16. 16
16
Chastity sat outside of The Rabbit Run Apartment Complex . She’d withdrawn every last measly dollar in her account and every bit of cash advance she could get from her credit cards, setting aside her last hundred bucks for enough gas and food to get her through until her next paycheck, hoping it would be enough. She shakily handed a check over to a landlord whose skin looked like a worn leather bag. The woman sat, bleary-eyed and chain-smoking, in the dingy front office as Chastity signed the six-month lease agreement for the complex’s only available unit.
She had snatched it off the market, sight unseen. After having been shot down by every other apartment complex on her list due to having zero rental references or the landlords not having any units available, Chastity knew her only other options were a greasy motel or the back seat of her car if she wanted a place to sleep.
Rabbit Run required no background check or references, a thought that simultaneously overjoyed and worried Chastity. The decrepit landlord had even done her a solid and knocked six hundred bucks off the move-in amount because of the alleged state of the apartment. There was an understanding between them before she would be allowed to sign that Chastity would be on her own to clean it if she wanted to move in right away, as the last tenant had been forcibly removed only a few days prior.
She agreed without hesitation. Surely, a little elbow grease would make the place sparkle like new in a jiffy, and it might even endear her more to the unit. Plus, with no real friends that she could couch-surf with, Chastity needed a place -- and she needed it fast -- as springtime in Jackson Hole was no time to be sleeping in a sedan with a janky heater.
As the woman took the check, Chastity suddenly felt settled. The two-and-a-half thousand bucks she’d just forked over for first, last, and security was a small price to pay to be out of her parent’s house.
It was the monetary price of freedom.
Sure, things would be Ramen-noodle-tight for a long time, but college had taught her how to survive on a fast food Value Menu. With the reduced calorie intake, she would be swimsuit-ready by summertime, too, which was her glass-half-full way to look at it all.
For now, a Goodwill sleeping bag on the floor would be her bed, and the clothes in her trunk’s “Ho-bag” -- an emergency supply bag she kept for use after one-night stands -- would have to suffice as a pillow. In her mind, anything was a marked improvement from where she’d just left.
Up a dank stairwell and along a hallway lined with faded faux wood panel walls and ugly halogen bulbs, she found it.
Apartment 208. Four hundred square feet of apartment, every inch of which was hers.
She slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. With a satisfied smile, she flicked on the lights. The expression vanished immediately, melting into a sorrowful frown.
She looked around, watching her breath fog in the air as she took in the horrific sight. The apartment was freezing and, yet, smelled like a frat house. Beer bottles and empty cans lay scattered on the ground. Warped solo cups sat atop a full sink of disgusting dishes. Old pizza boxes sat on cluttered piles of junk. Dirty underwear and drug paraphernalia were piled all around the linoleum, leaving only a grimy path through the place.
Taking a few steps in, she saw what she hoped was only a clump of hair in a corner beside a smattering of empty mini liquor bottles.
On the wall, in Sharpie, were curse words, one-liners, scribbled pentagrams, and various other doodles she couldn’t decipher.
The blinds on the bathroom window sat askew, gnarled into something that resembled a piece of abstract art. A blow-up doll sat half-inflated in the bathtub, the word ’PIG’ written on it in lipstick. The walls were covered in what looked like shaving cream. Something viscous and gelatinous, like petroleum jelly, was smeared onto the small mirror above the sink. The toilet no longer had a lid, and a doll with no hair and one arm poked out of what was likely a bowl of someone’s pungent, dehydrated urine.
In the next room, leaf litter was strewn onto the damp bedroom carpet from an open window, presumably left that way to air out the stench of cigarettes and stale vomit. There were stains of various colors that would require several carpet cleanings.
She was afraid she might have a panic attack at the state of the place. She leaned against a wall and lowered herself to her butt on the scummy floor, breathing rapidly, all too aware that she’d just sunk all the money she had into the shitty little dump before her.
Panic gripped her chest, and she struggled to breathe. She thought back to what she had read about the four-eight-four breathing technique and forced herself to focus.
Four seconds to breathe in.
Hold your breath for eight seconds.
Four seconds to breathe it out.
During her breathing, her phone buzzed, and an opportunity to mentally escape presented itself. She looked at the name.
Marcy H.
Her coworker at the bridal boutique. An acquaintance at best.
Why would she be calling? Had she missed a shift? Chastity was certain this was her day off.
Then, her stomach dropped. She hoped Marcy was not calling to tell her that they were letting her go, not after she’d just signed away almost every damn dollar she had.
“Hello?” Chastity sounded timid, fearful that this was not going to be good news.
“Hey, girl!” Marcy sounded jovial, possibly even drunk. At work, the girl hardly ever cracked a smile.
“Marcy? Is… everything alright?”
Marcy giggled for a long time. “Of course! I’m at this… house party. My boyfriend’s friend’s friend invited us. You should see this place. It’s freakin’ enormous!” She giggled again. “That’s actually why I’m calling. You should come down! Have some fun! Everyone’s on ‘E,’ and the vibe is sooooo good. We got a keg, too.”
Chastity wanted to say ‘No.’ The thought of socializing with a coworker in a setting with booze and ecstasy felt like a recipe for disaster.
Her eyes drifted around the former trap house she’d found herself renting, and she suddenly felt a desperate need to escape.
“Sounds fun. Can you text me the address?”
“Hell, yeah! I’ll send it right now.” She giggled harder, even though nothing was funny. “Bring a bikini if you want. A bunch of us are playing a make-out game in this old lady’s big ass hot tub!”