TWENTY
I shuffle into the kitchen, eyes half closed, bumping into the kitchen island, reaching around blindly for the empty mug of coffee that Elena usually leaves out for me when she wakes up before I do (which happens five times a week), but my mug (the one that has a cute little fox on it, and says ‘For fox sake!’) is not where it’s supposed to be.
Confused enough that I squint my eyes open, too much sunlight streaming into the kitchen—that really shouldn’t be happening ’cause our kitchen’s set farther back, closest to our entrance door, and we don’t get the morning light, just the afternoon.
And when I blink my eyes fully open, I realize I’m not in my kitchen, and yeah, yeah.
Except I’m alone in a place that is not my apartment.
Oh. Oh.
Huh.
I spin around on my back foot, squeak
