Page 19 of Made for Mayhem

The elevator opened, and I got on before I could change my mind. He lifted a hand to wave goodbye, and as quick as the night began, it was over. The doors slid shut, and I began to rise.

With every inch I moved away from him, my breaths came quicker, pulse hammering in my veins.

My hands shook as I pulled my phone out for the first time all night and pulled up my text chain with my sister.

Daisy

Do you believe in soul mates? Because I think I just met mine.

The elevator chimed as I passed the second floor, and I looked at the number 5, glowing on the side panel. I slid the phone back into the pocket of my hoodie, only now realizing it was Huddy’s hoodie, not mine.

“Shit,” I mumbled, then slapped the button for the floor above. My legs bounced as the elevator came to a stop, then the doors opened at a speed fit for a turtle.

The moment they were wide enough to let me through, I sprinted down the hallway, racing to the stairs. I took them two at a time, imagining him waiting in the lobby for me, just as devastated as I was to say goodbye.

By the time I burst back into the lobby, breathless and wild with hope, it was empty.

He was gone.

5

Present

Some days the universe didn’t just kick you when you were down—it spit in your coffee, too.

I stared at the weird blob floating on top of my latte, tilting the mug slowly as if that might help me diagnose the problem. Spoiled milk? Or had my roommate actually spit in it this morning?

Both felt equally possible.

Living with Lauren for the last three years had been a slow, grinding lesson in endurance. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from a roommate who listed her spare bedroom—closet, really—on Craigslist, but an eternal party girl with no respect for personal space or common decency hadn’t been it.

Lauren didn’t have a job. She had a dad with a credit card and a vague “budget” she liked to complain about when it tightened. In those months, my increased rent conveniently covered the gap. After years of the same game, I did my best to avoid her—late nights, early mornings, headphones always in—because everything in Chicago was expensive, and misery was cheaper than moving.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone buzzed in my hand with a text message.

Lauren

Hey, so heads up. I rented out your room. You need to be out by Friday.

I stared at the screen, rereading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less insane.

Daisy

What do you mean, out by Friday? That’s tomorrow. You can’t do that.

Lauren

Dad checked the lease. We never signed a new one after the first year.

My stomach dropped as I thought back over the last few years, trying to remember if that was true.

Lauren

He says you’ve been month to month for, like, two years. And you’re paying below market price.

I scrolled through my email, heart pounding, trying to look for any digital footprint that what she said wasn’t true. Anything about the apartment usually came from her dad’s attorney, and there it was—two years ago. A renewal notice I meant to print and sign, but never had.

Daisy