be larger than the room I was sitting in. Just the idea of what he was asking was insane. How could I say yes to that?
I slip
