With Vicky _best_: Living

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. Not the gentle kind that patters on rooftops and feels poetic. This was the angry, sideways kind that turned gutters into rivers and made the whole world smell like wet concrete and regret.

I used to think she was dramatic. Now I think maybe she’s just braver than me. living with vicky

The milkshake was cold and sweet and perfect. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel quite so alone. Living with Vicky is chaos. It’s finding her hairpins in every drawer. It’s her borrowing my sweaters without asking and then acting offended when I complain. It’s her watching reality TV at full volume at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday. It’s her burning popcorn and setting off the fire alarm and laughing so hard she can’t help me open the windows. The rain hadn’t stopped for three days