Free Clipped Wings by Helena Hunting

careful.”
    A call crackled through his radio, and he made a hasty departure. I unlocked the door and climbed the stairs leading to my apartment. It was late, and I was tired. The thought of food made my stomach turn even though I hadn’t eaten anything since morning. There were essays to mark for the class I taught and a thesis to work on, but fatigue dragged me down. The day had been taxing from the start, and I felt wasted. A specter of my former self, lost in a sea of waning numbness. The emotions I thought I had buried in Arden Hills with the people I loved were resurrecting themselves.
    * * *
    At three in the morning I woke for the third time in as many hours. Exhaustion was no match for the siege of nightmares. Some weeks were better than others, but this one had been horrendous. I went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, unable to erase the lingering images. The sound of footsteps in the hallway outside my apartment made me pause, the glass halfway to my mouth. Setting it on the counter, I tiptoed to the door and peeked through the eyehole. Sarah’s white-blond hair came into view as she rifled around in her oversized bag, mumbling to herself.
    “Damn it!” She turned the bag over, dumping the contents onto the floor and dropping to her knees.
    I flipped the lock and opened the door.
    “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me.” She threw a glare my way.
    “Sorry, it sounded like you might need a hand.” I looked at the pile of random items littering the hallway. Among them was a wad of cash secured with a rubber band. Wherever she bartended, it must have been busy to pull in that kind of money midweek.
    “I can’t find my keys. I just had them in my hand, and now I can’t find them. I don’t know how that happens. I mean seriously, is there a goddamn key fairy that just up and aways with my shit so I can’t get into my apartment? My feet are killing me and I need a drink. Damn it, I can hear them!”
    “Have you tried your jacket pocket?” I pointed to where the sound was coming from.
    She shot me a patronizing look. “Of course I—” She patted her pocket and pulled out the key chain.
    I helped her stuff the rest of her things back in her duffel-bag-sized purse.
    “Sorry I’m being such a bitch. It was a long night.”
    “If I got home at three in the morning and couldn’t find my keys, I’d be bitchy, too.”
    She unlocked her door and looked me over, assessing my state of wakefulness. “Do you want a beer?”
    “Sure, just let me get my keys.” I was wide awake anyway.
    I’d been in Sarah’s apartment for a drink once before. The living room contained a mishmash of furniture that didn’t match but seemed to go together anyway. She shed her coat and dropped it on a chair, and her bag followed suit. Deadly-looking stilettos were kicked off and left in the middle of the floor. Sarah groaned and sauntered to the fridge. Grabbing two beers, she popped the tops and handed me one. She curled up in a wicker chair that looked like a nest, giving me the choice between a floral print couch straight out of the ’70s or a beanbag chair. The couch was surprisingly comfy.
    “Why are you awake, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sarah asked.
    “I couldn’t sleep.”
    “Bad dreams?” she asked, guzzling back half her beer.
    “Sometimes.”
    Sarah waited for me to elaborate. When I didn’t, she nodded like she understood and moved on. We talked about school and work and how it was difficult to balance them both. Now that the semester was in full swing, Cassie had cut back my shifts so I had enough time to focus on course work and my thesis.
    At twenty-four, three years my senior, Sarah was working on her MBA. The cost was astronomical, even with her partial scholarship. Conversation with Sarah was easy; she was funny and exuberant and honest. In many ways she reminded me of friends from my past.
    It was five in the morning by the time I wandered back across the hall, still wired and