13. Atticus #2
“No visitors to the apartment at any time without prior arrangement. No overnight guests ever. No members of the opposite sex in bedrooms. No use of illegal substances. No prescription drugs without prior notification. Quiet hours between nine a.m. and nine p.m. Silence from nine p.m. to nine a.m.”
As she reads, I get angrier and angrier. Who the fuck does this woman think she is? “So she basically wants you to make zero noise at all, at any point?” I snarl.
Sighing, like she just doesn’t have the will to fight anymore, Lemon nods. “Basically. You know, for a while I was really worried about her. Clearly, she’s struggling. I tried to help. I tried to talk to her.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t go well?”
“She told me that pushing my own issues onto other people was offensive, and that I was out of line for trying to involve myself in her personal life. The next day a new set of rules appeared, stating that unless requested, unsolicited medical advice was strictly forbidden.”
“Jesus, Princess, I’m so sorry you’ve been living like this for so long.”
“I’m used to it. I sneak in, I sneak out, and mainly I just try to avoid her and any conflict as much as possible.”
Lemon starts to tense the moment I slow the car to a stop on the street outside her building. By the time we’ve ridden the elevator to her floor, she’s as stiff as a board, her usually relaxed and bubbly aura shrunk to a tiny, fearful husk of her normal self.
Unable to stop myself, I turn her to face me and palm her cheeks. “Breathe.”
She sucks in a tiny, barely audible breath.
“Again. Breathe. In and out, in and out. You need to relax, or you’re going to pass out,” I coax.
“She’s going to lose her mind if you come in there with me.”
“You let me deal with her. She can lose her mind all she wants, because I honestly think that the best thing for her might be to call the cops. She’s clearly in some kind of mental health crisis, and if they see her, they’ll probably end up taking her in for assessment.”
“Is it bad that even though moving in with you after three days is insane, I still want to do it because I’m not sure I can spend another night here?” she whispers.
“Not crazy at all, Princess,” I assure her.
Honestly, her crazy roommate is doing me a favor, because if Lemon was happy living with Avery, I doubt I’d be able to convince her to move in with me as easily.
“Now give me your key and stay behind me. If she’s here, I’d rather she go at me than you.
But be warned, if she starts to get physical, I won’t hesitate to call the cops myself. ”
“Okay,” she says, so meek and beat down that I’m tempted to provoke Avery just so I have an excuse to call the sheriff’s department and have them come and deal with her.
After she hands me her keys, I unlock the door and peer into the apartment.
The place is quiet and seems empty, but given the rules about neither girl using the living space, Avery could be in her room.
Holding the door open, I gesture for Lemon to go in and follow behind her, scanning the space as I wait for the roommate to pop out and start yelling.
With the boxes beneath my arm, I guide Lemon toward her bedroom and open the door for her. “I don’t think she’s home, Princess,” I say, trying to reassure her.
Nodding, Lemon steps into her room, then quickly shuts the door behind me the moment I’m fully inside. Without asking, I can already tell this is how she’s used to being here—scared of her shadow and intentionally suppressing herself in an effort not to provoke Avery.
Putting the boxes on the bed, I take the roll of tape from her hand and start taping the bottom of one of the boxes.
Once it’s done, I hand it to her. “Here, baby. Start packing. I should have brought a couple of big suitcases for your clothes, but I didn’t think.
Once we’ve filled all these boxes, we can run them home and come back with the suitcases. ”
“Okay,” she easily agrees, carrying the box to the far side of the small room and starting to fill it with things.
While she packs, I continue to build the boxes until the bed is covered three deep in cardboard. “Show me what you want in each box, and I’ll start packing.”
“Could you put my books and sketchpads in one?” she says, pointing to a bookcase I didn’t notice the last time I was here.
“Of course,” I say, taking a box from the pile and carrying it over to the bookcase.
Starting at the bottom, I carefully stack the books in the box, checking the weight every now and then to make sure the tape isn’t going to give way.
It takes two boxes to fit all of her books, and I seal each one as I go, placing it in the living space despite Lemon’s protests that we not put anything outside of her room.
When I start to pack her piles and piles of sketchbooks, I can’t help but open the top one. I’m not sure what I expected, but what I find are beautifully detailed sketches of dresses with swatches of fabric stapled to the pages.
“Princess, these are amazing.”
“Oh, thanks,” she says, waving my praise away.
“How many of these have you made?”
“Not many. The sketches are the easy part. Designing the pattern and actually sewing the fabric is much harder.”
“You need to be selling these. They’re incredible,” I tell her.
Blushing, she waves off my compliment and turns back to her packing, but I refuse to pretend I’m not aware of her talent. Making another mental reminder, I plan to check out community college classes for her and see what she’ll need to start making more of her dresses.
We pack in companionable silence for an hour, working from one side of her room to the other, packing all of her things into boxes.
Her belongings are a mix of practical and completely impractical things—sewing equipment beside random ornaments next to hair bows and sparkly jewelry.
We’d filled almost all the boxes when a shriek pierced the calm air.
“We’re being robbed. Cops, help! Someone call the cops!” Avery screams, her voice shrill and frantic.
“Oh god,” Lemon sighs, dropping the hair accessories in her hands into the box on the bed and heading to the door.
“I’ll handle her,” I tell her, catching her around the waist and spinning her back toward the bed.
“No, that’ll only set her off more.”
“I’d rather her ire be directed at me than you,” I remind her, opening the bedroom door and stepping out into the living space.
“Hello again, Avery. It’s nice to see you.
You’re not being robbed. Lemon is packing, and we’ve been stacking the boxes in your shared space before we carry them down to my car. You understand, of course.”
“What?” Avery screams. “I told you I won’t have drug dealers in my home. Get out, get out, get out.”
“Once again, I’m not a drug dealer, and this is Lemon’s home as well. Or at least it is until we’ve gotten the rest of her belongings,” I say calmly, speaking to her like I would a child throwing a tantrum.
“Lemon, you can’t bring guests here. I’ll call the cops. I’m calling the cops!” she screams, her eyes unnaturally wide.
“Go ahead if that’s what you want to do. While you wait for them to arrive, we’ll carry on packing,” I inform her. Turning my back on her, I usher a cowed Lemon back into the bedroom, leaving the door open just in case she decides to do anything to the boxes of stuff in the living room.
“She’s calling the cops,” Lemon whispers.
“I know. But honestly, given the state of her pupils, she’s either on something or having a medical emergency, and either way, the cops coming is probably for the best,” I assure her in a low voice.
While Avery frantically tells the cops that there’s a drug dealer stealing things from her home, Lemon and I continue packing, filling the boxes until the only thing left to be packed is the clothes in her closet.
“I’m going to call Marcus and ask him to bring the suitcases.
I had thought that we could come back later after we’ve taken the boxes home, but I’m worried she might do something to your belongings or bolt the door so you can’t get back in.
I’d rather we just take everything now, so you can let the landlord know that you’ve moved out before she escalates any further.
Then we can take pictures and videos of the apartment to prove that any damage she does happened after you’d already left. ”
“I don’t think she’ll cause any damage. She’s fastidious about cleanliness and smells. She loses her mind if even a single dish is left dirty in the dishwasher.”
“What about her room?” I ask.
“I’ve never been inside, but she’s probably plastic-wrapped everything to keep it pristine.”
Chuckling, I press a kiss to her forehead and quickly dial Marcus’s number.
“Hello, Atticus,” he immediately answers.
“Hi, Marcus. I’m sorry for bothering you, but would you mind loading the big suitcases into the van and driving them over to Lemon’s place?
Her roommate has lost it, and the cops are on the way.
I’d planned to load the boxes into my car and come back later with the suitcases for her clothes, but I’m worried she’ll either do something to Lemon’s things or refuse to let us back in. ”
“She called the cops? Do I need to contact a lawyer?” Marcus asks, surprisingly calmly.
“No.” I chuckle. “If anyone is getting taken anywhere by the police, it’s going to be her. Her pupils are the size of silver dollars. But like I said, I’d rather not leave right now.”
“Of course. Send me the address, and I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, Marcus. I’ll send it now.” Ending the call, I send the address for Lemon’s building over to him, then carry the last few sealed boxes out of the bedroom and pile them on top of the others by the door.
“The cops are on the way,” Avery says, her arms crossed angrily over her chest.
“Okay, great,” I tell her, completely unfazed.
“I’m serious, they’re coming. They’re going to arrest you, and you’ll go to jail. You should probably get out of here before they arrive.”