44. Apartment
APARTMENT
Voodoo [Godsmack]
Graphic Scenes
The faucet runs. A constant dripping that echoes through the silent, still home.
The torn curtains shed slits of morning sunlight throughout my room.
The ripple of warmth rests on my face, across my eyes.
A surge of searing pain from the burning light makes me grunt, waking from the comatose state I effortlessly slid into after last night.
I open my eyes and gaze at the still and lifeless fan.
My stomach cramps, and I have the urge to pee.
Getting out of bed slowly, I step on cracked eggshells.
At least, that’s what I imagine in my head as I walk over the glass littering the ground.
The mirror leaning against the wall has no glass inside, bent beyond recognition outside my door.
I step over it, shedding another layer of what happened last night.
Mum and Dad’s bedroom door is closed, and soft sobs tremble within. I know they are more from sadness than pain, for she wasn’t the one who was hurt last night.
Inside the bathroom, the door clicks when I flick the lock. Ignoring the mirror, I sit on the toilet and place my face in my hands. My stomach cramps tighter when I pee. It feels like I have a UTI, but I know it’s not. It’s the muscles around my pelvis throbbing from the pain.
When I rise, I hiss at the shudder of pain while pulling up my undies and then my shorts.
I then wash my hands. The water flows, running over my torn fingernail, and I feel the sting as I look at the flesh underneath.
After drying my hands, I open the cabinet, grab the Band-Aids, and wrap one around my right index finger.
“Hey,” Dad calls, slamming his fist against my door. I jolt, and my heart hitches, and my stomach drops at his slurred, incoherent voice. “Open the fucking door, Noya!”
I jump to my feet, go to the door, twist the lock, and peer out when the door flies inward. I move back, and my eyes widen at Dad standing at the exit. Mum cowers behind him, her arms hugging around her. She won’t look me in the eye, but that’s nothing new.
“Were you talking to a boy tonight?” he questions.
“N-no,” I stammer.
Brown eyes burn fiery auburn; his lip curls, and saliva drools down the corner of his mouth. “Your mum said she heard you on the phone to a boy last night,” Dad roars. “Your mum never lies to me.”
I dart a look at Mum. She hunches her back, shrinking like part of the furniture.
He grabs my arm and squeezes while dragging me toward the table. My eyes widen in horror at the pliers, and my body moves back as I struggle to prevent myself from going near them.
“Remember what happens whenever you lie to me about boys, Noya,” he froths. “You know you aren’t allowed to talk to boys in the house when I’m not here!’
“No! Dad, stop, please!” I beg.
He pushes me against the table and slams my hand down on the firm surface. I wiggle, my legs lash out when I kick him in the groin. He topples back, and Mum gasps. Her eyes widen, and the tears spill out. She races into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Then, suddenly, pain floods across my stomach.
My legs buckle when his knee crashes into my groin.
Blood spits out when I gasp, and my body is desperate to double over and cower in pain.
His knee stays there, digging in further while his grip tightens on my wrist, and his other hand clamps the pliers onto my nail.
“No!” I scream. I shake my head from side to side, and my feet stomp. Urine slips between my legs, and my voice is like a broken gasp when the nail peels away from the flesh.
My phone vibrates once I turn on the shower. I smile weakly at the text.
Conner: When will you be ready for me to show you your new home?
Me: In 15.
I peel off my soiled underwear and step inside to wash off the remnants of last night. I have five minutes to dress when I get out, and I cringe when I look down at the flourishing bruises. Then I pull my underwear up and slide on baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt to forget about it.
Conner is already waiting outside. I ease myself in, a twinge of pain hitting the corner of my eye at the sting.
“You good?” Conner asks.
“Yeah… I exercised more when I got home,” I murmur.
“And your finger?”
“Oh,”—I tuck my wounded finger behind my other hand—“I jammed it into the door, and it started bleeding a little.”
“Did you want my dad to check it out? We can stop by my house before we head out.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Besides, I’m excited about seeing our apartment.”
Conner’s eyes widen for a fraction, and when he keeps driving down my street, I notice the delicate red glow on his cheeks. I smile, knowing that sometimes I, too, can catch Conner off-guard.
The cold air-conditioning brushes against my face, and “Voodoo” by Godsmack plays in the background. He told me that everyone loved meeting me, especially Charlotte. Conner grins when he says Noah was acting cool, but overall, I won over everyone’s hearts.
I smile while closing my eyes, relieved that I wasn’t that socially awkward or weird, even distant. I was enough for them to like me. My heart hurts a little as this overwhelming feeling tightens around it, knowing that his family is so lovely.
Conner’s hand rests on my thigh, and he squeezes.
I place my left hand over his and turn to face him.
I don’t want to put my right hand on his, only for him to examine my finger and notice no nail.
But if he does, I can explain that I jammed my finger so hard that the flesh underneath the nail was bruised, and the nail fell off.
Would he believe it?
I seriously doubt that.
The university is in the opposite direction from the school, heading out of the city.
I’m not sure why most cities build universities so far from the actual city.
Driving back and forth will be such a hassle.
However, it’s a positive for me. Dad will never seek apartment buildings near the university.
However, there is a loose end that frightens me.
Mum overheard my conversation with Andy.
When I leave, that’s the first person Dad will call.
I should unblock Andy’s number and convince him not to say anything if he ever wants to be my friend again.
You mean you would use him?
I bite my lower lip and chew on the flesh while I think deeper. I don’t want to use anyone. The thought makes me sick—however, the idea of Dad finding Conner and… and hurting him.
I shake my head and tear myself out of my thoughts.
“Did you end up talking to Andy last night?” Conner asks cautiously.
“Um… yes,” I answer. “You were right.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “The last thing I want to be is right. I know how much you wanted to mend things.”
I nod glumly and say, “It’s for the best, though.”
Conner turns into a driveway that dips. There’s a metal door further down, claiming to be the entrance to this large building block.
Conner reaches into the cup holder and grabs a flat, white plastic card that flashes green.
Winding down the window, he holds the card out and taps it against…
I don’t know what it is, but it’s a metal pole with a square box attached.
The roller doors open after the scanner beeps, and we drive down into the parking lot.
There are bays, and Conner parks in Bay 5. The parking spot is so tight that I’m uncomfortable leaving my side, where there is a bulkier car that leaves no room for me to open the door without hitting it.
Conner reaches in, holding his hand out to me, and says, “Come this way.”
As I shuffle out, a thought that never occurred to me makes me realise how unrealistic this apartment plan of us moving in together can be. “I don’t have a car,” I admit. “And if I did… uh… buy a car, where would it go?” Then, I bite my lip and add, “I need to find the bus route for school.”
Conner smiles reassuringly and says, “I’ve already figured that out.”
His parking spot is near the elevator. He taps the button, and the red arrow above the elevator points downward. It is musky in the parking lot, and because it is already a humid day, being underground makes me feel stickier, and my hairline sweats.
“You will take my car to school, and I will take the bus.” I raise my hand to protest when he adds, “We will put you on the insurance in case of an accident, but it’s the best possible action.
I will take the bus to the university because it’s closer, and you take the car.
” He shrugs as we enter the empty elevator. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“And if I buy a car?” I ask curiously.
I might have to keep saving and get a car loan. Once I save more money, I might find a cheap car on Craigslist or Gumtree for under a thousand dollars.
I don’t want to use Conner’s car. I’m already burdening him by moving in as a roommate, unable to bring anything besides clothes. Now I’m feeling like a total weight on his shoulders that he hasn’t gotten rid of yet. When will he realise I’m not worth it?
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, ignoring my question. “You have been brooding ever since you asked that question. Do you doubt the move-in with me?”
“N-no, that’s not it,” I begin. “It’s… you do too much for me. It feels like I’m using you to escape everything bad in my life.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” he questions.
“No!” I exclaim, then flinch when he smirks. “I want to get away from everything bad in my life, but… but I’m not using you to gain it.”
“It really bothers you when I do things for you.”
“I don’t like owing people,” I admit.
Conner grunts, musing. “Would it make you feel better if we went halves on everything once we move in? Similar to how actual roommates would behave.”
“Yes,” I say enthusiastically. “That will make me feel so much better if we can do that, Conner.”
“Okay. Once we move in and work out the bills and how much to put away, we can sit down.” The doors open, and we step out to the fifth floor.
“I called Tony from my old work and asked if I could pick up some shifts. Even though I know my commissions from the art I create are manageable, I’d like to pick up some more money so we can live more comfortably. ”
“Oh…”
“It will help for when we travel for a year after you graduate as well,” he says, and his hazel eyes light up at the idea.
Art is part of our lives, and the thought of going on this journey with someone who understands me makes my heart flutter.
I’ve already grown up paying bills and working so much to keep the broken home from crumbling.
This time, though, it will be for a cause.
I’m not trapped, holding the roof up, hoping I won’t hurt anymore.
I’m not paying someone else’s bills, and I’m not paying for a TV I can never watch. I won’t be doing that anymore.
The corridor is brightly lit. The fluorescent lights glisten along the walls and doors in hollow holes, and no windows in sight.
We head down, nearing the end, but stop two doors short on the left.
Conner inserts the card he used to get us into the parking garage, and as he opens the door, a beam of light soaks my entire body.
Across the room is a kitchen, and overlooking the kitchen are massive windows showcasing the lake near the university.
It’s a trendy walking spot for couples, from what Samantha has told me.
The living room is in front of the kitchen.
Two two-seater sofas and a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, and on the left side, the more I walk, stepping on the diamond-shaped grey tiles, there are three doors on the left side of the apartment.
On the other side of the kitchen is a glass door that I assume leads to the balcony.
“The first room is the bathroom,” Conner announces.
I place my handbag on the table near the door. There are no windows in the bathroom, only saucer lights and a large vent in the centre. The tiles are sparkly blue and white. A shower tub is on the opposite side of the sink, and a toilet is crammed at the end of the sink.
“It’s a little small.”
“It’s nice,” I murmur.
Conner shows me the other two rooms. They already have queen-sized beds inside each, pressed against the wall. There are still no windows, but it doesn’t bother me much. Funnily enough, I feel secure that my body won’t be exposed in a place where I should be comfortable.
The next room is the same. Conner tells me to pick whichever one I want, and I immediately pick the one closest to the bathroom out of fear that he’d hear me pee if he had that room.
Conner places a cigarette in his mouth, opens the sliding door, and tells me he will be back in a few minutes.
As the glass door closes, I overlook the living room again.
I feel like a prop, as if I should be a lamp or part of the furniture.
I don’t know what to do with myself, so I stand there awkwardly, unable to even sit down until Conner comes back inside.