1
Nell
It could be worse.
Maybe if I tell myself that enough, it might be true.
Then again… maybe it won’t.
With a heavy sigh I begin to sweep up the broken crockery scattering the vinyl.
That damn cat.
Boomerang flicks his tail with an audacity that has my teeth clenching. Meowing like I need to lay a red carpet out for his exit.
I swear, sometimes I think owning a cat is more hassle than having kids. Not that I have kids to know, but that’s besides the point.
Like it wasn’t bad enough that I’m currently in a custody battle with my ex over him, who doesn’t even like him! But that’s the thing about Adam, he’s a spiteful dickhead. I should haveseen the signs years ago, but there’s no way to go back and tell my seventeen-year-old self that I was making a mistake.
Now look at me—twenty-seven, single, with nothing to show for the last ten years other than my little ginger sidekick.
Pitiful really.
But Boomerang keeps me company—when he’s not destroying my kitchen.
I don’t know what I’m going to do if Adam decides he wants him for good. He has a way of getting everything he wants in life. He was spoilt growing up, got everything he wanted.
Unlike me.
Me and my parents have a very… complicated relationship. They still believe to this day that I lied about Uncle Mick visiting me in the night when I used to have sleepovers. Refuse to see it at all. So it was a relief when I met Adam and freed myself of their oppressiveness.
Who knew that it isn’t normal for your uncle to want you to make him feel good in the middle of the night?
So, my family are pretty much non-existent, occasionally sending a happy birthday card, but never in person.
And now I’ve found myself in this tiny one-bedroom flat, barely enough space to walk between kitchen and bedroom, with no savings, barely any furniture, and a job I absolutely detest.
So yes, it can’t get much worse.
“There’s no good looking at me like that you little shit.” I scald Boomerang when he tries the other tactic of wrappinghimself around my legs. “That was my last good plate.” Not that he cares.
But I know he’ll make it up to me later when he wants a cuddle in bed.
My alarm blares through my phone.
Shit. I’m going to be late to work… again.
I really need to get better at time management.
Pulling on my shoes I throw a warning at Boomerang to keep his paws out of my kitchen—not that he’s listening, he’s nonchalantly perched on the kitchen table cleaning himself—and slam the door behind me.
It’s only two flights of stairs to the main doors, and five minutes up the road to work, so thankfully by the time I reach the office I’m not an overly sweaty mess.
Turns out going to gym to try and shift some weight has massively improve my cardio.
Everyone’s already at their desks, the morning meeting finished and the low monotonous clicking keys of keyboards filling the air.
Keeping my head down I hurriedly take my seat at my desk, collecting only a few glares on my way.
