Arriving at her street later than she would have liked, Joanne stepped out of a bus and glanced down the long stretch of road. She stuck out quite prominently in the dim and dingy lighting of the lamp posts as her appearance was anything but dark, yet she ignored the numbing shiver of exposure running down her spine and squared her shoulders. Then, taking a deep breath, she steeled her features and began walking.

Her long stride quickened ever so slightly, spurred on by the chill in the air and the silence of the street. She pulled her jacket tighter around her torso before blowing her breath between cupped hands and rubbing them against the other. Despite the soreness from wearing heels, she hurried along as best as she could.

The night was far colder than it had any right to be, especially, but she was close enough to her apartment to be able to bear it. On a positive note, the frigid air seemed to keep some of her exhaustion at bay, so she didn't mind it much.

The bus drove past, its headlights illuminating her figure for a brief second, her long shadow towering against the dark buildings adjacent to her before fading into the distant distance. Its departure had kicked up the litter of leaves that had fallen onto the asphalt, along with said frigid air, and caused her to reconsider her thought; she minded it very much.

She wrapped her arms around herself and, gritting her teeth, tried futilely to stop them from chattering relentlessly and uncontrollably and herself from shaking.

Sighting her apartment complex a few blocks away, she stumbled in her haste, body hunched to protect herself from the cold, and despite the twinge from her ankle, she was filled with an overwhelming giddiness that almost sent her scrambling over each other. Nothing could compare to coming home, especially after such an emotionally exhausting outing.

She shuffled up the walkway to the large double doors of the nondescript building. Halfway there, she caught herself dragging her feet and, in the interest of keeping her heels in acceptable condition, made the conscious effort to straighten herself up. This would not mean a great deal, being that she was, at most, five steps from the doorway, but her presently weary state of mind wasn't in the best position for long-term considerations.

Retrieving her keycard and tapping it on the reader embedded into the wall, she entered, allowing herself a moment of gratitude for the lighting as she basked in the warmth and glow of the small entryway. Though tenants arriving late was a daily occurrence, and the entrances and halls were habitually kept reasonably well-lit into the night, she was not the type to take the little things for granted.

A flight of stairs later, she was dragging her feet again. Either she took no notice, or it was a distant realization, one she was not concerned enough to focus on, as she trudged down the hall to her door without pausing once — the standard buzz of speech and other indistinct sounds from the neighboring apartments faintly audible, even to her muzzy head. Her apartment was at the end, which gave her a bit of privacy, another thing she was grateful for as God knew the rumor mill had enough fuel already to keep spinning. She didn't want her problems added to the mix.

Internally, she cursed at herself for forgetting to take out her keyring when she returned her keycard to her purse and proceeded with the requisite search. It didn't take long to find the little gray key, and after unlocking the door, she pushed the door open — and was immediately assaulted by a furry tan-colored missile.

Under the sudden force and weight of her keeshond, it was no surprise that she dropped her purse and stepped back unsteadily. Luckily for her, the dog was not fully grown, so she was able to steady herself before she fell.

“Wh…” she tried to speak around the dog’s enthusiastic greeting. She had not only the tongue to contend with but also his breath; it gusted against the skin of her face in hot bursts.

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After a while, the dog settled down in her arms, thanks to a calm demeanor developed over time. Sighing, she bent to pick up the purse and entered her dimly-lit apartment, delicately standing on one leg to close the door behind her with the other.

“Why are you still awake, Wolffe?” she mumbled into his fur while bending slightly to the side to unfasten her heels, letting them thump down against her running shoes in the corner. “Are you hungry?”

A bark was his answer, ears back and tail wagging furiously, and she rolled her eyes, though not unkindly.

“Of course you are. Come on then, let mummy fix something up for you before she crawls into bed.”

She dropped her purse on the closest sofa and walked into the kitchen, briefly stopping to flick at the light switch by the door. Her exhaustion was forgotten temporarily in the face of her best friend’s needs.

Light bloomed, but with practiced ease, she ignored the blotches in her vision and dropped the dog gently on the floor. His peculiarly gray fur contrasted nicely with the white tiles as he bounded around her, barking before stopping by his food bowl, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and tiny paws tapping incessantly.

She chuckled softly at his excitable nature and walked to the cabinet, wearing a small smile. The smile turned into a thoughtful frown less than a minute later as she gazed upon the varied selection of high-quality wet and dry foods. While there was nothing wrong with either of them, she knew she had to be mindful of the amount her dog ate in a day. Too much, and he can quickly become obese and sick. Shutting the cabinets, she made a decision.

A tailor-made meal would have been ideal, but it was too late to order one now, and if she remembered correctly — and she checked to confirm — there were none in the fridge. Wolffe would have to make do with what was meant to be her dinner: frozen homemade meat, vegetables, and rice. She was not hungry, and even if she was, she did not think she had enough strength to feed herself. Exhaustion has slowly crept its way back without her knowing, and, besides, it was better the food went to the dog than the trash can.

Waste not, want not, as her mother regularly said.

Carefully, she poured it into his rather large bowl, adding a few discreet supplements for that extra nutritional support. His water bowl lay beside it, not empty, so she nodded and moved back, satisfied.

That was the cue the dog needed, it seemed, as his upper body crouched low to the floor, and he did his name justice with haste. Shaking her head at the scene, she turned from him.

“I’ll be in the room if you need me.”

There was no answering bark this time, which was unexpected, so she paid the dog no more heed and left the kitchen.

A warm shower left her no less sleepy but considerably more comfortable, especially dressed in the snuggliest pajamas she could find on short notice. Her outfit was laid out for the next day, but just as she was ready to sleep, she remembered her purse was still on her sofa.

“Fuck me,” she groaned and sluggishly, with her limbs protesting each movement, made her way to her living room and back.

The loud ringtone of her favorite song blared through the air, piercing the tranquillity of her apartment. She squinted at the phone in her hands, bright light burning her eyes to see the contact name, Agent Bitch, and hesitated to answer.

It was almost midnight, and there were already two missed calls, so it could not be a drunk phone call. However, though she had dreaded hearing from the woman ever since her writer’s block began, something pushed her to press on the accept button.

She turned on the speakerphone mode and mumbled, “Hello?”

There was a scrambling sound, then;

“Joanne?”

Courtesy dictated she not be rude to her superior, but…

“I'm sorry it has come to this, but my hands are tied,” the woman continued. “You have a month to figure yourself out or—”

…she was too tired to deal with the bullshit.

She flopped gracelessly onto the bed, expending her last bit of energy to throw the phone out of her field of vision and pull a blanket over herself — and Wolffe, she noted distantly with a contented sigh against his fur. The dog had draped himself on her side just as she lay down.

A not-so-distant part of her worried she might have done something she would regret, but the feeling was overshadowed momentarily by the sudden thought she might wake up the following day with an incurable case of bedhead. An inane thing to worry about, she knew, so she was thankful she was already asleep before she could give the prospect any real consideration.