Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
WREN
I slam the front door to my apartment before sliding down against it until my ass smacks the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever run up those steps so fast the entire time that I’ve lived here.
“Holy fuck.” I release a deep breath that I’ve been holding in since I basically found a dead man. I mean, I know he wasn’t DEAD dead, but I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t run up on him when I did, he would have been. There was just so much blood. But they do say head wounds bleed a lot.
I never thought I would be so fucking happy to be back in this shit-hole apartment. It’s no secret that Forest Glen is trash. The only qualification needed to get a place here is to not be a straight-up crackhead. The place looks like it too. The kitchen cabinets have spots of paint chipping off in flakes from the spray paint they used as a quick fix. Yes, spray paint. I would like to say that was the cheapest thing I’ve seen the “maintenance crew” do around here, but it’s not. When I first moved in, there was a leak in the living room ceiling from the A/C vents. Instead of fixing the ceiling properly, they cut the ceiling out and screwed in pieces of cut-up cardboard boxes until I paid my rent and they could get drywall. I was literally looking at a cardboard ceiling for a month. But even after all of that, and knowing how trashy this place is, it’s my trash. My home. My safe space.
The familiar faint noise of the lady above me yelling at her soccer team of kids is calming me instead of making me want to cut my ears off as the events from earlier run on repeat through my mind. One doesn’t just get that image out of their head. Especially after the weird shit with his brother. If that even was his real brother.
Who tells you not to call the cops? He’s lucky I believe in not messing with a dying man’s wishes. If he really did die, that is. If not, then fuck me because karma is going to come at me sideways.
I know I shouldn’t want to know if he made it. And I definitely shouldn’t want to know more about the mystery man. Even with his face covered in blood, the man screamed authority. Like he’s the one who calls the shots, no questions asked. All of that just oozes bad news.
“Ugh,” I mumble as I rub my hands down my face before pushing up off the floor. “I need a fucking shower.”
Embarrassment is still burning hot from sitting in the Audi looking and smelling like this. You smell when you workout, obviously, but it doesn’t help that I’m also wearing workout clothes from a thrift store. If the light hits just right, you can see my whole ass because these shorts are so thin.
After quickly showering and drying off, I put on my favorite sleeping tee, which is so worn out that it’s littered with holes. Some might think this is when a shirt goes in the trash, but they couldn’t be more wrong. This is when the shirt is just getting good. The worn-out cotton feel is so comforting. Turning on my fan, I throw my covers back and hop in. The coolness of the sheets takes away some of the burn.
I can feel all of the adrenaline from the day starting to crash, making my eyelids heavy. It isn’t long before I’m dead to the world.