4. Sebastian
Chapter 4
Sebastian
F our months. That's how long I have been living in this apartment, and with barely a nod in my direction. So tell me why now , after I hear a scream loud enough to wake the dead and a crash that I can only assume was a body hitting the floor accompanied by banging that, to be honest, I could not identify with a gun to my head. As I ran out of my unit and banged on the door of Unit 1, I hoped that scenario wouldn't be the end result just because I was trying to be the good guy.
"Clark! You okay in there?" I yelled, wondering if I should just call the cops and maybe not cause a panic for the entire building. After a couple more knocks, the door was suddenly ripped away from me mid-knock and replaced with a short, angry-looking Clark with one eye closed like a pirate and a towel hastily wrapped around her. She was soaking wet, with a trail of suds running down her very bare legs.
"Are you okay?" I asked in puzzlement because, honestly, I had no idea what I was looking at right now. "I heard a crash and screaming?"
"Yes, I'm okay!" Georgia snapped, rubbing her eyes furiously. "My water just turned off, and the pipes were banging and?—"
"Did you pay the bill?" I asked, because—to be honest—that happened to me so often. I finally put the damn things on autopay because what the fuck else was I supposed to do? Not have water or heat?
"Quinn, I am twenty-six years old,” She retorted angrily, looking at me as if I was an absolute neanderthal. “Of course I paid my water bill."
"Okay, well, if you're okay…" I muttered and pushed off from the door frame back to my apartment as I heard the door slam shut behind me.
It really is true what they say about shorter women; they are angry as hell. I mean, okay, technically, she wasn't short, maybe pushing 5'8, but I was about shy of6'4, and she barely came up mid-chest. So, you know, short.
After reentering my unit, I lazily went and turned on my faucet just to make sure it was just her unit that had lost water and not the whole building. Shrugging when my water came on with a problem, I turned my attention back to my TV.
I had just bought the monster plasma screen thinking my last one was too small, as I’d had problems seeing the images clearly, only to find out I had a slight astigmatism that needed corrective glasses for TV or reading. But win-win because I still got a big-ass TV, and Natalie told me I looked "distinguished" in glasses, so I really couldn't complain.
I had maybe thirty minutes before I needed to start my filming, and I tried to stay on track and schedule my recordings like a normal job. I just preferred the nighttime because there was less chance that I would be interrupted. My mask, camera, and tripod sat on the kitchen island while the battery finished charging.
It was maybe fifteen minutes after that delightful interaction with my next-door neighbor when I heard a soft knock at my door. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't coming from my TV, and I quickly made my way to the door.
I struggled with the door handle for a moment. The stupid thing always got stuck at the worst times. I really needed to fix that…I left the door chain on the door as an afterthought, thinking it had to be a wrong delivery or a dude with a gun. Whichever.
When I opened the door, I didn't expect to see a dripping-wet Georgia Clark with mascara smeared under her brown eyes,clasping a towel around her as she shivered in the barely insulated hallway.
"Clark?" I asked in astonishment and took a chance to look around to see if there was anyone else in the hallway.
"My water's off," she said simply, her teeth looking on the verge of chattering at this point. I raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down. The drowned rat that was my next-door neighbor rolled her eyes and groaned, "Jesus, don't make me ask this."
I crossed my arms and leaned on the doorframe, because if she was going to be a brat, I could match that energy. "Ask me what, Clark?"
She screwed her eyes shut and blurted out, "Can I use your shower?"
I was still for a moment. My apartment was clean, but there were…things out—things I didn't want my stuck-up neighbor to see. The latch was still attached to the door, so I panicked and just shut it quickly, rushing to push the camera into a drawer and throw the tripod into my bedroom, closing the door quietly. I cursed as I realized I’d nearly headed back to the door with the balaclava still in hand; I opened my vanity door and shoved it inside.
When was the last time I had a girl in here that wasn't a collab? Fuck if I knew. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
"You comin' in or what, Clark?"
The drenched woman stood there for a moment like she was stunned that I’d answered the door in the first place. Never mind that Clark slammed the door in my face less than thirty minutes ago; my mother would hit me up the head if I let a soaking wet woman stand in a frigid hallway all night after she’d asked for help.
Georgia carefully walked in, and I could see her looking over my apartment like she was checking to see if there were dead bodies, or maybe it was the surprise that I actually had furniture and not just boxes holding up a ten-year-old TV.
"Bathroom’s that way." I pointed to the end of the hall; my place was small and, I assumed, set up similar to her own. She was also in a beach towel, and I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable by getting too close. So I returned to my couch and switched back on the TV until I heard the shower start and the bathroom door lock.
I turned the TV volume down to a more suitable level in case, I don't know, she started screaming and shouting in my bathroom, too. Or in case she needed something.
I looked around my kitchen for any sign that I’d missed putting away any of my equipment, my heart still racing in my chest even as I heard the water shut off in what had to be the quickest shower I had ever heard a woman take.
It was quiet, too quiet, but also, what was I supposed to do when an almost stranger was using my bathroom at 10 o'clock?
I cleared my throat, fiddling with my phone, texting Natalie to give me a few minutes before she headed over. As usual, the ever-happy woman just said she could stop and grab us coffee since it would be late at night. I replied with a thumbs-up and sent over $20 for the inconvenience.
"Clark? You doing okay in there?" I called, mostly because I wasn't sure if it was more creepy to be silent or loud.
Her responding call sounded out of breath. "Yeah, yeah, I'm almost done!" Not even half a second later, the door opened to reveal a much drier, less soapy Clark. I kept my phone in my hand like I had been mindlessly scrolling since she had been in my shower, rather than agonizing over what to do while she was in my apartment with my things.
"Thanks again, Quinn," she waved over her shoulder, tiptoeing out the door and shutting it quietly behind her. Okay, well, I guess that was fine.
Natalie: “You ready? I'm pulling in!"
Me: “C’mon up, I'm going to need that coffee."