I am obsessed with milk. I really wish this was some kind of elaborate metaphor; sadly, it is not. I do not know how this happens, but I never have the right quantity of milk inside my refrigerator. I believe I consume it in standard amount, yet I am consistently out of milk. Of course, this always occurs exactly after I have already bought my weekly groceries. And the rare times I have attempted to buy more milk in prevention of this phenomenon, I inexplicably failed to use all of it and ended up with spoiled leftovers. I hate wasting, so I decided to leave milk out of my errands. Now, I simply do the - more or less - rational thing: I buy milk whenever I finish my last container, not a day earlier or later. I have considered devising a complex system to track my milk consumption, involving measuring it every time I drink some to ration my supply. I felt as though that was more unhinged than my current solution... And even less practical.

After approximately three hours of overtime, I have finally left Gotham General Hospital. I did my best to ensure the wounded criminals were collected by the police officers who came by and that said pick up did not get in the way of the medical staff and professionals. I might have tried to spare a few of them if it had not been for my boss' explicit orders. Besides, the chaos and frenzy that reigned all day long made my environment too unpredictable for me to risk hiding patients or "misplacing" them. One could argue the uncertain atmosphere and the lack of precision regarding formalities would have aided me, still the presence of countless renegades was a definite hazard. I could not ignore the fact that unlawful individuals - or even other patients - may observe me without my knowledge and accidentally or willingly report my actions.

Today was intense, to say the least. And now, I need to go buy milk.

I have driven to a convenience store that is at a middle distance from my workplace to my home. A gangly young male seems to be the lone employee, nearly dozing off at the cash register. I rapidly make my way to the milk refrigerators.

Let's see... If today is the 26th... November 26th... Then, the best dates are around the 4th or 5th of December... And if I can get a later date, I won't refuse...

I take possession of a carton of milk that is best before December 6th, feeling slightly relieved. Regardless of the advanced hour and the apparent nightfall, I took my time and it paid off. Maybe I will overthrow the curse of the milk once and for all. As ridiculous as it is, I am glad that buying milk can still go according to plan. Loud shouts and guttural laughter, emanating from behind me through the store's thin windows, interrupt my thoughts... And crush my momentary optimism.

I hear the door slamming open with the frantic ringing of the tacky bell that hangs above it. Holding my beloved pint of milk, I turn around. The sight alone is frightful enough to make me drop the two liters of milk. Instead, I cling onto my product and gingerly step back into the shadows behind a tall stack of cracker boxes on the closest shelf. The Bull, in all his blood-curling glory, has entered this convenience store, flanked by four of his cronies and roughly six women...

Cheryl.

I cease breathing. She is with them, speaking with one of the men, with a visibly unwell blonde female latched onto her for support. I recognize these males as high-ranking members of The Voiceless Beasts, they are the gang's lieutenants or whatever the correct term would be. They are undeniably dangerous. And, even worse, the troublesome individuals clearly all are intoxicated to an inhuman degree.

Thankfully, the alcohol is stored away from the grocery aisle, so the henchmen do not notice me while they choose their poison. I am hoping they might make this quick, unrealistically enough. To my great dismay, The Bull and his associates are instigating conflict with the unfortunate cashier.

The Bull is a remarkably tall specimen, with bulging muscles that look hard enough to break solid objects, skin of ebony and a thick gold hoop pierced through his septum, reminiscent of cattle. He is effortlessly intimidating and his reputation would terrify any sane person.

The gang leader unsteadily leans onto the counter, watching the clerk who is inputting information into his cash register.

Suddenly, he utters in his deep voice, "Don't waste ya time. We're not paying for any of this."

"Uh, what..?" The cashier is obviously uninterested by the exchange.

"You heard me, dumbass."

"I think you can afford it, sir." His nasal voice is dry, apparently he could not care less about their altercation.

The Bull seemingly ignores the employee's sarcasm, hollering back at his sycophants, "Babe, you want anything?!"

Cheryl spins around.

"Uh-huh! I'll be riiight back!" she singsongs, getting rid of her blonde counterpart.

The brunette staggers away from her clique, hanging onto shelves and refrigerator doors to keep her balance... And she is turning the corner of the aisle where I am lurking. Lord, save me. I attempt, desperately, to stare at the crackers to the extent that I might fuse with the red boxes and disappear. Maybe if I contrive to be perfectly immobile...

"Peanut!? Heeeeeey..!"

I barely turn around that she leaps toward me, half-collapsing on me into an embrace.

"Oh, I missed you..!" she mutters, hugging me far too long and with her body much too close to mine.

I only dare touching her to gently push her away, my hands stiff and nearly shaking around her waist. She steps back, however her arms remain looped over my shoulders. I am counting too heavily on the hope that she is still lucid enough to comprehend that introducing me to her boyfriend and his posse would be an awful idea.

"Since yesterday?" I tease, applying myself to keep my cool. Unlike the clerk, who is struggling to yell "Please don't kill me..!". The Bull has pinned him down by the neck against the counter and is choking him with his gigantic hand.

"Of course... Wait! Do you wanna celebrate with us?"

The young woman giggles, swaying to and fro in her black boots. She is clad in a classic little black dress and wears her habitual bright green jewel necklace. Today, it is in the form of a sleek jet choker.

"No, thanks, Cheryl. I'm good." I smile forcefully, slowly easing her hands apart and removing her arms from my upper body.

I peek between the produce, observing that one of the gangsters distanced himself from his peers and is aggressively groping the blonde who Cheryl left alone. A nervous chill takes over my muscles and tears up my stomach from the inside. I whip back to face my new friend.

I lower my voice instinctively, impulsively suggesting: "Hey, maybe we could hang out just the two of us, you know..?" So you do not get brutally assaulted tonight.

A pleased expression crosses her sparkling green gaze.

"Yeah! Totally..."

She nips at her lower lip and clings onto my left arm.

"Let's go..!" she whispers, pulling me along.

To the cheerful melody of the oaf she considers her boyfriend beating up the pitiful cashier, we covertly sneak into a storage room that leads us to a wide open delivery garage. That's lucky... I bring Cheryl to my car, helping her into the backseat. It's only while I am trying to fasten her seat belt that I realize I stole the milk. I put the carton inside my trunk, impatient to get the hell out of here. The only place I can think of where we will be safe is my apartment. Seeing as she is inebriated and shows symptoms of having taken drugs, I doubt she will perceive that I do not, in fact, live near the Cock-and-Bull nightclub.

Once I have parked, I open the right-side back door of my automobile.

"Alright, we're here. You can come out."

My ex-patient simply lies down even more resolutely upon the backseat.

"But I'm so comfortable..." she playfully whines.

Leaning onto the door, I laugh, asking her, "Please, get up."

"Why don't you come back here and make me?" Her sultry voice escapes the darkness of the vehicle, startling me.

"Cheryl..." I chide her.

Thankfully, she slithers off the seat and lands on her two feet at my side.

I climb the staircases behind her, ready to break her fall every time she stumbles. I left my gear - and my milk - in my automobile, to pick up later. No one has ever stolen from my car - or my car itself - thus far, so I am not too anxious.

A few paces before my front door, my friend spins around, to half-heartedly complain.

"How much higher..? Woah..!" She slips because of her own momentum and knocks her hip against the barrier to my left, tilting over it and above the parking lot.

I hurriedly catch her waist in the crook of my left elbow, and her body slams into mine as she pushes herself up.

"Thanks, savior." Her breath, burning hot and laced with liquor, grazes my neck.

I more or less drag her to my door, and when we are both inside, I let go of her.

"You brought me back to your place..?" she slurs, unevenly stepping into the living room.

Approaching in her back, I deftly lift her purse off her shoulder, tossing it under a side table. It is safer to remove her cellphone from her grasp, along with any other potentially harmful items. I need to eliminate the disastrous scenarios that her presence here could entail.