Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
STEPHANIE
Landlady
I need you to come to my office so I can speak with you in person.
My heart pounds in my chest as my finger hovers over the phone’s keyboard. Why does she need to see me? The last few times I needed an extension, she texted back with an okay sweetie, or we’ll figure it out, or I know you’re good for it. Why this? Why now?
Slumping down on my couch, I stare at the tv, not really hearing or seeing anything. My vision blurs as I rock back and forth, dread seeping into my veins. I have to have a place to live. I just have to.
Maybe she just wants to talk about something else? Perhaps she wants to see what’s going on with me and catch up? Usually, we’re pretty decent friends. Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I continue to move, self-soothing the best way I can.
But it doesn’t work.
Nothing seems to calm me down. Biting down on my lower lip, I force myself up from the couch and pace a bit, seeing if that will do something. It doesn’t.
Ping .
The fucking phone dings, bringing my attention right back to my problems.
Landlady
Are you coming? I have a lot of stuff to do today and would like to do this sooner rather than later.
Seems cordial enough. Striding into the bathroom, I wrench open my medicine cabinet and peer inside. Somewhere I should have those pills from the last time I had a nervous breakdown. I can’t remember much about that moment in my life, but I do remember they helped.
…At least, I hope I’m remembering correctly.
I dig about, my fingers brushing over bits and pieces of things. For the last few years, I’ve been okay. I haven’t needed pills or anything else. Life was good enough that I didn’t even think about them.
Just then, my hand lands on something far more sinister, but all too familiar. A lump forms in my throat as I pull out the velvet bag and slip out the metal container inside. It’s all still there.
Razor blades lay in a neat row, unused yet ready if I need them. The alcohol wipes are stacked next to them, each one in its own pouch. The small butterfly bandages are still there as well.
Everything just as I left it, just as they were when I was taken to the hospital. If only I had paid better attention and didn’t cut so deeply. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten the help I needed.
Somehow, I thought I got rid of it. Apparently, I didn’t. I graze the blades with my fingers, doing my best not to remember the cleansing burn or the bite of pain that made everything quiet down.
I’ll get rid of it. Maybe later. Maybe.
Shaking my head, I put everything back and look for the pills. That’s what I actually need right now. I don’t need the pain. I need relief. There, shoved all the way in the back, is the bottle I’m looking for.
Just running my finger over the plastic cap seems to lower my heart rate a touch, allowing me to take a deep breath for the first time since getting her text. Rolling it around in my hands, I peer at the label, making sure I take only what I have to.
Such a small pill for such a big impact. I barely even feel it as it goes down my throat. Hopefully, now I can face my landlady without being a sobbing mess all over the place. Not likely, but it’s a nice fantasy to have. It’s certainly a healthier alternative than going back to cutting.
Taking a deep breath, I shore up my defenses and take the stairs, hoping the extra few minutes will allow the pill to do its job. I can’t remember how long it took. Something in the back of my brain tells me maybe it’s thirty minutes. Great. So I’ll be able to function after this little meeting, but not during. Got it.
The halls are quiet as I navigate them, as if the building itself is holding its breath. My heart continues to trip in my chest like feral kittens wrestling about. But it can’t be that bad. It’s never been that bad before.
The knock feels hollow as it reverberates through the wood. Part of me hopes that maybe I’m too late, and she’s already gone. But as the door opens, my heart sinks.
“Hey. Glad you could make it. Please, come in.” She closes the door behind me and locks it.
The click sounds ominous to my ears. No doubt I’ve just been watching far too much true crime tv as I’ve been going to sleep. There’s absolutely nothing sinister about her.
“Let’s talk about your text.”
“Yeah. I’m just kinda in a bind right now. So I was hoping we could do what we usually do and give me a few weeks? I mean, I can pay part of it when it’s due tomorrow, but I won’t have the rest. But you know I’m good for it.”
She levels a stare at me as she flips through some paperwork. “Do I, though?”
“W- what do you mean?” I stammer, my paranoia coming at me full force. “I’ve paid you before. Why wouldn’t I now?”
With a heavy sigh, she tosses them on the desk and steeples her fingers. “Did you try to pawn stuff the other day?”
My shoulders straighten as a slight defensive streak wakes up in me. “I mean, that’s not really any of your business.”
“No,” she agrees, “but getting fired is. When were you going to tell me?”
“I didn’t think that was your business either,” I manage to squeak.
“Your ability to pay me rent depends on you having an income. Do you have another job lined up?”
My heart sinks as I slump forward. “No. I’ve been looking. I-”
“What’s really going on here? Hmmm? Fired? Pawning items. Reports of odd smells coming from your garbage. What are you into?”
I simply stare at her, my mouth dropping in shock. “What are you implying?”
With a shake of her head, she rises from the desk and sits on the edge. “Look, I’ve seen the bruises. I’ve noticed the weird hours you keep coming in and out.” As I open my mouth to speak, she raises her hand. “I haven’t been stalking you, if that’s what you’re about to ask. But it’s not hard to notice when you put all the things together.”
“I have a boyfriend!” I screech, my voice rising. Each syllable is laced with a tinge of hysteria, no doubt confirming whatever it is in her mind she thinks is there. “I visit him, then come home.”
There’s a smug look of sympathy in her eyes that I just want to smack off of her face. “And you don’t spend the night? You just come home at twelve, one, or two in the morning? Stumbling in the building like you can’t even walk on your own? Where exactly did your money go, Stephanie?” She pinches the bridge of her nose and waves her hand at me. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be party to whatever illegal activities you might be doing. I just thought you were different than that.”
I sit there, dumbfounded as I stare at her, trying to process what she’s saying. “Are you implying I’m on drugs?”
“Hey now,” she holds up her hands in defense. “Whatever you choose to do is fine, but when it comes to you not being able to make rent, that’s when it involves me. Besides,” she glances back at those damned papers. “Don’t you have somewhere else you can go? Isn’t there somewhere else you should be? You don’t have to struggle when there’s people who love and care for you.”
Hot bitter tears roll down my face as I rise. “So what I’m understanding is, if I can’t make the rent, you’re putting me out.”
“I can’t enable you any longer. My conscience just won’t allow it.”
“But I’m not-”
“Are you seriously telling me you don’t self-medicate in any way? At all? Come now, I find that a little hard to believe. Everything adds up to a serious problem. That, and,” her glance goes back to the stacks of paper, as if one in particular stays at the forefront of this sham of an argument. “There’s at least someone out there who cares about you as much as I do and just wants you to be happy and taken care of.”
My mind and body go numb as I stand there, processing what she’s saying. I can’t come up with the money by tomorrow. Not unless I just sell my soul. It’s either that or sell my body.
“And if I can’t pay rent by tomorrow?”
“Then you have two weeks to remove your belongings. Anything past that, and it becomes my property.”
I nod, hating myself for the tears slipping down my cheeks. With a swipe of my hand, I wipe them away as best as I can, but they still come.
“Oh, sweetie. It will be okay. I just know it. The best thing about hitting rock bottom is there’s nowhere to go but up.”
She reaches out to hug me, but I push her away. I just can’t handle it right now. “If you really cared about me, you’d fix the damn door so it can open easily. You think I’m stumbling in here because I’m high or drunk? No. It’s because the door sticks, mostly at night when the temperature changes. And there’s a stupid lip that juts out underneath.”
“I’m sure there is, honey. I’ll make sure maintenance looks at it today.” The condescension in her tone rubs me the wrong way.
If I stay here any longer, I’ll possibly confirm whatever wrong assumptions she has of me. Besides, she’s made up her mind. That much is clear. Nothing I say will change things.
Mumbling my goodbyes, I walk back out into the hallway and stumble toward the stairs. Everything in me wants to just break down right now, or worse, give in to the razors in my apartment. But I can’t. I can’t give her the satisfaction of having ‘proof’ she can use against me.
It’s already hard enough for me to find a job with everyone knowing I’ve been fired. If they think I’m an addict, that will make things even harder. My feet shuffle forward, but my mind isn’t focused on where I’m going. I end up going all the way up until I’m at the roof.
Hot wind whips my face as I stare out at the other buildings surrounding me. Crossing my arms, I lean against the short wall holding the rooftop in. Down below, others go about their day, running to and fro, getting into cars, getting out of cars, basically living their lives.
Here I am no longer living. There’s not much I can do. Even if I somehow get the money, my name is already tainted.
With a heavy sigh, I flop down against the wall and peer at the life below. I know what I have to do. I just don’t want to do it. I detest that I have no choices.
My vision blurs as the pill starts to take effect, making me feel warm and languid inside. Dangerous. I don’t remember it feeling like this before. Unfortunately, things were so bad back then that I probably felt closer to normal. Not sure what exactly that says about me now.
Is my anxiety just not strong enough? Am I not about to just break down again? My muscles shake as I push myself up and away from the edge. No good will come from me thinking these dark thoughts here. Besides, I need to figure out what I can live with and what can leave behind.
My steps are wooden and heavy as I walk into my apartment. Tears trickle down my cheeks again as I look at the stuff. My stuff. Once my parents passed, all I had was me. I rented this apartment on my own. I furnished it myself. All the assets they had went to their bills and funeral, leaving me to pick up the pieces by myself.
I was proud of the life I carved out. And now, what do I have to show for it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Sliding down to the floor, I pull my knees up to my chest and sob, allowing my heart to break. But even that feels empty somehow, hollow. As if I can feel things but not really experience them. Maybe it’s the pills. Maybe it’s the exhaustion threatening to creep up on me and pull me under.
Either way, minutes pass by without my awareness. I have no idea how long it’s been since I came back home. It’s not until I look up and note the gathering darkness that I realize I must have been here for hours. My stomach grumbles in protest as I pull myself up from the floor.
At least now that I don’t have to worry about rent money, I can possibly get myself something nice to eat. One last takeout meal in my home before I end up on the streets.
No. Not on the streets.
I stare at my phone, my heart clenching as I pick it up. There’s one person I know who will help me out of this mess, but to invoke his name is to bring about the devil himself. I don’t want to go to him, but I have little other choice. Shaking my head, I decide to take the coward’s way out first.
Stephanie
Hey sweetie. I have a lot going on. Any chance I can stay with you for a few weeks while I sort it out?
Brody
...
...
Babe. I thought you knew I wasn’t going to be available for the next few weeks. Didn’t we already have that conversation?
We did... I just thought if you weren’t going to be in your space, maybe I could?
I’d love to have you over. Believe me, I would. But that would just complicate things. Don’t you think? We have such a great thing going, and I’d hate to fuck it up. You understand, right?
Yes... I understand.
That’s my good girl.
Look, why don’t you call over to the house and see if Chef can make you something? I’m sure it’s just your period or something like that. He’ll make you a good dinner and you’ll feel much better. Gotta bounce, but I’ll see you when I get back.
Another tear slips from my cheeks and splashes on the phone. Part of me thinks I’m being ridiculous, but the other part is so furious and fed up that Brody can’t even give me the courtesy of listening to me. Then again, if he’s in meetings, then I’m probably just bothering him.
It’s so confusing. I want to be angry, but I find myself feeling just so alone and abandoned. But then, I knew this going into the relationship. He never hid the fact that he’d be away and unavailable at various points in time.
I agreed to it, clinging to the familiar. He was all I had after my parents passed, and even now, as I think about leaving him, it feels like just one more piece of my life crumbling at my feet. I want so desperately to stay in control… but even now, I feel it slipping through my fingers.
Glancing over to my bathroom, my fingers itch as I force myself to stay put and not grab the razors. I don’t need them. Not really. I can manage without them. I just don’t want to.
And that’s the problem.
Maybe my landlady is right. Even if I’m not an addict, I certainly feel like I might have the potential if given the right stimulus.
Even if it’s not now, it could be a matter of when. I give my head a furious shake, pulling my thoughts away from the edge. No. She’s not right. Not now. Not ever. All I need is some good food and a game plan.
Honestly, what I need is Brody’s dad. As much as I loathe the idea of crawling to him, begging him to fix it, I know he’s the only one. Everything in me hurts as I crawl to my bed to sleep in it one last time before I face the inevitable.
Even in the morning light, my options are clear. No amount of sleeping on it revealed some grand plan. Somehow, I didn’t even dream of a solution. I didn’t dream at all.
Grabbing my phone from off the nightstand, I stare at my reflection in the screen. I’m not a failure. I’m just not. Unfortunately, I can’t even seem to lie to myself anymore.
My fingers shake as I pull up my phone and dial his number. Within moments, his seductive baritone flits through the phone, making my body tingle. Swallowing my pride, I say the three words I never thought would ever come out of my mouth.
“I need help.”