I always thought that at age 19 I'd be in college. Maybe in one of those bullshit sororities partying with nasty frat boys and drinking from a keg, but here I am. 19 and dancing for money. A fake name, faker eyelashes, with a friend, lover, and cus...
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The modest sized apartment that Chanel and I rent on the Lower East Side is on fire. I think. A terrible whiff of burnt something reaches my nose and my eyes snap open immediately. Big mistake. My eyes are shut again within seconds due to the billows of black smoke that stings them and invades my bedroom.
"Chanel!" No answer.
"Chanel!" A pan clatters to the floor in the kitchen. With a grunt and a sigh I haul my ass out of bed and squint through the smoke trying to locate my roommate.
"Anya! I know this looks bad, but it's not, trust me" she races to the kitchen window and proceeds to swing around a rag as if the smoke would willingly comply and exit the apartment.
"What the hell Chanel?" She looks at me timidly and points to several pots and pans stacked and smoking in the kitchen sink.
"I tried to make us breakfast, like a super good breakfast, things went pretty bad pretty fast." Behind her the toaster spits out two pieces of blackened bread before emitting its own fumes.
"Aren't you late for work?" She perks up again and slides me a cup of coffee. The smoke starts to dissipate and I eye the coffee mug wearily.
"Nope! Helena took too much Valium this morning and can't even speak according to Jessica, who gave me the day off!" I smile and start to rinse the mess in the sink. It's no use. Whatever Chanel had tried to cook was scorched onto the surfaces and wouldn't even be cleaned out without some serious soaking.
"Why are you up anyway?" It was a valid question. I usually slept all day so I could work all night.
"I was debating wether or not to call the fire department"
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny. Want a pop-tart?"
"Way ahead of you." I walk to the pantry and pull out two pop-tart packages.
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"Eat. Then go back to sleep. You're actually performing tonight right?" I pick at the crust of my pop-tart and eat it rather greedily.
