Monday
A hammering at the door woke Aislen. It was late afternoon, slipping into dusk, and Toby snored on the mattress next to her. The room was littered with debris from their day - scattered clothing, take-away food wrappers, the nearly empty whiskey bottle, the bong, the bag of drugs on the table, and the overflowing cigarette ashtray.
“Your time is up, room twenty-three!” A man bellowed from outside.
“Yep,” Toby snorted awake and yelled back. “We hear you. We’re going. f**k,” he sat up and looked around him, blearily, his eyes focusing on Aislen. “f**k,” he winced. “How old are you again?”
“Eighteen,” she realized. It was her birthday, and that fact had completely slipped her mind in the drama with her parents and the Triquetra. “I’m eighteen.”
“Thank f**k for that. Not that it ma
