Ryan tipped the cabbie and entered her building in the Mission. She trudged up the steps to her second floor apartment, rubbing her eyes. Goosebumps could still be seen on her arms, damp and chilled from the rain. The Victorian was quiet and Ryan tried to respect the time by unlocking her door without disturbing the silence. She closed the door carefully behind her. In the foyer she removed her shoes.
'Ry, is that you?' called Alison, her roommate from behind a closed door.
'Yeah, it's me. Sorry if I woke you..." Ryan responded softly, setting her keys onto a mounted hand of a mannequin--all fingers but the middle had been curled under. She could hear giggling behind Alison's door. This one sounded like Melisa. Guess they were back together...again. They probably hadn't been exactly sleeping. 'G'night.' More giggling followed by a squeal. Ryan hadn't evoked much of a disturbance after all.
She opened the fridge in the tiny kitchen, and stood staring at her choices. Beer. Mustard. An empty jar of pickles. She pulled out the Brita pitcher--empty, of course--and filled it at the sink. While the water filtered she walked to her room, heels bumping against the hardwood floors. Muffled moaning could be heard from Alison's room. Ryan knowingly smiled to herself.
Her bedroom was a mishmash of oddities--a Craftsman toolbox in the corner next to an overfull bookshelf. Dirty laundry tossed into a wooden crate in another corner. The walls were all painted buttercream yellow, covered with henna-like drawings done by a close "friend." A charcoal portrait that appeared to be a cross between Ryan and James Dean was drawn on the west wall. A second mural drawing--a nude woman, with sultry eyes and barely parted lips gazed at the portrait, her intentions unclear. The bed, all memory foam on a simple wooden platform, sat square and stark as a pat of butter. Ryan knew if she were to lie down she wouldn't get up, so she peeled off her t-shirt, unsnapped her bra and replaced them with a tank top. The jeans and briefs came off next, revealing her lean, muscular legs. A fresh pair of boxers were donned.
She shuffled down the hall to the kitchen. Moans from Alison's room intensifying, accented with small cries. Ryan bit her lower lip as she stood at the counter pouring herself a glass of water, imagining the scene and aching with longing and jealousy. She became aware of the sound of water dripping, looking down to see the glass overfilling. She sponged off the counter and downed the water. Back in her room, she pulled the chain on the lone lightbulb and crawled into bed.
"Yo, Ry!" Alison called, followed by the sound of her fist softly pounding the door. Ryan awoke slowly, her right elbow bent, forearm across her eyes to block out the sunlight that filtered in through the window. Bamboo blinds aren't perfect. "Yeah?"
The door opened and Alison came in. She was tall with an athletic frame, a mane of blonde hair pulled back in a simple pony tail, her blue eyes keen. She wore her uniform--tight-fitting pants with a matching button-down tucked in, belted. "DI STEFANO" was embroidered on the patch above the breast pocket. Two identical patches bearing "ALLIANCE PARAMEDIC" sat atop her deltoids. She wore a huge smile.
"Hey," Ryan muttered hoarsely. "Sounds like you had a good night." She squinted in the light, smiling up at Alison. Her body lay tangled in the sheets.
