GROOMED FOR THE OMEGA

My hands shake as I pack up my things from my.

I can feel eyes on me, but every time I look up, nobody's glancing my way. I swallow and keep my head down. I'm sure everyone's gossiping about why I've quit, but I won't share. Not because I think the jerk who harassed me deserves to have his behavior swept under the rug, but because I don't want any more trouble. HR wasn't on my side, so I don't know that anyone else would be either.

Once my box with my meager belongings is packed, I head out the door. There are a few confused glances as I leave, and a couple of people stare openly. I ignore all of them.

I can't afford to leave this job. I desperately need the money. But I also need my sanity and my safety, and neither of those is guaranteed here anymore. I'll just have to find something new. It's not like I was saving lives or anything. I was answering customer service calls for a local delivery truck company. I can find another job like that easily.

the door. I tuck my hair behind my ears-great, my hair clip fell out at some point and now I have no idea where it is-and try to project confidence and maybe a bit of a 'fuck you' attitude as I walk out.

These people don't deserve to know that I'm upset. I don't want any of them thinking that I'm leaving with my tail between my legs. I'm leaving in protest, and I'm going to find a better job, one that actually pays me enough to make rent and has a human relationships department that takes care of it's employees.

I get on the bus and head home. I have my car, which is a beat-up old Corolla, but it's seen me through a lot of tough times, but I try to use public transport as much as I can to save money on gas. It means that it takes me twice as long to get to or from work sometimes, but when I'm struggling to buy groceries, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I'm a little worried about my car, actually. It feels like it's barely starting these days.

I really hope the old girl doesn't crap out on me. I need my car.

The universe loves to laugh at me, though, so as I get to my apartment and I juggle the box in one hand and my keys in the other, who should grab the door for me, but none other than my landlord, Jerry.

"Hi, Jerry, thank you!" I put a smile on my face and pray internally that he won't mention the rent.

"You're welcome." Jerry smiles. "I don't suppose you've got an envelope of cash with my name on it in that box, do you?"

He mentioned the rent. I don't know why I hoped for anything else.

"Not today, no." I try to keep my tone light even as my heart rate skyrockets. Jerry's been after me with rent for a couple of weeks now and I know that he has a point, I am late on my payments, but I also just want him to leave me alone and let me figure out what I'm going to do now that I don't have any income.

Jerry frowns. "It's past due, Lily. You know I like you, you're a nice girl, but I've gotta put food on the table, same as everyone else."

"Of course, Jerry, I know."

"And I can't do that when you're late on rent. Again. How many times do we have to do this?"

"There's always something. Look, I can stop by later if..."

"Now's really not a good time."

"Well, when will it be a good time?"

I juggle my box and my purse as I try to head up the stairs. "Maybe on a day when I haven't just lost my job?" I say desperately, annoyed and not thinking.

The moment the words slip out, I want to bang my head against the wall.

Jerry's eyebrows shoot up. "Did you just say you lost your job?"

"I... yeah." I don't know what else to say. I definitely don't want my landlord knowing the whole sordid story.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Then how did you lose it?"

"I wasn't fired," I insist, as if the distinction will matter to him. "I quit!"

"Oh my god," Jerry mutters.

I want the floor to swallow me up whole. "Look, it was a bad work environment, but it's not like I was doing open heart surgery. I'll get another job in a few days and get you the money. You don't have to worry about a thing, Jerry, I promise."

Jerry doesn't look all that convinced. "That's what you say every time, and every time, you're late on the rent."

"But I get it to you!" I point out, trying to be cheerful, then I dash up the stairs before he can say anything more.

I get up the three flights of narrow, rundown stairs to my tiny apartment, unlock the door, and get inside, sagging against the wall.

What a day.

It's tempting to just sit here, maybe even cry a little, but I force myself to get up. There's no use crying. Everything is going to be fine. I take deep breaths and lug the box into the apartment properly so I can unpack, wincing as I take in my run-down, tiny apartment.

This really isn't a place worth pestering your tenants about rent over. It's the size of a shoebox, there's a leaky faucet, no air conditioning or heating, the floor is technically hardwood but only because it's worn-down to bits, there's plaster flaking off everywhere, and there are stains in the bathroom and kitchen that no amount of scrubbing and bleach can fix.

It's beat up to hell, which is about how I feel right now, honestly. But it's not like I can afford anywhere better right now. Especially now that I'm unemployed.