Page 1 of Like You Want It

CHAPTER ONE

CARLY

The steady beep of the alarm forces me to swat blindly at my nightstand for my cell phone, hoping to turn off the sound of death before it shatters the inside of my brain.

I’m too tired for this shit.

When my hand finally makes contact, I crack my eyes open the tiniest bit to boop the screen a few times, relieving my mind of Apple’s obnoxious Radar ringtone.

And then I roll over onto my back and let out a huge sigh.

I am just too tired for this shit.

That’s the thing about being a morning person. You get into a routine. On a schedule. And your damn body will wake up regardless of how many hours of sleep you got the night before. Or in my case, regardless of how many hours youdidn’tget.

On a normal day, my routine begins when I wake upbeforemy alarm has a chance to bother the world. I pop out of bed with a smile on my face, take a quick shower, then eat breakfast with my morning playlist jamming in my headphones, my phone tucked into my bra. There might even be some incredibly suave dance moves in my tiny kitchen.

I live in a fairly small, one-bedroom, townhousey slash apartmentey thing, so there isn’t a lot of room in my kitchenette to shake my ass. But I manage well enough. I mean, nothing has broken, so I consider that a success. A wide range of Spotify playlists are always ready to go on rotation based on mood. Typically of the upbeat variety. One’s called ‘Good Morning.’ Another is called ‘Have a Great Day.’ My favorite, which I listened to yesterday, is called ‘You are My Sunshine.’

Today though?

Today is not that day.

Nope.

Definitely not.

Today, I am just too damn tired for this shit.

I scowl at my ceiling for a good ten minutes before I reluctantly roll off the side of my bed, my limbs dragging behind me in silent protest of my mind’s decision to get a move on.

I slap on the light in my bathroom with all kinds of ferocity, the noise of my hand hitting the plastic switch echoing loudly against the tile walls.

Glaring at my bedraggled appearance, I strongly consider shaving my head instead of putting in the normal amount of effort I give to the wild mane of hair gifted to me by my mother. But instead of going Demi Moore inGI Jane, I sayfuck itand throw my hair into a messy top knot, turn off the light, and stomp out to my living room.

Today’s music choice is pointed and most definitelynotplayed in my headphones. It’s also a song I heard once on the radio when I was in high school and thought to myself,well that’s just about the most negative thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

And it fits today.

I Hate Everything About Youby Three Days Grace.

At full capacity.

At six o’clock in the morning on a Sunday.

The first smile of the day finally makes an appearance as the lead singer’s gravely vocals overtake my living room. Overtake my kitchen. Overtake my bedroom, the space outside my door, reverberating through the walls and hopefully shaking the entire building. The evil slant to my eyes is a dead giveaway that my happiness stems from a foul place in my soul that doesn’t typically get any attention.

Let’s just put it this way: If I were a cartoon villain, I’d be stroking my beard.

I set the song on repeat and crank up the bass, then head into the kitchen and do my dishes.

The pans.

Which apparently need to be deep cleaned by swatting at the bottom of a large pot with a wooden spoon.

Over and over again.

I’m on smack number ten when there’s a knock on my door.