Lincoln
J enny’s avoiding me. Maybe she could hide it better if we lived in a bigger place, but this apartment is smaller than some of those train carriages I photographed. The walls are thin and the floorboards creak. I could say her name at a normal volume from the kitchen and hear her answer from inside the shower.
That has actually happened to me. I nearly didn’t survive it.
Hell, sometimes late at night when I’m lying in my bed, I swear I can hear the soft, sleepy rhythm of her breaths, falling into sync with mine.
So I know, sure as anything, whenever Jenny tiptoes into the kitchen to make coffee when she thinks the coast is clear. I know when she drags a side table into her bedroom so she can work on her sewing behind a closed door, the loud rattle of the machine floating through her wall like gunfire.
And I hate it. I fucking hate it.
I’m addicted to that girl, and she clearly wants me gone already.
I’ll do the right thing, because I may be tattooed and scruffy and rough around the edges, but I won’t stay near Jenny if it makes her uncomfortable. So I start putting out feelers for my next job, and I write up a new ad for the room.
“Will you read this, sweetheart?”
Okay, so I keep calling her that. I should stop that too, but you know—I’m in withdrawal. Baby steps.
Jenny blinks at me from beside the kitchen counter, steam rising from the milky coffee she just made, the morning sunshine spilling through the window and glinting gold in her ponytail. Her eyes dart around like she’s searching for an escape, and pain radiates through my chest at that, but I hold up my laptop. I won’t bother her for long.
“It’s the room listing. You want to check it over before I put it up?”
Jenny stares at me, eyes wide. Her spoon clatters to the counter. “You’re leaving?”
Well. Yeah.
“It’s okay, I’ll find you another roommate. Someone trustworthy.” And a woman, too, if I get my way. “And I’ll keep paying rent until they’re here. There won’t be a gap, so don’t worry.”
Jenny shakes her head, slowly, like she’s not hearing me properly. “I’m not worried.”
Good. Fine. I step closer, hoisting the laptop between us so she doesn’t get the wrong idea. The word doc’s up on the screen, my suggested ad ready and waiting.
“I took out the bit about bringing a microwave. Unless you want to collect them.”
Jenny puffs out a strained laugh and shakes her head. Her voice is weak, her forehead creasing as she scans the ad. “No. One is enough.”
“And don’t take this the wrong way, but your listing was a little blunt. So I made it friendlier.”
“I was drunk,” Jenny mumbles, and I tilt my head.
“Huh?”
“I was drunk,” she says, clear as day. Her nails tap on the counter, and she’s done reading, but her eyes are still fixed on the screen. “My last roommate robbed me, so I got drunk on three bowls of ice cream and bourbon then posted that ad. I was so embarrassed the next day, and I was going to take it down but then I saw your message.”
I roll my neck, pulse racing. I want to enjoy the image of tipsy Jenny three bowls deep in boozy ice cream, but I can’t. She got robbed? Someone stole from my girl? How much?
“You got contact details for that fucker? You know where they went?”
Jenny rolls her eyes. “Obviously not.”
“Did you file a report?”
“. No.”
I’m pissing her off, I can tell, being all overbearing and nosy, but I can’t help it. Pretty soon I’ll be gone, wiped clean from her life, but until that day she’s still my roommate. Mine to protect.
I check my watch, balancing the laptop on one palm. “The nearest station should be open. If we go down there now—”
“I’m not going to file a police report over a TV and a microwave.” Jenny lifts her coffee off the counter, taking a sip. So serene.
“Oh yeah?” I dump my laptop on the kitchen table, getting mad. “What else did they take?”
“Not much. An old eReader that didn’t work. A pair of my earrings.”
For fuck’s sake. “And?”
Jenny shrugs. “And she owed me three months’ rent. It sucks, but it was over a month ago, . I have no idea where she went. I’m not even one hundred percent sure I remember her last name. We barely spoke, and I actively avoided getting to know her, and this is the downside. That stuff is gone.”
How can she be so calm about this?
Look, I’ve been robbed plenty of times. That’s a given when you travel a lot. A few times when I was in my mid twenties, I was left with nothing but the shirt on my back. And sure, I was pretty zen about those experiences too, I chalked it up to bad luck and a life lesson, but when it’s Jenny getting screwed over…
No. I can’t handle it.
“Write down everything you remember.” I jab a finger at my laptop. “Make a list of what she took. We’re going down to the station right now.”
“No, we’re not!” Blue eyes flash at me, and Jenny thumps her mug down so hard on the counter that coffee sloshes over the rim. “You don’t get to boss me around, . It’s my decision. And why do you care what I do, anyway? You’re leaving!”
She shouts that last part, the words echoing around the tiny kitchen. Somewhere above us, someone’s watching today’s game in Spanish, the faint sounds seeping through the floor.
Two spots of color glow high on Jenny’s cheeks. She’s wearing leggings today and a slouchy blue sweater, her small feet bundled in fuzzy red socks. It’s a cold morning, a chill seeping through the kitchen window despite the sun.
“You think I don’t care?”
There’s a high pitched whistling sound in my head. Tension coils through my body, and fuck, I’ve never felt something like this. The urge to crush her to my chest; to make her whimper. Make her moan.
To make my sweet, grouchy roommate as desperate for my touch as I am for hers. All day, every day. Every minute I breathe.
I push it all down, mastering myself with effort, because Jenny doesn’t want that. She’s too busy huffing and puffing at me, and by the looks of things, she’s a heartbeat away from throwing that wet coffee spoon at my head.
“You’re leaving , . That’s what you just said.”
“Because you treat me like a fucking leper, Jenny! When I walk into a room, you walk out.”
She splutters but her eyes drop, the wind disappearing from her sails, and I have her, the little hypocrite. She thinks I don’t care? That’s rich as hell.
Jenny mumbles something, but it’s so quiet, I can’t make out the words. I grind my teeth.
“Louder, please.”
“I said, that doesn’t mean I want you gone. I’ve needed some space. Sure. I had some… mixed feelings after that kiss. But that doesn’t mean that I want you to go.”
Mixed feelings? Yeah. Tell me about it.
Those were the best few minutes of my goddamn life, and I’ve regretted them ever since.
“Read the listing,” I say flatly. “Make any changes you want. Then I’m posting it, Jenny, because I can’t handle you being afraid of me like this. You were doing so well, being so brave for a few days there, and now you’re back to tiptoeing and hiding in your bedroom. You can’t live with a man you’re scared of.”
I don’t mean to be harsh with her, but it’s the truth. One of us needs to say it. The refrigerator rumbles to life beside us, buzzing for no apparent reason, and I dig the heel of my palm into my eye.
Fuck. Is falling in love always this rough? Thirty years old, and I had no idea. I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.
“…”
All the air leaves me in a rush. Jenny sounds so heartbroken, and now I have no clue what to do. I just want to make her happy. Why is that such a goddamn riddle?
“Sweetheart.” Something painful flashes through her eyes at the nickname. I swallow, shoving my hands in my pockets. I’m so close to her in this cramped kitchen, but she feels so far away. “Whatever you want is fine. That’s what we’ll do. But you need to be honest with me, okay? So tell me, Jenny: what do you want? Really?”
I expect more grumbles.
Maybe a reluctant confession that yes, she would rather that I leave.
What I don’t expect is for her jaw to firm, her shoulders to straighten, and for her fluffy-socked feet to march across the space toward me. Jenny stops right in front of me, meets my eye, inhales sharply—
Then drops to her knees.