Our Finest Moment ✔️

3

LIANA

After I calmed down, I fell asleep on the dusty floor outside of the little corner I first crawled into. The day I had was filled with my stomach growling as I searched for food. Any food. But I had no luck with that.

I did, however, manage to sneak a water bottle off a booth by knocking over two and setting one back while the other was slid up my sweater's sleeve. It's a skill I'm not particularly proud of, but it's a necessary one to keep me alive. At least a little while longer.

While I tried to fish some food out of garbage cans and wrappers, I wasn't very successful today. And I'm not desperate enough not to be picky yet, hence why I passed on a half-eaten donut that had been thrown out and covered with dental floss, gum and what looked like expired milk—though I'm not sure what that last thing was.

A few more days, and I would without a doubt pick it up and at least try it.

I look around the apartment and bite my lip as I look for anything at all that could've been left there. A can of something would be preferable, since they don't really expire. Or maybe some nuts or snacks of any kind, since those has too much weird stuff in them to go bad.

But I'm out of luck. The fridge looks like it's been crushed, and the top hinge falls off as I open it up, causing me to jump back a step. There's a carton of eggs in there that I quickly pull towards me to check the date. If I've learned anything at all, it's that eggs stay good a month or two after they've expired, but these went bad over two years ago.

Deciding it's not worth the salmonella risk, I shove them back in and look at the other moldy stuff in there. It's almost all become green lumps, making it impossible to see if it used to be blocks of cheese, leftover dinners or a dead rat.

With my nose scrunching in displeased disgust, I close the fridge back up and turn around to check the yellowed cabinets. There's a glass jar with rice there, filled with black spots. I spot some bowls for baking, some parchment paper, and a whole lot of aluminum foil. The next one is empty. And the next one was probably once where they stored bread, because it's green and powdery in there, and there's a distinct old smell that reminds me of when my bread had been laying too long in its box in my kitchen.

I sigh, closing the cabinet with a little less hope than before, and decide I can just go to bed and get the next day sooner rather than later—should I wake up. That isn't a given these days either.

And I know I'm probably signing my death sentence by staying in the same place those people discussed their criminal activities last night, but honestly...after the day I've had, I find I'm a little disappointed they didn't find me and end me already.

So maybe I'm just suicidal—and I'm fine with that. There's nothing left in this life for me anyway when no one wants to hire a person without a home, and no one wants to have a person who's reported sexual harassment on their payroll. Even if it was more assault than harassment.

I don't even care. My life has been, and will be, too messy to ever enjoy. So if they find me tonight, I'll be more than happy to go.

At least, that's what I tell myself when I crawl into the tight space under the fallen ceiling, clutching my trusty duffel bag as a big hotel pillow. Imagining being in a big, soft bed with fluffy blankets and pillows helps me drift off pretty quickly, and even with a hint of a smile on my lips.

•••

"And who are you?" I spin around at the sound of one of the voices from the night before. I couldn't have forgotten it if I tried.

A man stands behind me, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as if he was waiting for me to wake up and notice him, but he apparently grew impatient. He's pretty, and I hate myself for thinking that before noticing the gun tucked in his dark jeans, or the brass around his knuckles.