Chapter 12 #2
People’s health and safety are all that matter. Possessions can be replaced. Homes can be rebuilt. But that takes time and money. What have my neighbors lost today?
What about my home and possessions?
A sob escapes my throat and I clutch my chest, trying not to completely lose my shit while surrounded by a bunch of strangers.
I guess some of these guys are looking at their own building, too, but I don’t see anyone from my floor.
And I suspect a lot of the onlookers have come from nearby, either out of concern or morbid curiosity.
I don’t blame them. I just don’t want any of them filming me if I have a Britney-worthy meltdown.
I think anyone in their right mind would be on the verge of hysteria if they were confronted with the near destruction of their home. But I have just enough self-awareness right now to understand that it’s more than that for me.
This is my home. The place I scrimped and saved to get myself out of Bee and Isaac’s house so I could let them live their lives without me constantly underfoot. So I could start my own damn life, one that I could be proud of.
Everything in that apartment is something I worked my ass off to get.
Yeah, my mattress was on the floor for a few months.
However, all the other furniture I curbed or got cheap and made myself so I could make those first several months’ rent and afford some groceries.
But over the last few years, I’ve made it my own. It’s a home.
My mind races, thinking about all the clothes I’ve taken so long to collect. They’re not particularly worth a lot, but the fact that so many pieces are unique from thrift shops in LA makes them even more priceless to me as they’re almost certainly irreplaceable.
My wardrobe is my identity. The person I wasn’t allowed to be for the first two decades of my life. It’s taken me another ten years to really work out who I am and not only live that truth but fucking celebrate it.
The same can be said of my make-up, which damn well is expensive.
I have some of it in my car for the wedding, but there’s enough of it still in my apartment to make me feel sick.
And what about all the art I’ve collected?
Most of it’s from craft fairs and independent sellers online, but it’s all by queer, Black creators.
Things like my TV and laptop I don’t really give a shit about. They can be claimed on insurance and replaced in a heartbeat, I’m sure.
What about everything that makes me me? Is it all gone?
My home might not have a chunk gouged out of it, but it’s obvious that the whole building is far too unstable for anyone to venture inside, let alone keep living here.
Will it be possible for me to retrieve anything?
Short of climbing up that fire truck’s ladder, I don’t see how I’d gain access.
Even then, what would I be able to bring back out?
Maybe a backpack’s worth of stuff, which I guess would be better than nothing.
What if the whole building collapses in the meantime? I’d lose absolutely everything and so would all my neighbors.
Am I homeless?
Panic grips me. Where am I going to sleep later? Scratch that. Where am I going to sleep for the foreseeable future? I have no god damned clue how long this is going to take to straighten out.
Sure, I still have the hotel suite for tonight.
And I have a key and could crash at Bee and Isaac’s place while they’re on honeymoon the next couple of weeks.
But then what? There’s no way I can afford to rent somewhere else without getting my deposit back from here, and I’m under no illusion that my home insurance wouldnt take forever to come through.
I refuse to live with newlyweds. Bee has already done too much for me and I can’t be a burden. Again.
Because that’s what I am. A problem. No one else is going to step up and save me right now. Our parents have proved that. I have no safety net. Bee opened her door for me once before when I found myself out on my ass, frightened and alone. There’s no way I’m imposing on her like that again.
Resolve hardens me, even as I feel tears shimmering in my eyes.
No one is coming to the rescue, so I have to take care of myself.
If I can’t get into my apartment for now…
well, if the building can manage to stay standing, my stuff will at least be safe there until I can.
What I have in my suitcase can sustain me for a while, and that means I’m at least traveling light.
Surely one of my colleagues from the boutique will be able to let me couch surf for a bit. The idea of asking my boss, Hedi, gives me the jellies, but I bet she’d help me out even if it was hella awkward. Or perhaps I could even bounce between a few places until I know what the hell is going on.
I’ll survive. So long as everybody else from the building survived as well, that’s all that matters.
I just feel so fucking alone. I want to call Bee, but even if she wasn’t on a transatlantic flight to Italy right now, I still wouldn’t want to bother her.
This is her special time with her new husband.
I’ll be damned if I allow this bullshit to ruin it.
No, I’m not having her fretting over her baby brother, not this time.
However, that determination doesn’t stop another sob from wracking through me. I clench my jaw and try to keep the pain at bay.
I just wish I had parents I could call. Not my asshole relations.
They’re the last people I’d want to see right now.
But I yearn for an alternate timeline where I had some other parents I’d be able to reach out to.
Someone who’d tell me it’s going to be alright.
Who’d invite me to come stay immediately, for as long as I needed.
Isaac’s parents might be willing to throw me a lifeline, but I seriously don’t feel like I know them enough to do that.
In fact, I don’t have their numbers, so I’d have to bother Beatrice to get them, which I’ve already decided is a no-go.
The thing is, I’ve done a pretty thorough job of keeping people at arm’s length so no one could destroy my heart again. It’s clear I’ve accomplished that. The flip side is that I never let anybody get close enough to rely on, so now I’m all alone.
I’ve managed to break my own heart anyway.
The tears start falling no matter how hard I try and stop them.
I hug myself, attempting to become as small as possible as I stare up at the fracture in my apartment building that mirrors the one inside my chest. If I will it hard enough, maybe I’ll disappear.
I don’t want any strangers asking if I’m okay or if there’s anyone they can call for me. I just want to grieve.
I tried my best to build a life that was mine. I can’t help but feel like this is the universe telling me I never deserved it. That I never deserved anything.
My parents were right all along. I asked for too much. Pride was my sin, and now the equilibrium has tipped back, leaving me with nothing once again.
I am nothing.
“Romeo?”
My name sounds like it’s being called from underwater. I blink, but my vision is filled with tears. I can’t catch my breath, and I hug myself tighter as dizziness rushes over me. It’s overwhelming. I can’t think anymore.
“Oh, baby, no,” the deep voice cries, heavy with pity. As much as I hate that, a small spark ignites in my heart that somebody might actually care about my pain, and I find myself leaning toward it, not just emotionally.
I realize I’m teetering off balance. But then firm arms are catching me, and I’m clinging to salvation.
“It’s going to be okay, Romeo,” the soothing voice says. “I promise.”
Enough tears spill down my face that I can see the firefighter’s jacket I’m surrounded by. As I force myself to slow down my breathing, I inhale the lingering scent of smoke. Strong fingers caress the back of my neck, making me shiver.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” the voice says.
Finally, I look up into the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, with little crinkles around the edges that I feel like I’ve already memorized. I gasp for air, and reality comes crashing back in.
But instead of bringing devastation like usual…this time I feel hope.
I manage to whisper just one word.
“Daddy?”