Page 130 of Soul So Dark

I head to the bathroom for a shower, where I shut myself inside to steam like a lobster before bed. And, just like every other time, Austin is gone by the time I return.

???

It never fails, I can own five of the same pair of black skinny pants for work and every time I go to change, they’re nowhere to be found. I should’ve taken my clothes with me to class. I had a meeting with my adviser, which ran long because we got into a long and drawn-out discussion about the latest cyber security issues as applied to the job market. Totally useful in the context of planning out my courses for senior year, but not so great when I realized I still had to go home and change before work.

I’m running around the house in my shirt and underwear until I finally find all my black pants in a pile on top of the washer. Then it dawns on me that I was going to run them through a steam cycle after a keg exploded all over me a few days ago. Now, all of them have been marinating in a pile with the one soaked in an IPA.

Awesome…

I fish out a pair that smells the least foul and sprint back up to the bathroom to finish fixing my hair. After running a curling iron through it, I touch up my eyeliner and do a final once-over. Realizing I forgot to put on my necklace when I left this morning, I hurry to my room and reach for the vintage black glass bowl on my dresser where my everyday jewelry resides when I’m not wearing it.

But it’s empty.

My stomach drops and I start scanning my room, laser focused on every surface. But my necklace is gone, nowhere to be found. I run back to the bathroom and search the floor, the cabinets, the shower, and even shine the flashlight on my phone down the sink. Nothing.

No, no, no, no…

I go tearing down the hallway and down the stairs, scanning the floor as I go, until I burst into the kitchen where Shelby has her homework spread out over the table.

I’m practically out of breath. “Have you seen my necklace?”

“Huh?” Shelby squints at her laptop screen.

Heat blooms across my cheeks and my eyes begin to water. “My necklace—have you seen it? The amethyst!” As if that’s news to anyone. It’s the only necklace I’ve ever worn on a regular basis.

“Hold on,” she mutters, clicking away at something.

“WHERE…IS IT?” I roar at the top of my lungs.

Shelby’s eyes go wide and she slowly swivels her head around. I must look insane, shaking and half wild with anxiety.

“It's on mydresser,” she snaps. “You said you wanted me to clean it the next time I cleaned mine!”

“What?” I drag my fingers beneath my eyes, wiping away the tears that escaped during my outburst.

Shelby furrows her brow. “What's wrong with you? Why are you crying?”

“Nothing,” I sniff, trying to compose myself. “Sorry, I thought I lost it and I was freaking out.”

“Ya think?” She shoots me a pointed look. “Don’t worry, it’s laid out to dry with everything else.”

And when I scurry up to Shelby’s room, my necklace is there; the vibrant amethyst pendant on a silver chain. Once it’s clasped around my neck, I press my palm to it like I have to memorize its feeling all over again.

After making it out of my own personal crisis unscathed, I step straight into the drama at Blood Horse. As soon as I approach the bar, Kara, my coworker, lets out a grunt and pops up at the far end of the counter near the basement door.

“This is clearly harassment!” she shouts over her shoulder.

When I round the corner, I see a five-gallon bucket sitting at her feet withWhole Kosher Dillsstamped on the side. She plants her hands on her hips and glares down at the bucket with disdain.

“Why are you hauling a bucket of pickles out here?” I ask, glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen.

“I don’t know!” she bellows. “Because Ron said it’spickle night!Fifty cent pickles all night long!”

“Equality!” Ron’s booming voice echoes up the stairwell, and a moment later he appears at the bottom of the stairs. “Doing my part for the feminist cause. Anyway, I thought you said you work out.”

Kara looks like she’s about to crack a tooth from clenching her jaw so hard.

“How much are pickles normally?” I ask.