Don't Save Her

Music poured down the hallway in the apartment at Millennium Park Plaza, across the perfectly matched sofas of the furnished rental and past the empty guest bedroom, all the way to the master bedroom. Jason Derulo’s voice echoed through the room now, “It’s too hard to sleep, I got the sheets on the floor nothing on me,”. Teuvo walked past the windows, ignoring the view of Millennium Park below and stopped in front of a full length mirror, frowning. It was the Blackhawks home opener, and despite helping win a Stanley Cup last season he was still nervous. They would have to walk a red carpet, greeting thousands of fans that were probably already lined up outside the stadium right now. What would he say? How would he look?
The road to the NHL had been long, and at times frustrating, but when Patrick Kane had been injured last season everything happened so fast. One day he was out in Rockford, the next he was playing with some of the best players in the game, and suddenly they were holding the Cup and everyone knew his face and name. It was everything he had wanted and dreamed about, but he hadn’t been prepared for the tidal wave that came with it.
He thought back to crowd of fans lining the city streets when they won the Cup, yelling and cheering, taking pictures. It had been amazing and overwhelming all at the same time. And the parties after, the women surrounding him and fighting for his attention. It had been a little too much for him if he was being honest. The admiration of his ability as a hockey player--that was his goal. He wanted to be the best, to contribute on the ice. But the syncophantic response of some Americans threw him off guard. He had enjoyed the summer break back home in Finland, where fans were more reserved, including the ladies.
Now it was about to happen all over again. On a damned red carpet. He stepped back to view the whole suit in the mirror. Sometimes he thought he looked damn good. The workout routine and diet he had strictly followed over the summer had helped him put on weight. Pound after pound of muscle. A broad chest and thick shoulders had replaced the slim, sinewy figure of his minor league days. He did a spin, dancing to Jason Derulo song before focusing again on his face. Pale blue eyes stared back at him, his skin dotted with a few pimples that had broken out the day before, framed with tousled blonde hair. Maybe he just looked like a teenager in an expensive suit.

Across the river, north in the Silver Towers, Jason Derulo’s voice came abruptly out of a cell phone, interrupting the peaceful, quiet condo. Kinley rolled over, lifting her head from the plush feather pillow on the bed where she was sleeping, and looked for her phone. Looking at the caller ID she accepted the call, smiling.
“Hey sexy, when are you coming back for more?” she said, devilishly.
“I’m coming back right now, you need to leave. My wife is coming home.”
The smile fell from her face, replaced with a look of annoyance.
“I’m still sleeping,” she said, ending the call and rolling back over. Fuck that, she thought, and wrapped herself up tighter in the luxury of egyptian cotton. She loved sleeping there, in the king sized bed, with a half a dozen pillows. It made her feel like a princess, like she was being taken care of. Safe, and cozy. Large Arts and Crafts style furniture adorned the room, giving it a sense of sophistication from another era. Like she was sleeping in Don Draper’s bedroom. She deserved a few more hours of rest, after all, the sun had been breaking over the horizon when she finally went to sleep. The phone rang again. She fumbled to silence it, but answered on accident. Damn touch screens.
“Kinley I’m not fucking around,” a harsh voice said, “What do I need to do to make you leave.”
As much as Kinley wanted to go back to sleep, this was the second best outcome. The smile crept back into her lips.
“Oh, Dustin baby,” she cooed into the phone in a high pitched baby voice, “I’m going to have trouble making the rent again this month. You know, since I can’t stay here…Don’t you love me? You wouldn’t want me to be homeless would you?...” she trailed off.
“Of course I don’t baby, I do love you. Just text me how much you need,” the voice on the other end had softened. Kinley idly played with one of the pillows and rolled her eyes as Dustin talked on and on.
“Hey babe, I should probably get going, let’s talk later,” she said sweetly, interrupting the man. They said their sweet good-byes and hung up. Kinley rolled out of bed, stretching. She was starting to feel a hangover setting in, and the world spun as she stood up. She looked around for her clothes, eventually finding them in the hallway, vaguely remembering the naughty sex when she and Dustin had gotten home earlier. While she had gone to sleep he had showered and went to work. After putting her dress and shoes on she looked in a mirror in the hallway. Eyeliner was smeared below her eyes a little, but besides that not too bad.
Before leaving she had one more thing to do, and walked back to the master bedroom. She checked the nightstands, and the dresser, nothing. Opened a mirrored jewelry box on top of the dresser and still didn’t find what she was looking for. She walked into the spacious, meticulously organized california closet. Along one side she opened a cabinet door, exposing the dozens of handbags owned by the Mrs. She checked inside of them, pulling out a few $20’s, $50’s and $100’s, totalling $340. Not too bad, she thought. Across the closet she checked another cabinet, a shoebox Dustin frequently emptied his pockets into. There wasn’t any money, but she found a bag with some Molly in it, which was just as good.
Thanks to the spare change she had found in the closet she was able to take a cab home to her apartment. Taking the train in this outfit would have been humiliating, obviously she hadn’t been home since the night before. Kinley lived in Old Town, a Chicago neighborhood starting at Clark and Division, and stretching up until Lincoln Park began around Armitage. It was a neighborhood for hot young people starting their careers. Great bars, cute shops and plenty of Starbucks adorned the neighborhood. The location was perfectly in between down town and Lincoln Park. She watched out the taxi window as the urban terrain changed from high rises to mid rises, to old renovated victorian buildings and loft style buildings. Her apartment was above Top Grigio, an italian restaurant, in a mixed commercial/residential building, just a few steps from Benchmark and across from an Orange Theory Fitness. She couldn’t believe the numbers of people awake and working out, and walking around shopping. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.
Shockingly, her roommate was one of those people awake when she got up to the apartment. Rachel was sitting on the couch watching re-runs of Keeping up with the Kardashians and sipping on some green tea, her long brown hair pulled into a high bun.
“Oh my god Ley, what are you doing here?!” she exclaimed as Kinley walked in and kicked off her heels. A small, hair, black and white dog bounded up to her, jumping on her legs.
“Oooh Stella, my little girl,” Kinley said sweetly to the Shih Tzu, picking her up. Kinley had told Rachel she would be gone all weekend so she would know to watch her dog. She explained the situation of the morning. Rachel frowned.
“What is his fucking problem? Like, he can’t just tell you to come over for the weekend then expect you to jump up and leave. You could do so much better.” Rachel hesitated, then continued. “Well, not right now, you look terrible Kin. It’s the end of summer, why are you so pale? And your hair--like I can totally see your extensions.”
“Thanks for your honesty, bitch,” Kinley replied. She hadn’t been tanning in over a month, and it showed. “I’m supposed to go into work at the salon later and I was planning to get my hair fixed…” she sighed. She had been stalling on getting her hair done, going back and forth about what she wanted to do with it. Maybe I’m tired of the lie, the fake tan and the fake hair, and the fake body and the fake boyfriend. She thought, stopping short of fake friends.
“Are you working at Studio tonight too? Dominica told me the Hawks guys will be there tonight after the game, I was going to stop by.”
“I’m not scheduled tonight,” Kinley said. She had taken the night off to spend with Dustin, but now that wasn’t happening. Maybe it was the rude awakening that morning, and the booze still circulating her system, but she felt off. Anti-social, like she just wanted to cuddle up in bed with Stella and watch movies on Netflix. She already knew that wasn’t an option, her friends would drag her out to party.
“I don’t know what I’m doing tonight, but I’ll let you know.” She took some of the cash and the drugs out of her purse and tossed it on the coffee table in front of Rachel. “Here’s the money I owe you from last weekend,” she murmured, and carried the dog to her bedroom.
Their landlord didn’t allow them to paint, but she had dressed up the plain white walls with art. Sketches she had drawn herself, of the city, of her friends. Some of random people she sometimes watched out her window. On her dresser stood framed photos of her and her friends at Bonnaroo a couple years ago. One photo of her parents from their wedding, before Kinley was born, before she was even a thought in their minds. She turned the photo over, not wanting to see their hopeful faces right now. Not when she was like this. She set Stella down and changed into pajamas. Too tired to wash her face, she climbed straight into bed. This hangover and mood needed to be slept off.

Notes