Murphy and Me

I came up with this idea a day or two ago, with some inspiration from "Murphy's Luck" and it's an original story (no idea how long it will be) that's also a work in progress. There will be installments as often as I write them while working on other things. So, without further introduction, here we go. It's written in first person point of view.



"I'm not sure I like this."

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes at my mother, choosing instead to heave my full laundry basket on the newly-made bed. This was not the first time she had said that particular line, or a variation of it, and would not be the last, either.

"I know," I said, trying not to sound as exasperated as I was beginning to feel. "But it'll be okay. I'll come out every now and then. You know, to socialize with civilization." She was not impressed by my attempted humor. "I'm not going to turn into a hermit. Promise."

She looked skeptical. Of course she would. She was less than thrilled about walking up eight flights of stairs to my new room - though it was a corner with two windows - and even less enthused about me living by myself. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly ecstatic to have a corner single. Even if it was on the fourth floor. Which meant a minimum of eight flights of stairs at a pop.

"I'm not going to be a hermit," I repeated. Not only would the team see to that, but so would the girls when they got back to campus. And if I felt like spending a majority of my down time in my room with not only The Boondock Saints, but the boys from Supernatural, too, well, that was my perogative. And my sanity.

My mother didn't need to know that part.

Mom sighed. "I just worry."

Yes, she definitely did. "I know."

She put her hands on her hips, her lips in a thin line. "Especially now that you're by yourself."

Which was not to say that she wouldn't have worried if I was living with someone else. But she might have worried less. If that was even possible.

"I know." I took a deep breath and looked my home for the year. Basically it was a standard room - not as big as a double, but still pretty big - with a built-in closet, a mirror on the door, and a dormer window. The only things that made it specifically mine was the hand-me-down green and blue rug on the tile floor and the nondescript blue bedding. Everything else was still packed and piled on the floor. It would give me something to do until the meeting that night.

"I'll be okay, Mama," I said. I think I was trying to reassure her more than last year, and last year had been my first year away at college.

She gave me a smile and a hug. "I know. I just worry."

I didn't tell her there was nothing to worry about - it would only make it worse. Still, it wasn't anything like the previous year.

Hopefully.


"Wow, Olivia, got enough pills?"

"Hardy-har, Sasha," I shot back, dumping the contents of the pillbox on the table. It was only two (my dinner set) and she had yet to see my morning pile. Thought my health was basically normal again, the pillbox was a small reminder of why it was that way. A daily regiment; a crazy-straw for a colon. It would probably stay with me forever, just like the scars on my belly from surgery only eight months ago. Another reminder.

"That to keep you level?"

I nodded. Sasha had been through it all with me. Every step of the way. She knew what all my pills were for, why I took them, and what the intended outcome was. She also asked me if I had taken them/reminded me of them when I got scatterbrained.

"Workin' like a charm," I added between pills. "You goin' back to your room?"

"Yeah," Sasha said, "Cara moves in today."

"Cool." Cara was Sasha's girlfriend. After much discussion and pints of Ben and Jerry's, and after being exclusive for six months, they were going to try it as roommates. The "living together" stage without pets, awkward moments, and money pooling. I figured it would either make or break them. Another reason I was glad to go back to my corner single. That and they depressed the hell out of me somedays.

"Well," I said, standing and gathering my tray, "you have fun with that and I'm going to go take a nap." I liked naps. That and curling up in bed with a season of Supernatural. Dean Winchester was just too damned hot.

"See you later."

I waved one last time and nearly baubled the tray as I headed out. It was an absolute brilliant day and I enjoyed the walk from the dining hall to my dorm through the quad. I rounded the corner of the bookstore and that's when I noticed it. More cars in the parking lot. And more men. Big, burly men.

The football team was moving in.

Honestly, I tried not to ogle them. Really, I did. Especially not the ones moving into my building. Still, it couldn't be helped. And did I find one to ogle. He was by his car - nothing flashy but definitely newer than my hunk of dented metal - duffel slung over one broad shoulder, short unruly almost-black hair, and eyes hidden by aviator shades. He was tall, he was gorgeous, and he demanded a glance or two (or a continuous stare, in my case) from those passing through the parking lot. So much attention I think I was actually drooling a bit, stumbling a little. Then he looked up at me. I did the only thing I could think to do - blushed, tried not to look like I hadn't been sizing him up, and was determined to enter our - my - building with as much grace, dignity, and poise as one of Donald Trump's Pageant girls on evening gown night. I was going to be graceful, I was going to glide....

I turned away from him and ran head-first into the side mirror of a parked Ford F-150.