Intricacies of the heart

I was completely zoned out and lost in thought, as my cranky old landlady droned about kicking me out of my apartment, if I didn't pay up my rent before the end of the week. As a jobless twenty five year old without money or a means of raising any, I was positive I would be homeless by the end of the week.

After the meeting, I did the next best thing I could think of. I called Cherry, my only friend from college. I met Cherry my sophomore year in college, in a baking elective I took to fill a credit. She wasn't even supposed to be there, she'd wandered in late, smelling faintly of vanilla and cigarette smoke. Somehow, she convinced the professor to let her stay. She was loud where I was quiet, fearless where I hesitated.

We became fast friends over burnt cookies and late–night diner runs. She'd talk about dreams that changed every week, modeling, acting, "maybe just being rich for a while." I talked about kitchens and flavors and how I wanted to cook for people who'd never been cooked for. We didn't have much in common, except that we were both a little lost and trying hard not to show it.

Holding the phone against my ear with my right shoulder, I started folding the heap of clothes I'd left on my rickety couch. My apartment wasn't much to look at. Most of the furnitures were second hand items purchased from yard sales. Few seconds later, I heard Cherry's shrill voice over the phone.

"Hey Sasha, been a while", she sounded out of breath. I'm guessing she was  either on a treadmill or on a dick.

"Yea I know, I've been quite busy" I lied.

 Between being unemployed and having nothing going on, all I had was time. She was quiet on the other end of the phone so I spoke.

"Hey listen any chance we could catch up over drinks this weekend?" I didn't want to outrightly tell her I needed help. We made plans and hung up.

The weekend came by faster than I anticipated. Tonight, I was meeting Cherry. I'd normally just throw on a pair of jeans and a crop top. But, I wanted to make an effort on my appearance. So I sleeked my auburn hair into a bun, applied some make up on my face. I tossed out all my clothes from the broken wardrobe, in search of the prettiest dress I owned.

It was a black, short sequined dress with lace at the back. I've had it for three years and it still remains the best clothing in my wardrobe. I stood in front of a mirror to admire my effort and I was satisfied. The dress hugged my curvy body in all the right places. Albeit, my cleavage was a little more exposed than I would have liked. The black fabric a stark contrast to my porcelain skin, my minimal makeup highlighting my hazel eyes,