Not even an ounce of jealousy from him, nor a flicker of regret. He sits in his little corner booth, sipping whisky, devouring the groupies around him with his eyes as they giggle at whatever stupid joke he said. I slow my pace, hands tightening around my many heavy shopping bags, ensuring he sees that I’ve moved on from what I thought was his love.

But nothing. Still nothing.

He’d kissed another woman during his band’s first gig where I cheered for him from afar, supported him through every song. He’s choosing to take me for granted, and I’ve tried multiple methods to get him to notice the treasure he’s lost. Mostly with fake posts on Instagram of a new boyfriend or an expensive shopping haul, but he’s as blind as a bat when it comes to value. If they can’t satisfy his lust, they are dirt beneath his feet.

Men are the fucking worst.

When I get back to the apartment, my bored legs take me to the window, where the sun begins to step down into the horizon, making room for the neon lights of Los Angeles. Pinks, blues, greens, yellows, all advertising spectacle and ecstasy for the night owls of the streets. I would have been asleep by now, but even as I’ve grown used to the blaring cars and people, sadness has been an even louder noise.

“Elizabeth, I still have one more left. Do you want to share one?” My roommate Lilly’s gentle voice floats in, her body clad in a white tank top and pink shorts. A thin, white cylinder rests in her palm while her other hand digs in her pocket for a lighter. It’s been a bit since I’ve smoked a blunt, and that was with _him. _So, I shake my head.

“Not tonight.”

Lilly takes the lighter and weed, throwing it out in the trash. “Good. After trying it for the first time yesterday, I don’t think I want to try any of that again.”

“Then why did you suggest it in the first place?”

Her gaze flits down to the floor, then back up at me. “I figured it would make you feel better. At least for a while. You’ve been mopey for months.”

I smile to myself, wrapping my arm around Lilly’s shoulder. “You’re always such a martyr, you know that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve always sacrificed your own happiness. Like you were just about to do right now.”

“Well, if that’s what you mean, then I’d consider you a martyr too.”

I leave it at that, letting her think what she wants. I’m too tired to argue. Lilly yawns into my chest, so we go to the couch and let ourselves melt.

“What did you see in that man anyway?” Lilly asks. “He was a jerk who only used the brain that works between his legs.”

“He was charming, and he made me feel beautiful. If you hated him so much, why did you let me date him on the first place?”

“Because it’s not my place to decide who you want to be with. Even if he looks like a rat.”

God, why does she have to be so mature all the damn time?

I turn on the TV as night closes in on us, and now Lilly is fast asleep against me. Nothing has been going according to plan these past few months, and I can only chuckle at the mess I’ve made my life into. But being reminded that at least someone cares for me makes it absolutely perfect.

I _should_ leave her alone. I _should_ get to sleep myself. My brain tells my body that Lilly leaning against me is the most beautiful feeling in the world. That I should hold her tightly, never let go, maybe run my fingers across her parted lips. Though, what I end up doing is simply getting up, covering her with the softest blanket I could find. As I tiptoe away, I can hear her mumble, speak to her dreams with a smile in her voice. She must be somewhere in prancing around wonderland.

When I slump onto my bed, it doesn’t take long for me for my eyes to get heavy too.