Sketches and Sterf: 4

W&C exerpt

    Winifred arrived home in a slight daze from the heat and the stress of her current state of mentality given she hardly noticed the mess covering the apartment. Seeing no sign of Zoe, her roommate, she stripped down, threw her work clothes in the hamper, and took a quick shower.
    After getting out and putting in her contacts, she shuffled to her dresser for some clean clothes, when she opened the drawers, they were empty, bare to the bone. "What the—," she whispered to herself. The only clothing she could find was a t-shirt and even that was covered in something remarkably wet. Gagging, she chucked it in the bin.
    Winifred looked took a moment to look around her apartment. She was used to messes, pizza boxes, even the occasionally stranger asleep in her apartment, but this was an extreme. Drinks were everywhere, her clothes were missing, someone's shoes were hanging from the ceiling fan. Even her work clothes were unwearable, she discovered. An exceptionally foul odor emitting from the hamper.
    The phone buzzed to a halt, Zoe wouldn't pick up. "Hey Zoe, I need you to come home, like now. T-the room is a mess I—um—just get back soon, thanks." Zoe was a bubbly party-hard redhead, she didn't care much for Winifred, but never really got in her way. Winifred pulled her towel tighter and looked in the fridge for something to eat. Only yesterday she had a full array of food, and now all that remained was a head of cabbage. The cupboards were deserted of even the simplest of cereals. She took a hold of her single head of cabbage who had somehow survived the catastrophe and sat one the floor, trying to think of what to do. Her options were minimal and the best one she could think of at the moment was Charlie, who lived two floors down. Seeing nothing better to do she stood up with her cabbage under her arm, a flimsy towel wrapped around her, and headed for Charlie's. As she walked she realized that this was probably the dumbest option she had, walking up to a boy's apartment in nothing but a towel, but she'd known him for at the very least a month, That's long enough to form a reliable bond, right? she thought. Social appropriation was by no means her strong suit, but she hoped for the best.
    Approaching the door, she tunnel-visioned on the doorbell, momentarily rethinking herself before jabbing the button. A large blue eye popped up through the peephole shifting quickly. The door opened and there stood a petrified and rather altitudinous boy with his mess of blonde hair standing entirely vertically. "Uh, Winnie—."
    "Don't ask questions, let me in," she said.
    "Winifred, what're you—," she brushed past him and stepped inside. She looked around then back to him, running her eyes up and down, seemingly sizing him up.
    "You should cut your hair you look like Einstein," she said bluntly. He glanced up to his hair, which, with its bleach blonde color and massive volume, did resemble Einstein.
    Winifred continue walking and sat down on his couch in her towel, soaking wet. "I-um," Charlie stuttered. "C-can I get you anything? I would say make yourself at home but, you know."
    She glanced around. His apartment was a large degree nicer than hers, it was bright and the shelves were covered with plants, the kitchenette was small and clean. Her room was dark and brown, closer resembling a cheap dorm room. "Yeah, my apologies for the short notice arrival."
    "You mean no notice arrival." Charlie ran his hand through a potted plant, rolling his eyes.
    "Yeah, anyway, do you have any clothes I could borrow?"
    "I'm literally a twenty-two year old man, why would I have clothes for a little girl?" he scoffed.
    "One, I brought you a cabbage," she chucked it, hitting him square in the chest, "two, I'm older than you, so shut up; and three, because I have no other options because quite frankly no one likes me that much," Winnie finished sternly.
    He glanced down with what seemed to be a flash of regret or doubt and walked away into another room. Winnie stayed on the couch, partially worried about scaring him away or being rude. She had no other options and now no money coming in to pay for her apartment. "How could I be so stupid? I quit my job. Sure it was a sucky job and I wanted to kill myself at the end of every day but it paid well," she muttered to herself. "Why can't you accept a normal life Winifred? You don't have to change the world, that's not your job. 'You just gotta find something you love, Winifred.' how ridiculous. How come I ever—."
    "Here." Charlie chucked a pair of boxers, a huge plaid shirt, and some tall black socks, landing in her lap. "Anything else—cup of coffee?"
    "Ew, no. Have any tea?" He walked over to the kitchen and returned with two heavy mugs.
    Winifred then, blatantly ignoring Charlie's presence, put on the boxers and oddly fitting socks, still holding up the towel. She started to put on the shirt but Charlie coughed and turned around.
    "You done?" He handed her a mug and sat down to pluck a deadhead off one of his hanging plants. "Okay, Winifred—"
    "Winnie."
    "I've known you for a little over a month ever since you came to work, okay? You seem like a great girl, you're smart and, um, friendly, but you need to explain why you showed up to my apartment in a towel demanding to be let in." Winifred studied his face. It was full of visible concern, she gulped. It wasn't the concern you'd show for a friend who's on the verge of a mental breakdown, no. This was the type of concern you'd show for an old women who walked out of her home at three in the morning and nearly got herself killed.
    Winifred's expression changed from helpless to irritation in a split second. Charlie leaned away. "For starters, I'm not mental, I'm perfectly sane—at least by medical standards."
    "I never said you weren't." His face twitched.
    "You were thinking it, I could tell. Hear me out, please. I quit my job today, I don't know why I did but I did. I went home; my apartment was trashed, my clothes were ruined, and my roommate wasn't home. Do you see my dilemma? I'm trying to compose myself but thats a tough bill when one is practically homeless." Winifred leaned down and reached under the coffee table and grabbed a magazine. "Do you need this?" Charlie shook his head slowly. She began tearing out pages and setting them in a neat pile beside her. She threw the empty binding back under the table. Her hands moved quickly with a sheet of paper, folding and unfolding it, shapes formed and dissipated with an infinitesimal movement. She kept talking. Charlie seemed to relax, he sat and listened curtly.
    "I wanted to travel the world and make a difference, ever since I was young. My hobbies have become habits and I fear I'm losing my mind. I came home to a disaster. My roommate isn't paying the rent, her friends have eaten all of my food." She gestured to the cabbage sitting on the counter. "So there I was in my underwear holding a head of cabbage. Charlie, I know I don't know you very well and this was ridiculously last minute, but I want to go somewhere, and I'd like someone to come with me." He peered at her from behind his mug.
    She glanced at the little paper dove in her hands. She knew immediately he would reject the offer. Charlie was a good kid, he loved his job, he had a nice apartment, probably a family too. A plan wasn't even in motion, only a yearn to leave where she was. A yearn couldn't pay for airline tickets either.
    "I'm flattered, I really am, you coming to me, with this...But I didn't quit my job today, remember? I start my last year of college in a month. I can't exactly travel the world on a moment's notice, and if I could, I would, trust me." He took a tediously long sip of tea without breaking eye contact.
    "Figures." Winifred handed him the mug and headed for the door. "Keep the cabbage, I'll get the clothes back soon." Charlie didn't say anything, his eyes just stuck to the plethora of paper birds littering his coffee table. The tall man seemed small in his clothes, for once; he was surrounded by a shell of confidence at all times, a shell which appeared to be receding quickly, one that never seemed to be opaque enough or shine bright enough to lie to certain girl whom had minimal understanding of such things as masquerading how you hurt. He shouldn't feel regretful or distraught, it wasn't his fault after all. He couldn't help that she was reaching at something unrealistic after all.
    He stood and shouted, "You can stay the night if you'd like!"
    "I appreciate the offer, but I still have a couch," was the muted response. The door clicked shut. Charlie was at a loss; he felt like he just missed a grand opportunity, the death of someone important. Yet his orthodox mind said otherwise so after watering his plants he clicked off all but one lamp, like he did every night. He was a creature of habit, and old habits die hard.

(Cheesy ending but thanks if you read that whole thing kids)