I'm running in more ways than one.

Running on no sleep, running late and running down the stairs, one hand slipping along smooth worn wood, the other swinging worn ballet flats I live in for work.

Unfortunately for me, my successful streak of avoiding Mr. Ameer runs to a halt as his door swings open. I don't stop, even though I probably should.

"RENT!" he bellows at my retreating back. I descend another flight, feet clattering steadily downwards.

"Sorry Mr. A, I'm late for work-I promise I'll sort it as soon as I can," I holler, glancing upward to see his wizened face peering over the railing. I hope so anyway.

Reaching the foyer my eyes land on the mailboxes. I can't remember the last time I checked ours-Luke wouldn't, he never does.

Hastily I find my key in my purse, open the door and stuff a handful of letters in the front pocket of my bag with the intention of giving them to him later on. He usually deals with all the bills. I don't think there's even one thing in my name.

I glance at my cell, cursing under my breath. I'm already supposed to be at work and I haven't even left yet.

***

I'm scolded by Jenny as soon as I clock in, containing myself to rolling my eyes as I strip in the toilets, pulling on the pink dress and tying my white apron with her talking at me through the door.

Jenny must be in her forties, all cotton candy bleach blonde hair and eyeliner drawn on too thickly. Slightly too self-righteous for my liking, especially when she starts.

"You don't do yourself no favours, missy," she says as I try to fix my hair and makeup in the tiny mirror. "Ya think you get preferential treatment cus your boyfriend runs this place, well I ain't treatin' you any different from nobody else who works here. Ya can add the half hour you were late for onto the end of your shift."

She has her hands on her hips and my lips twitch with the urge to tell her to shut the fuck up. I smile instead, taking a breath, cooling my irritation. I'm in the wrong after all.

"Yeah sure, sorry, it won't happen again."

The day is long, slow, hot and I'm bone tired. It's been a week since I ran Luke's errand and I'm still restless at night, unsettled dreams keeping me tossing and turning. I worry about him when he doesn't get back until the early hours, but he dismisses it. He's doing what he needs to be doing, or so he says. I can't shake the feeling that something else is going on though.

***

"What do you want to do?" I ask Charlotte, legs swinging from the picnic table in front of the diner. I finished up my shift an hour ago and met Charlotte out front. We've been sitting for a good hour soaking up the good weather rays. My thighs stick uncomfortably to the painted wood and my dress has ridden up almost indecently short but I'm too busy basking in the sun to care. Charlotte sits beside me leaning back on her arms, head tilted to the ball of fire in the sky, dark sunglasses perched on her face.

"Ah, I dunno, Mia, I could stay here all day," she says wistfully.

"Me too, to be honest," I say, feeling too lazy to move.

We fall into a comfortable silence listening to Gnarls Barkley singing "Crazy" on her iPod, me with one earbud, her with the other.

"Has Luke asked you to do it again?" she asks, her voice low as people walk close by. I'm wary as I look over at her. She's been adamant that if there's a next time I should just say no.

If only it were that easy.

"No," I reply hesitantly.

"Good."

I nod in agreement.

We don't really say any more; I think we both just want to put it behind us, but I have a niggling question.

I sigh and Charlotte gives me a look.

"It's nothing," I say, swinging my foot, frowning.

"Out with it," she prompts, removing her earbud. I glance around, wanting to make sure we definitely can't be overheard.

"You know when that Vince guy was askin' for our names that night?" Charlotte nods. "What did he turn round and say to the others?"

"Is that what's been bothering you?"

"I wouldn't say that ... but it was about me, right?"

"It wasn't anything big, he just said something about you fitting in at "Fever" ... whatever that is."

"Oh." My shoulders relax. "Well, that's fine, I guess."

Charlotte laughs. "Honestly, girl, you fixate on the unimportant stuff sometimes. You didn't catch GQ looking at you like you're the finest thing he's ever seen?"

My mouth drops open and I feel hot all over.

"What?"

Charlotte just laughs, jumping off the bench, doing a funny little stretching dance before pulling me onto my feet.

"C'mon let's take a walk to Target." She links her arm with mine and I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

***

Our trip to the shops is cut short.

Charlotte raps her knuckles violently on the door of Tara's house, glass rattling in the frame. After receiving a string of incoherent texts, we rushed over to her neighbourhood to check on her.

Charlotte tells me Tara's behavior has been erratic, at best, since she broke up with Joey. I know she's right, I usually see much more of her but I haven't since Jenna's party a couple of weeks ago.

It leaves me feeling guilty.

I should've checked on her before now. I haven't even text. I've been too wrapped up in my own bullshit. I bite my lip, silently vowing I'll be a better friend from now on.

"Open up, bitch, I know you're in there," Charlotte says, rapping harder on the door and giving it a kick for good measure.

It's not like she needs to, the door has already been patched up, the mismatched wood making her house look like the dump it is. Tara's neighbourhood is only a tiny step above mine; destitution clinging to the houses and the roads and the people, like a tar that can't be scrubbed off.

I look out at the street, seeing we're drawing attention from the neighbours, sitting on the steps and porches opposite, watching with mild amusement as they puff on their cigarettes. Kids slightly further down pause their game of basketball, the sound of shitty hip hop music blaring.

"Urgh!" Charlotte spins round to face me, exasperation all over her face.

"Do you think she's OK?" I chew my lip, concern starting to weigh heavily in my chest. Stepping up to the side window on the porch I cup my hands to look through the glass. I can't see any signs of life. Maybe she's gone out. Not like that would be any better if she's completely off her face.

"Let me ring her again," Charlotte presses the phone to her ear and shakes her head. "I swear to God this girl drives me round the bend." The phone rings out and Charlotte tries again.

Unsuccessful she stuffs it back into her jean shorts pocket.

"Let's check around back," she suggests, taking the steps down from the porch two at a time.

The chain link gate down the side of the house is locked and for a minute we stare at it until Charlotte announces we're just going to have to climb it.

"Have you thought about what this looks like?" I moan, shaking my feet out as I land hard on the ground the other side, the landing stinging my heels.

"You worry too much. We're checking up on the welfare of a friend, I'd say that's plenty of good reason to be climbin' over fences, right? God, I hope that dumb bitch hasn't done anythin' stupid. I know she's cut up about Joey, but seriously. Girl needs to get a friggin' grip."

"Yeah, well, just be nice-OK? You're about as tactful as a brick through a window sometimes."

"I dunno what you mean," she replies with a flip of her hair.

"Yeah, right."

We move around the back of the house where the back garden is overgrown, a patchwork of parched yellow grass, dusty dirt, and junk.

I'm a little jealous if I'm being honest. I'd give at least a pinky finger to have a backyard, especially in the summer months.

An old fridge, an upturned trolley, and a smashed tv are interspersed with faded plastic children's toys.

She had a kid at one point; she doesn't talk about her at all. At least not to me. I only know what Charlotte says; her baby girl got taken into care for some reason and she ain't ever going to get her back.

I don't judge her for it. I don't know the full details; besides, I've got the impression that Tara punishes herself enough for whatever happened.

The back door opens when Charlotte tries it and she flashes me a satisfied 'I told you so' smile. I grin at her weakly, feeling apprehensive.

The house is in a state. Worse than I've ever seen it. The back door opens into the kitchen; dirty pots piled high in the sink and food wrappers covering every surface. The lingering smell of rotting food hangs unpleasantly in the air and I gag, covering my mouth with my hand.

"Jesus."

Charlotte grimaces but carries on until I hear her yell somewhere down the hall.

"FOUND HER!"

I stumble after her, feet finding clothes strewn down the corridor, almost making me trip.

Her bedroom isn't faring much better than the kitchen. The wardrobe door has fallen off and there are more clothes on the floor than hung up; bowls, plates, and empty beer cans litter the room, festering in the hot weather. The curtains are drawn and in the dim light I can just about make out Tara's petite frame curled up on the unmade bed.

"Is she OK?" I come and stand next to Charlotte who's peering over her. Tara has a bottle of Jack gripped in her hand, the contents dripping and staining the mattress. She's in a bra and a denim skirt that's ridden up around her waist, revealing a pair of round cheeks and a flimsy red thong. Grabbing the bottle, I prise it from her fingers as Charlotte shakes her gently.

"Tara! Honey, can you hear me?" Tara groans incoherently and rolls over. Charlotte shakes her again. "Tara, you're gonna have to wake up."

She opens her eyes a fraction before closing then again.

"Immasleep," she slurs.

"I'll get some water," I say, heading back toward the kitchen, holding my breath to avoid the stench and returning quickly with a cloudy glass of tap.

Charlotte sighs and pulls a sheet over Tara, covering her skinny limbs and butt-naked ass.

"Gonna be awhile before she sobers up. Can't just leave her in this state, she'll probably choke on her own vom." She sits herself down on the edge of the bed and pulls her cell out again, fingers flying as she furiously presses out a message. I join her.

"Supposed to be seeing Troy tonight, so that's that cancelled... Sleepover?" she asks with fake enthusiasm.

I shrug bringing out my own phone. I've already got a few missed calls from Luke and I pull a face. He'll only keep on calling until I answer.

"I should call him back, be back in a sec," I say, getting up again and walking back through the house, into the yard.

The sun hangs low and bright in the sky as I find a perch on a broken chair, pressing the call button.

He answers almost immediately.

"I've been trying to get hold of you, Mia. Where the fuck you at?"

I wince. There's no hi, hello, how are you, and it's quite clear he's pissed off.

"Hey, yeah. Sorry. I'm at Tara's with Char, she's got herself all twisted over Joey."

Luke scoffs in my ear and by the way his breath hitches I know he's smoking up.

"Dunno why you bother with either of those ratchet ass hoes," he sneers, exhaling.

"They're my friends." My voice sounds as small as I feel, like a child being berated. I kick out at a dandelion near my feet, the seed heads exploding and drifting away on the breeze, vague recollections of making wishes as a kid. What would I wish for now?

"Listen, are you out tonight?" I say carefully.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm gonna stay here then."

He's silent on the other end. He really has no good reason why I should be home if he's not there anyway. Still, I brace myself, knowing what he's like, wondering whether he'll backtrack and find any reason he can as to why I shouldn't.

"Fine," he says, slowly, an edge to his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, babe."

"OK? Um, see you tomorrow then."

He hangs up first and I'm left frowning, wondering why he let it go so easily. Dragging my lip through my teeth, I sit for a minute and stare at my feet. There's an uneasiness settling in my bones; it's almost too good to be true. Maybe this is what he wants.

He's always out late but I never question it, not like I used to. My mind wanders to Amber, how close they looked the other week and my gut twists unpleasantly.

Is he cheating?

Perhaps I'm just being too cynical. I should just be happy, right? Maybe he really is turning over a new leaf.