Tomorrow's an island.

The sun's rays sliced down the front of my face like a butcher knife carving open a coconut. My once pure white sheets, kicked lazily to the edge of the bed, were now salt stained and sweat soaked. Dingy.

I'd told my fiance just a few short month's ago that life was going to be good.

Source: Pixabay.com

Don't worry. I got this.

Now one blue eye stared despairingly behind auburn locks, a single beaded drop of sweat narrowly avoiding the red lines that criss crossed around the sclera.

The bed was on fire.

I guess it had been about a month since the electricity got turned off. I'd asked my mom for a loan but she had shrieked like a banshee. How could you let this happen?!?

As if I'd wanted to lose my cushy job.

No worries. It's under control.

I didn't know at first if the ringing in my ears was from stress, or something worse, but I swung my legs over the bed, narrowly avoiding our frustrated chihuahua, to reach for the phone. I'd lied to you too, huh Snoopy?

Kill me now. he said throatily, tongue hanging out towards the floor.

It was the headhunter.

My job application had been denied once again. No new interviews this week.

No new interviews ever. I'd never find another job making easy money like I had before. I would never again sit in a comfortable chair with a team behind me, doing all the work.

What had gone wrong? What had I done?

I placed the phone down gently on the receiver and smiled at Priscilla.

Any prospects this week? she said softly, licking dry lips.

Several actually. I replied.

Don't worry. I got this.