Day 3: Write a scene where your favorite song is playing in the background.

"I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing!" wailed my roommate, Lauren. Tears were streaming down her face as they had been for the past thirty-six hours, and she looked worse than Meth Addict Barbie. "Just praying to a g-d that I don't believe in!" she continued onto the next line of the song. Yep, I was about to lose it.

Thirty-six hours ago, Lauren's boyfriend had dumped her. Ever since, she had been playing Breakeven, by The Script, on repeat to the point that my ears felt as though they were going to bleed. Don't get me wrong--I liked The Script just as much as the next sophomore in college, and would attest to having gone through phases when their music was the only thing I listened to, but honestly, this was a bit much. Lauren kept singing along to this one song, and had definitely wrecked my listening experience for good with her singing. I was literally seconds away from my breaking point.

"Uh, is she okay?" Patrick asked, glancing over to Lauren like she was a life-sized chinchilla.

"She's fine," I assured him. "As for me, well, let's just say that I've been better.

"How long has she been like this?" he asked, Lauren's song continuing to play. Well, at least it was better than Justin Bieber. The last time Lauren had broken up with a boyfriend, my poor ears had to withstand the irritatingly catchy Boyfriend for fifty billion times. Just goes to show: boys shouldn't break up with Lauren if they covet my sanity.

"About two days," I answered with a shrug, "she broke up with her boyfriend."

"Rough," he commented with a nod.

"On me? Yeah, definitely," I snorted. "She's been playing this song since practically the minute he broke up with her."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I, Pat. So am I..." I shook my head, taking a deep breath so that I didn't implode. "So, do you have the cash?"

"Down to business so soon, Q?" he laughed, reaching in the pocket of his sweats for the required amount.

"What can I say? I'm a very professional individual," I said, accepting the wad of green bills as I handed him the envelope with the stuff in it. He pocketed the paper container that I gave him, and then didn't leave, which I found strange. It was his first time and all, but usually the second the transaction was over, the other person who wasn't me would get the hell out of my room as fast as possible.

"Hey, uh, do you, maybe, uh, wanna hang out?" Pat suddenly asked nervously. I shot him a sympathetic smile, not having the heart to tell him that I didn't date stoners--I just sold to them. But as stoners went, Pat was definitely looking pretty good...and older (he was a junior, but that still kinda qualified as being older). He was lanky and tall, but not as skinny as a guy like him had the potential to be. Like, he wasn't muscular, either, just not a twig. He had an okay face covered in stubble, and a blonde buzz cut that was hidden under a SnapBack. With his T-shirt and sweats combo, he made the perfect example of what an average customer of mine tended to look like. Not perfect, but not a complete loser--a stoner, through and through.

"I'm sorry, Pat, I would, but I actually have another, uh, person coming over in a few," I told him sadly. I wasn't lying. Honestly, I did have another job in about five minutes. He frowned, making me feel bad inside because I was a considerate type of person and shit. Regretting what I was thinking, I somehow found myself verbalizing my thoughts, anyways. "If you, uh, want, then you still hang."

"Really?" His face brightened. "Thanks, Q."

"Sure," I nodded, just as Lauren got to the most maddening part of the entire song: the chorus.

"What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?" Lauren sobbed, tears drenching her chocolate-stained shirt. Damn, she looked pathetic.

Some had the belief that you couldn't pick your friends. I happened to disagree completely with those who possessed that mentality. If I didn't want to be friends with someone, then I didn't have to be friends with them. It was as easy as that. Unfortunately, the same didn't go for roommates. I most certainly hadn't picked Lauren, and wouldn't if I had had the choice, but she was still my roommate. That was why friends were better than roommates--you could actually pick your friends, whereas with roommates you were stuck with whatever version of Lauren your dean assigned. Life sucked sometimes.

"Lauren, please shut up," I begged, not sure how long I would actually be able to tolerate this. Like, I couldn't do this anymore. She was driving me crazy.

Instead of responding to me, she just sung the next line in her song in that depressing tone of hers. Oh, and just for the record, Lauren could sing just about as well as a tone-deaf cat, so there was more than a little restraint by me. Hell, after this I would probably be able to sit through at least half of Never Say Never (Justin Bieber's movie) without running out screaming. That was talent. "I'm falling to pieces!" Lauren sang as a strangled cry emitted from her throat. Falling to pieces indeed, Lauren.

A sudden knock on the door in combination with the words, "Q, it's Mikey. Open up. Like, now!" made me temporarily forget about my dear roommate who was apparently "falling to pieces." I walked as fast as I could over to the door, and swung it open, and giant grin on my face as the kid on the other side practically sprinted into the room.

"Long time no see, Mikey!" I greeted, casually walking over to my bed where Pat was and sitting down next to him.

"Q," the freshman said, everything about him more jittery than usual, "I need some stuff, now!"

"Mikey!" I scolded. "Where are your manners?"

"Q, now!" he commanded, drumming his finger on his thigh speedily.

"Chillax!" I laughed, always enjoying this side of Mikey. When he got like this, he was always pretty entertaining to watch.

"That's why I need the stuff, Q! So I can 'chillax'!" Mikey exclaimed, beginning to do laps in my tiny dorm room. Before when it was just Patrick, Lauren, that dreadful song, and me, the room seemed pretty crowded, but with the addition of yet another body, I was pretty sure that it had reached its maximum occupancy level.

"Okay, okay!" I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. Standing back up from my bed, I walked over to where Mikey was standing--well, pacing, and then slid an envelope out of my back pocket, handing it to him. When the paper came in contact with his hand, he immediately stopped, just the proximity of the substance making him feel so much better. He let out a deep breath, and then gave me the cash, placing the envelope wherever.

"Thanks, Q!" Mikey said with his typical carefree smile.

"What are dealers for?" I laughed.

"Y'know, you're the only dealer I've ever had that doesn't actually use the product," Mikey commented.

"Wait, what?" Pat suddenly asked, deciding to join the conversation instead of listening.

"Q's completely clean. She doesn't use," Mikey explained to my newest "client." It always felt weird referring to the people I sold to as "clients," because it seemed so formal and medical. Like, yeah, I guess what I was doing was in the medical field, but I wasn't a doctor. Hell, I wasn't even planning to go to med school! Though it may have been overly ironic, I was a law school bound all the way, baby! 

"You don't use?" Patrick turned to me in an inquisitive tone.

"Nope," I shook my head. "I got all my experimenting done in high school. It wasn't for me."

"But you still deal," he pointed out, "...without using?"

"What can I say? It pays the bills," I shrugged, just as Lauren decided to belt out another line as loudly as she could. 

"You took your suitcase, I took the blame!" Lauren shrieked along with the easy melodies of the piece. Such a nice song. Such a good band. Such a shame I would never be able to listen to it again after this, though.

"Lauren, for the love of everything that is sacred and beautiful in this world, can you please shut the hell up?" I begged for the trillionth time. She cried more at that, and I sighed, not even glancing over to her.

"Well, it definitely beats working at a McDonald's like me," Mikey laughed, continuing the conversation as if Lauren's outburst hadn't occurred. Mikey was always like that. He was pretty self-absorbed, so if something didn't immediately effect him, he completely ignored it.

"Yeah, but you can't get sent to jail for working at McDonald's," Patrick pointed out, comparing Mikey's job to mine. He was definitely right, though the whole money aspect of things still made my occupation more appealing. Mikey was probably just barely making minimum wage, whereas I, well, wasn't.

"Eh, depends," Mikey shrugged, and then actually took time to realize with whom he was talking. "By the way, I'm Mikey."

"Patrick," Pat then introduced himself. "It's, uh, my first time with Q."

"Oh, really?" Mikey said, walking over to him. "Well, congrats, dude! Q's the best! She's also pretty hot."

"I've noticed," Pat said, his eyes traveling up and down frame. I did a little finger wave that could either be perceived as terribly idiotic or flirtatious, slowly making my way back over to my bed.

"And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're okay?" Lauren wept even harder than before. Yep. It was official. I. Hated. That. Song.

"Lauren, I'm about to consider adding another illegal thing that rhymes with 'jurder' to my long list of felonies, so I suggest that you shut it!" I exploded, only causing her to howl even more. This was worse than the Boyfriend (as in the song) Breakup. It would go down in history as being a terrible time for anyone within a fifty-mile radius of our room. This would be called the "Breakeven Breakup," and serve as an example for generations to come of what "hitting rock bottom" looked like. 

"Uh, who are you?" Mikey suddenly addressed Lauren, as if he hadn't previously realized that there was a crazy girl who never seemed to run out of tears sitting on her bed in the room, singing along to a song.

"That's Lauren, my roommate," I told him, for she was in no state to answer for herself. "You've met her before. If you hit on her, Mikey, I will hit you."

I loved Mikey, I really did, but he wasn't exactly into the whole concept of "commitment," so if he ever decided to spontaneously date Lauren, I just knew it wouldn't end pretty for one person--namely, me. Fathoming the song that would go along to their hypothetical breakup was the most frightening part. I sensed that Mikey could really bring out the worst in Lauren, like, maybe even One Direction bad. My ears were already fearing for their lives as I pictured my dorm room being attacked by a wave of the British pop group. Justin was bad, The Script was okay at first, though was now terrible, so I didn't even want to think about what One Direction would be when taken to the Lauren Extreme. Basically, there was no way in Hell that I was letting Mikey get near Lauren. That would be beyond bad...for me, at least.

"Yeah, whatever," Mikey shrugged. "Listen, Q, I have to go, but thanks for the stuff. I really needed it. See you at the same time next week?"

"Sounds like a plan, Mikey-boy," I verified the meeting.

He walked over to the door, taking one last fleeting look at either Lauren, Patrick, or me, and then said a quick, "Bye, Q," before disappearing to probably go get high or something. It was Mikey, after all. The guy was pretty predictable. 

"Oh, it don't break even, no!" Lauren cried out the very last line of the song.

"Damn it, Lauren!" I cursed, at my tipping point. I was either going to strangle her to death, or smash her computer (the source of the song) into a million pieces and delete all the music from her iPod to ensure that we had a repeated-song-less room. Patrick just smirked, finding the entire situation humorous. New-flash, asshole: It. Was. Not.

Then, those damn chords that I had heard way too many times played again. Shit. It was the beginning. If I had anything to do with it, this girl was about to both simultaneously stop breathing and being alive. This was not going to end pretty. And then, because Lauren was seriously asking to get shot in the head (with what, I wasn't quite sure yet), she sang the first line, and made something within me snap: "I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing..." Not for long, Lauren. Not. For. Long.