3. 3
3
LYLA
I spend some time looking around the apartment before the movers get there. It’s extremely clean and I’m impressed with how much work Dennis has done on the place. The bathroom has heated tile floors and the shower is a work of art. The bedrooms are cozy and mine is painted a beautiful shade of teal. I have the back bedroom that looks out over the main street, so I wander over and gasp. From up here, you can see the mountains. I’m going to love waking up to that view.
Once the movers arrive, I direct them to the back entrance that’s closer to the stairs, as Dennis told me to do. They get everything unloaded and upstairs and are just leaving when my new roommate comes barreling through the doorway.
“Oh my god, you must be Lyla!” she squeals and launches herself into my arms. “I’m Cassie.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around her in return. Her energy is infectious and I know immediately that we will get along just fine.
“Wow, what a greeting!” I giggle.
I pull back and take her in. Cassie has curly, dark brown hair, with a pair of chestnut eyes to match. She’s a few inches shorter than me and definitely has more curves. I can’t help but feel envious. My backside is decent, but I’m only a B cup and have always yearned for a bigger chest. My new roommate is definitely not lacking in that area. Her heart shaped face has the biggest smile plastered on it and she looks ecstatic to have me here. Her excitement is so genuine and I can’t help but grin right back at her.
“I vote pizza for dinner and I’ll help you put your furniture together.”
“Pizza sounds great,” I agree, “And I would love the help.”
We order in a large pepperoni and bacon pizza from the best place in town, according to Cassie, and spend the evening putting together several pieces of furniture. Cassie tells me about how she moved here three years ago from a town named Hinton and got a job with Dennis shortly after. She works Monday to Friday—during the day at the coffee shop down the street and evenings at the bookstore. She loves cooking, crochet, and scrapbooking. Her favorite movie is 10 Things I Hate About You and she loves the color pink. She listens to a large array of music—she calls herself an eclectic listener. We talk about her friends and how she would make sure to introduce me to everyone around town. We chat for hours over cheap wine and end up under a blanket on the sectional together, laughing and waving our hands around animatedly as we tell stories.
Cassie is one of those people that you feel at ease with right away. It takes all of one night for me to fall in love with her spirit and I thank my lucky stars that this is who I’ll be rooming with.
Cassie holds up her wine glass in a toast and says, “To you, Lyla. May this adventure be everything you wanted and more.”
We clink glasses and I take a healthy swig. I’m tipsy, elated, and content in a way I have never experienced before. Something about this feels so right. I can’t put my finger on it, but I have a suspicion that this is one of the best decisions of my life.
I spend all of Sunday unpacking and getting myself settled into my new home. Cassie helps, all while chatting away about her life. I admire her ability to be so open with someone she just met. I couldn’t even say that my friends back home—who I had known most of my life—knew as much about me as I already know about Cassie. I’m not somebody who opens up easily to others, and the deepest parts of myself are reserved for me, my mother, and my therapist. It’s better this way. Nobody can possibly understand the things that go on in my head and the events that haunt my dreams.
I have always been an odd soul. I feel too much happiness and too much sadness. I’m a walking contradiction. Throw in a little childhood trauma and PTSD and I’m the poster child for mental health issues.
An unbelievable urge to open up to Cassie hits me like a freight train. I feel the words linger in my throat, but they never come. As comfortable as I feel with her, I don’t think it’s time to overwhelm her with my shit. It’s a lot to unpack and I don’t want to scare her away. That’s always my fear; scaring people away, being ‘too much’ for them to handle or comprehend. It’s hard to explain the way my brain functions, even to the most understanding people. So add on ignorance and a lack of empathy? Forget about it.
Plus, this is all about a fresh start. I won’t bring my past issues with me and I am feeling on top of the world these days without that weight. I want to be a new person here. Someone who enjoys life to the fullest and doesn’t let her past define her. I want to be brave. I want to overcome. I want to find peace .
Before I know it, Monday morning arrives.
I planned my outfit the day before, just like I did for the first day of school every year growing up. The excitement is all-consuming and I can’t wait to get a feel for the people of Emerald Falls. My interactions with the locals started off rocky, but two out of three wasn’t bad. Everything else has been smooth sailing and I can only hope for a continuation of that today.
I survey myself in the mirror and adjust my outfit. Dennis said the dress code was relaxed so I took the opportunity to show off my style. It’s still hot outside this time of year, so I’m wearing a pair of light-washed denim shorts, a purple V-neck tank with lace covering the bust, and a pair of black Toms. I throw on my dark gray knitted cardigan to complete the look, as well as ward off the chill that lingers in the store. The AC is still on this time of year and I always run on the colder side.
I take one last look at my outfit and raise my gaze to my eyes.
“Okay,” I breathe, “You are capable and worthy of this opportunity. You’ve got this.”
I take a few more measured breaths after my morning self affirmations and begin to leave the room. As I pass by my dresser, I glance over at my pill bottles. I know I should be taking them, yet I haven’t for a few weeks now.
A problem for another day , I decide.
I turn out the light and make my way downstairs to the shop.
I work my way past the shelves and to the register, where Dennis stands waiting for me. When he sees me approaching, a huge smile overtakes his face.
“Morning, Lyla. You ready to get started?”
I clap my hands together and reply, “So ready.”
Dennis spends the first hour of the day showing me how to count the cash float every morning and how to use the register and debit machines. We do a few ‘test’ purchases while we wait for customers to start coming in. He walks me through how the store is organized—by genre and then alphabetically by author. He shows me where to find things in the storage room and points out a small half bathroom I hadn’t noticed.
“We offer this to the customers, as well as use it as our staff bathroom. You and Parker will both be in charge of cleaning it. You can take turns.”
My mind halts.
Parker.
A name all too familiar to me, having seen it on his license days ago. Maybe it wasn’t the same Parker. But in a town this small…
“Dennis, what’s your last name?”
He glances over at me in confusion, which quickly turns into concern when he evaluates my face.
“Hamilton. Why do you ask?”
No.
No, no, no.
This could not be happening.
It had to be a mistake. Dennis said his son was sensitive and special and—
The front door opens, indicated by the bell. I abandon Dennis and nearly run to the door. I come to an abrupt stop and stare into a pair of arctic blue eyes. Eyes that once held so much hostility, but now convey shock.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.