8. Layne

Chapter eight

Layne

T hings have been increasingly strange in my apartment over the past few months, and I can’t shake the feeling of being constantly watched. It’s possible that the excessive drinking I’ve been indulging in has been fueling my paranoia. I know I need to cut back on that.

There have been some unsettling things I can’t explain. For instance, a thong bodysuit in my dresser drawer, which Atlas swears he didn’t put there. I found a Gemini Syndrome shirt, the one I wanted from the concert mysteriously appearing on the back of my couch the next morning. But what bothers me most is finding the shattered glass by the window, cleaned up, even though I clearly remember throwing it against the wall and just leaving it.

One part suspects Atlas, and another wonders about Roman. Only his father has another key to the apartment. It would make sense, considering Roman has been persistently trying to pursue me for over a year, despite my constant rejections. The thought of him following me around though, kind of gives me the creeps .

To be honest, I don’t find Roman attractive at all. He’s too sweet and tries too hard to impress me, and we have nothing in common. That may work for some girls, but it’s just not my type. Atlas once jokingly described me as a combination of Morticia Addams and a goth librarian, and I’m okay with that. I don’t want a sweet mama’s boy like Roman in my life.

If I were to start dating, he would have to match my craziness and be able to put up with my moods. The chances of finding a man who will be able to tolerate me is unlikely.

Still, something seriously weird is going on. Atlas has tried to joke that maybe I have a ghost. I think I just might.

“Hey…if there are any ghosts that are haunting me, you could do something productive like pay some fucking bills or make sure I wake up on time, so I’m not late for work.”

Great, now I’m talking to myself. Time to pack my bags for the looney bin.