A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are just awesome!
Thank you, forever and ever, to my lovely beta, Stalker. You just made it so much better; I'm glad I have you! :-) P.S. Go read her stories. NOW!
A special note: The1000thKiss took my advice to heart and sent Stalker a PM saying she's awesome. YOU GO, GIRLIE!
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Maureen was livid, simply livid. Her whole body wouldn't stop shaking, and she swore she could see red spots in her vision. How dare they! Her two remaining roommates were making her sick.
She twisted her hands together angrily. She was ready to kill Roger now, and Mark was next in line. She couldn't believe them! As it turned out, Roger stole the money Mark's mom had sent for food--to buy drugs (which he was supposed to be done with, especially after what happened with April). And then he wasn't the least bit sorry about it! Now they had no food, no heat, and no money. Mark, of course, thought that Roger was completely innocent and even dared to take his side when he called her a slut. Maureen screamed in frustration, glad that nobody was on the streets this time of night--no, it was morning, now.
The previous evening's events played through her head, making her all the angrier. Mark was ignoring her, plain as day. His friend--his hurting friend, but still not his girlfriend--was more important than her. For a month now, she had waited. Waited for anything, a sign that showed he loved her. A kiss, maybe, or a hug would have been nice; hell, even a pat on the back would be appreciated, if not cherished! Sex was out of the question; Mark just didn't have the heart. In the beginning, the lack of attention had been all right with her. She understood that Mark needed to help his grieving friend, who was going through withdrawal-- and she knew she wasn't cut out for that type of sensitive, caring, selfless work. But now, it had begun to get out of hand. She felt like she was drowning, forgotten in a pool of lost memories and past feelings.
Weee-oooooooh! A siren blasted through the once-calm street, shattering any semblance of silence there was. Maureen ducked inside a 24-hour drugstore to avoid getting run over by the cop car that was hurtling after a black Mercedes with tinted windows. She rubbed her eyes as they adjusted to the artificial, bright light of the store. As her vision cleared, Maureen spotted a newspaper with a very familiar face on it. Benny!
Without bothering to see what the article was about, Maureen picked up the newspaper and brought it to the bored, gum-snapping cashier. To avoid looking into the black hole of the woman's eyes, she stared at a little counter display. It had different colored pens on it. Maureen searched through them until she found a pen she liked--a cow-like one. It seemed to call to her, with its black-and-white splotches and fuzzy texture. It even had a little cow-shaped eraser on top, which made the child in Maureen squeal (internally. She didn't want to scare the cashier). She handed the cow-pen to the cashier.
"Is that all?" The woman sounded like a recording.
"Um, can you recommend anything else?" Hey, it worked at restaurants….
The woman looked at Maureen like she'd grown another head, "How about a matching notebook?"
Maureen looked in the direction she was pointing; surprised to find that there was a bin of different notebooks. She sifted through before coming across one covered in black-and-white material, identical to her pen. She gave the cashier an award winning smile, paid with the loose change she scraped out of her jacket pocket, hugged her notebook and pen, and left the store with her classic hip-swishing walk.
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There was a choice to make now: head back to the loft, or find something to do to entertain herself. Maureen's choice was obvious, really--the apartment, which had once felt so safe, so loving, was now the center of her own personal hell, while restaurants were a welcome change, especially when some form of chocolate was involved. Maureen could even think of a perfect place: a little, family owned deli that served wonderful coffee and cake, and was open at this ungodly hour.
The quiet café was the same as ever; Maureen swore that everyday customers lived there. She skipped to the counter, hit the little bell a few times, and waited. Soon enough, the smiling, fatherly owner walked out and poured her coffee (black, with lots and lots of sugar), warming up a fresh piece of cake at her request. She could feel her muscles relax as she ate; the food was better than ever, and it lifted her spirits. She was on her third piece of cake before she remembered the article, the one with Benny in it. It read:
In recent news, Benjamin Coffin the Third bought an industrial building on 11th street from his father-in-law, Mr. Grey, to create a "cyber studio." Mr. Coffin used to live in the building and it was there he realized the prominent location and usefulness of its area. The sale was made known last Wednesday, and Mr. Coffin hopes to have his studio up and running by January of next year. In it, there will be a recording space, [story continued on page 2D.]
Maureen set the paper down, absolutely enraged. She couldn't bring herself to read more--not with the backstabbing bulldog as the center of the article. He was going to destroy the loft! This was ridiculous; you can't box art. Nothing good was going to come of this, that was for sure. Maureen, still fuming, set about drawing horns and mustaches on the photo of Benny and Mr. Grey. She had to admit the effect was hysterical--Benny looked simply smashing in his horns, and Mr. Grey's mustache made him look like a walrus.
However fun doodling over Benny's smirking face was, Maureen decided this wasn't enough. Something had to be done, but what? An angry letter wouldn't do anything; nor would a phone call. Maybe a protest… that was it! A protest would be perfect, Maureen decided. It could be held in a lot somewhere, and that would get someone's attention! She smirked, opening up her new notebook to the first page. At the top, she wrote "Protest," and began filling out ideas as quickly as they came to her. She began to draw in cartoons, too—a frowning cow and a moon. One never knew what random doodles could lead to.
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Maureen ordered her fifth coffee--she had been there a couple of hours, and the caffeine proved invaluable at jumpstarting her brain. So far, she figured out that the cow was her protagonist. She decided to name her Elsie--it was a good cow name, but not so stereotypical like Betsy. Elsie lived in a place called Cyberland, where the poor cows weren't allowed produce milk; everyone in Cyberland drank Diet Coke. That was as far as Maureen had gotten when a smooth voice interrupted her train of thought.
"That's really interesting. Is she a cow?" Maureen spun around and discovered she was staring at the suspenders of a woman about her own age. She obviously wasn't a bohemian; her clothing was too well-made, and she carried herself with a different, confident air. She was carrying a mug of steaming tea and a croissant in one hand; she was there with the working, eating-breakfast-before-going-to-the-office crowd. The woman seemed friendly enough, though, so Maureen answered her question.
"Yes, she is."
"Oh, that's really cool," the woman replied, lifting the notebook off of the table and staring at her drawing. Maureen glared at her, standing up and holding her arm out for her book. The mystery woman was looking at her drawing with rapt attention. Maureen's hand dropped when she realize the woman was smiling. She had a pretty smile, one that met her eyes and made them sparkle like brown gems. The overall effect was dazzling; the mocha-skinned woman had an inner beauty that most people only wished they could possess.
She handed the notebook back to Maureen, flashing her a vibrant smile. "This is really cool. What's it for?" She asked. Maureen thought for a moment before replying.
"A protest," she said. "Our ex-roommate is going to kick us out, and I'm going to hold a protest, well, protesting it." The woman's eyes shot up; clearly interested.
"May I sit down? I want to hear more." She gestured to the empty chair. Maureen nodded and sank back into her seat, glad there was someone here whom she could bounce ideas off of and rant to, guilt-free.