Every inch of my body ached. The dull twinge of pain surged through me, starting from the centre of my chest then pushing outwards like a wave. It travelled with my pulse until it reached the tips of my fingers and toes, then it'd repeat. And every time I felt like I was drowning, being pulled under the waves as they washed over me again, and again, and again.
He stared out at me from the screen of my phone, that familiar smile plastered across his stupid face, his name—Rick—emblazoned above. He was trying to call me, again, but I wasn't going to answer. There was no way I could, even if I wanted to... I froze whenever I saw his face. It physically hurt to look at him, even if it was just a picture.
My rational half reminded me that I was being melodramatic, and, to be honest, it was right... but love was not a rational thing. My heart was a completely separate entity from my head. Even though my rational self told me to get over it, my heart hurt, and there was nothing my head could say to change that.
I dismissed the call, sending it to voicemail. He would probably leave yet another message that I would delete without listening to.
What didn't he get about 'fuck off'? I thought that setting our bed on fire would've sent a very clear message.
It had been a week since I'd last seen him, but it seemed like much longer. It was hard to believe it had been a mere seven days since I caught him in bed—our bed—with another woman.
Retracing those memories made the next wave of pain a little stronger. We had been together since high school, gone to the same college, moved in together... He had been all I knew. But apparently I wasn't enough for him. He had to go and cheat on me. And to make it all that much worse, it had been completely obvious. I mean, I had noticed when he had started being strangely secretive, but I wasn't suspicious. I had trusted him. Pathetically, I had even entertained the idea that his secret was that he was planning to propose. I only wondered what was taking him so long to do it.
Now I knew.
I stumbled to the nearest lamppost and leaned against it, fighting off the tears threatening to emerge. I needed to collect myself before I moved on. I couldn't show up to an apartment viewing looking like a wreck; I couldn't risk giving the landlord a reason not to rent to me...
Not another reason, at least. I didn't exactly have a glowing reference from my previous landlord after he kicked me out. There had been something in our lease about "intentional destruction of property" and apparently lighting your own bed on fire fell under that clause.
Admittedly, that had been my fault. I should have known better, but in the heat of the moment, I had needed to destroy something, anything... Rick was just lucky it hadn't been his face.
I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth and pushed myself off the lamppost. Pull it together, I told myself. You're nearly there.
The apartment was only another half-block further. To distract myself as I walked, I glanced around the street, taking in my surroundings. Near‑identical brick houses, most of them painted in strong, vibrant colours, lined the street. Once single-family homes, they had now been sliced up to make small apartment blocks. Some of the ground-floor apartments had been transformed into little specialty shops—artsy places like mini-galleries, bookstores, and cafés. This neighbourhood was a little shabbier than my previous digs, but I kind of liked it. It had a bohemian vibe.
Really though, I'd be okay with any neighbourhood, as long as it wasn't one where getting stabbed was a common occurrence. It was nearly the end of the month, and if I didn't find anything soon, I'd be out on the street.
As my breathing began to slow and the panic eased away, I quickly checked the nearby houses for numbers. The street was a bit dimmer than I'd like it to be—the lampposts were older, cool and vintage-looking, but not very effective—but that was part of its charm. Fortunately, I could already guess which house was my destination.
The rest of the houses flickered with lights inside—the dull-blue of a TV, or the warm yellow of lamps—but there was only one with its front light on.
They were expecting me.
I quickly closed the distance between the house and me. Like its neighbours, it was three-stories, solid brick, but instead of the vibrant colours that made the others pop, this one was painted a drab off-white with grey accents. It had almost no decoration, its windows plain and square, which made its stark symmetry all the more apparent.
My nose wrinkled slightly. Considering the rest of the street, I had been expecting something a bit cooler.
After glancing at my phone again to confirm that this was the right address, I realized I was actually a little bit early. The landlord probably wouldn't have minded, but I still lingered on the sidewalk. It wouldn't hurt to have a look around first, just to make sure the place wasn't a total dump before I went and met with them. If it was, I'd probably just ditch. There was a pang of guilt for considering it, after they had been nice enough to allow me to come late when I was done work. But if the place was a dive, I didn't want to waste my time for the sake of politeness.
The online listing had advertised a basement suite with a separate entrance, so I turned my gaze downwards. The lower level had been bisected, split evenly down the centre by the stairs that led to the building's front door, a suite on either side. Both of the apartments were dark, but the one on the far right had plants on its stoop. The other was bare, with its curtains partially drawn. It seemed safe to assume the one of the left was the one I was set to view.
I crept down a short set of stairs that lead from the sidewalk to its door to have a closer look. Since it appeared to be empty, I peeked through the big picture window next to the door. There was lot of floor... and some dark shapes against the far wall that might be counters. I couldn't see much, but it didn't look like a dump.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I jolted. Looking at the screen, I saw it was just a notification that Rick had indeed left me another voicemail. Sighing, I made a mental note to delete it later, but I also noticed that my time for lurking around was up. I scaled the short stairs, back up to the sidewalk, and then turned to ascend to the front door. As I climbed above the basement suites, I glanced over to the far side to the other suite, to check out my neighbour's home.
But it didn't look like a home. It looked more like a business.
A very odd business...
I stopped mid-stair, strangely entranced. How had I not noticed the large hand stretched across the window, painted in white directly onto the glass? Lines crisscrossed the hand's palm, and an intricate design of leaves—or was it eyes?—encircled it. And there was a sign that hung over the window. It was turned off, its dim neon tubes twisting into the shop's title: Psychic and Palmistry Services.
Above me, the upper suite's front door swung open. I jumped, almost losing my footing on the stairs. Tearing my eyes away from the weird shop, I looked up at the open door. A small, squat woman emerged, illuminated from behind as warm light poured out from inside. It obscured her face for a moment as I blinked at the brightness.
As she made her way down the steps towards me, my eyes finally adjusted enough to let me see her. She looked like she could have been pulled straight from a fifties advertisement featuring the perfect grandma. A frilly white apron covered her prim lavender dress, and a string of pearls hung around her neck. Her perfectly curled hair was tucked into a grey, cottony puff, and her full olive-toned cheeks pulled up in a meek smile. I idly wondered if she ran the strange shop downstairs before having to stifle a laugh as I attempted to picture her as a psychic, pouring over a crystal ball.
"You are Rachel Vaughn?" the woman asked, interrupting my thoughts.
My laugh forgotten, I shrank a little. Her voice was surprisingly deep and commanding, but that might have been because of her thick accent. Eastern-European from what I could guess, but beyond that, I had no idea.
"Y-Yes," I stammered.
I noticed my arms were wound tightly around myself, so I released them and let them swing to my sides, pretending they had been there all along. I suddenly felt self-conscious about being so frightened.
"Good, good! I am Mrs. Malik from email." She looked me over with gentle eyes. "You on time! Don't be nervous."
"Uh, okay," I said, my voice a little shaky, and held out my hand to her. "Nice to meet you?"
She took my hand, but she didn't shake it; she merely held it tightly and patted my wrist. The funny old woman beamed at me for a moment and then let go, before spinning on the spot, and heading towards the empty basement suite. She beckoned to me with her finger over her shoulder. I couldn't help but like her.
"This it," Mrs. Malik announced as she unlocked the door and flicked on the light.
Since the bottom floor had been split into two suites, I had assumed that the apartments would be small. But while it wasn't wide, it was actually quite long. It had a modestly sized kitchen with a breakfast bar and a decent front room with dark, hardwood floors and warm grey walls.
She stood aside to let me in. I wandered through and inspected the place, trying to spot any defects, but there were none. Behind the kitchen, were two rooms—the bathroom, complete with tub, and a fairly large bedroom. There was more than enough room here for one person... and that was all I needed now.
I had a good feeling about this place; it was nobody's dream apartment, but it felt perfect. Just enough for me. And even though the little shop next door was a bit strange, I couldn't help but think that this is where I was meant to be.
"Utilities included in rent," Mrs. Malik added, reminding me she was standing in the corner. "And rent is due last day of month. What you think?"
I hadn't even been here for five minutes, but I couldn't resist. "It's perfect. I'll take it."
Moving in didn't take long, since I had almost no existing furniture to my name. I only had to pack what remained of my personal stuff—clothes, books, school supplies, and my laptop. The rest of my newly purchased furniture arrived by store delivery a few days later, meaning no work for me. Now there was a mattress set, still wrapped in large plastic bags, which stood against the wall in the bedroom. Strewn across the living room floor were boxes of yet-to-be-assembled furniture.
As I surveyed my upcoming job, my bravado faded a little. I sucked at putting furniture together, especially the trendy Scandinavian kind. That had always been Rick's job, but now...
I sighed, fighting off yet another wave of aching. My stomach growled in response, my hunger adding insult to injury. I hadn't had breakfast yet, but I had nothing in my apartment to eat, or to eat with. In my haste to leave my previous life behind, I had sold or discarded the entire contents of our kitchen.
I figured breakfast at a local café would give me the strength to face this large project. Besides, I was itching to get out and explore my new neighbourhood. The sun shone brightly through the large picture window, and it was already looking like it would be a beautiful day, a last remnant of summer before autumn finally took hold.
Pulling on a light jacket, I locked the door, the bolt falling easily into place with a satisfying clunk, and bounded up the stairs. A new resolve filled me as I felt the sun warming my face. The frustration I had felt in my apartment quickly faded away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of hope. I had a new place and the chance for a whole new life.
Lost in my own world, I suddenly smacked into something. No, not something, someone. Distracted by the warm sun, I knew I had been the one who hadn't been paying attention, but my mouth still filled with snarling remarks.
"Hey, watch—" I snapped, as I looked up... and then quickly swallowed all my hateful words.
Before me stood a gorgeous man. Not just cute or kind-of hot. He was literally gorgeous, the kind of man who could say he was a model or an actor and no one would doubt him for a second. His black hair was pushed back on his head in a sexy, bedhead sort of way, and the bright sun shone off the slight wave in it, bending around his indigo highlights. His dark, golden skin contrasted beautifully with his amazing eyes. Eyes that were bright green—really green—like fresh, lush grass.
I tried to turn my grimace into apologetic smile, but I could only seem to achieve a dopey grin.
"Sorry. He returned my smile, though his was much more charming, then quickly wove around me, out onto the sidewalk.
It didn't really dawn on me until he was at least half a block away—as I was watching him like a lobotomized puppy—that he had come from the weird little shop next door. He was not the type I expected to be visiting a silly psychic. I glanced back at it, expecting to see the lights on and the neon sign flashing in the shade. But it was as dark as the night before, and a small sign in the window's bottom corner, leaning against the glass, read CLOSED.
