3
CLARITY
It's strange to think that if this stranger hadn't seen me on that rooftop a few hours ago, just seconds later, I wouldn't be breathing like I am now, and neither would he.
After what happened with my boyfriend, Jonah Foyer, the largest argument I've ever had with a person about the simple word no , I was sure my mind was made up. The terrible words he spewed at me had hurt and still do. Days before that argument, my mom kicked me out of the house. She said I was a burden to her, and I believe her, I always do, leading me to my situation with Jonah. With nowhere to go, alone and scared, I was on the rooftop soon after it all.
But now, I find myself peering into the apartment of Olias... what exactly is his last name?
I tap Olias back as he opens his front door. "Hey, what's your last name?"
He turns around. "Grey. With an e."
"Grey? Like the color grey?" Can his name get any prettier?
He pushes his black curls out his face and nods. "Yeah, the color." He steps to the side of his door, clearing a pathway to his apartment.He's not the most talkative person in the world, that is for sure.
I stare inside. It's dark, a small lamp illuminating a corner of his living room. It doesn't look like a death chamber used by a murderer. Although maybe it's the cover-up, and as soon as I walk in, the walls will shift and transform and I’ll sink to the bottom of a— I read too many fantasy books, gosh.
"Are you coming in, or are you scared?" Olias questions.
I shake my head. Scared? Ha, he should be scared of me, if anything. I'm the cereal killer. Did he forget already?
"No.”
"Then why are you biting your nails?"
Looking down, I am, in fact, biting my nails. I hadn't even realized I was doing it. Most of the time, it's anxiety; other times, it's out of habit. It's the reason my fingers look so stubby now.
I lower my hands and put them inside his jacket pocket. "I'm not scared, alright?" The words come out quicker, more stern, annoyed that he thinks I'll be scared that easily.
" Right ," he closes the front door and walks down the length of his apartment. "So, if you were scared, which you are not, I would tell you there's nothing here to be scared of." He turns around, "Okay?"
"Okay," I nod, shifting on my feet. "But I'm not scared." I’m not.
"I was speaking hypothetically, Clarity."
The way he speaks my name feels the same tingly way that crunching on fallen leaves makes me feel, perfectly cracking open an egg or opening a fresh book. The tingly, satisfying feeling that once ran through my body now races through it just as my name falls off his lips. His voice is low and coarse, as if he woke up and kept his sleepy voice forever.
Now I wonder what his real sleepy voice sounds like then…
No, you don't, Clarity.
I clear my throat and nod, resorting to looking at his rather cozy-looking apartment. Unlike the other white walls, one brick wall in his living room makes the place feel homier.
We pass the kitchen, and I glance at his cereal storage on top of his refrigerator, but I don't see Frosted Flakes.
Ugh .
As he looks down at the door before him, I recall him saying that his sister moved out. He puts a hand around the knob as if it might burn him, then twists it slowly, opening it. Stepping in, he scans the room just as I do.
It's a light purple and gray theme. The full-sized bed sits in the corner of the room, and a dresser and desk are in the other. Paintings are hooked on the walls. She's a painter. That's cool as hell.Technically, hell isn't 'cool', but... my point still stands.
Olias clears his throat. "Here's her room. She wouldn't mind you sleeping in it."
I walk inside behind him. "Oh, well, tell her I said thank you the next time you see her."
After scanning the room again, getting a feel for who his sister is with just the large amount of personality residing in her room, I face Olias who's leaning against the door frame. "I was gonna see her today, actually... but something came up. I'll tell her for you, soon. Just don't touch anything, okay?"
I nod. "Okay."
He gives me one last glance and goes to close the door, but a draft of something unnerving washes over me.
I call out, "Wait!"
Olias stops and turns. "Yeah?"
I don't want to be alone just yet.
"I... Do you have any bottoms I could sleep in? Jeans are uncomfortable in the bed." It's technically not false.
He nods. "Yeah, come to my room. I'll find you something."
I follow him out of his sister's room and across the narrow hall to his. A caution sign is on the front door, and before he opens it, he stops.
"Are you scared of cats by any chance?"
"No?" Cats are adorable, but I'm more of a dog person. He sighs in relief, opening his door.
Compared to his sister's room, his room is an utter mess. Clothes are scattered on his carpet, and empty bottles of alcohol sit on his bedside table. His black sheets and comforters aren't made, and neither is his dresser, which also has clothes spilling out of it. Several bottles, pizza boxes, and Chinese food bowls also layer the floor.
The caution sign was a literal warning, I guess.
And sitting curled up on top of a pile of clothes, I almost think it is a rat, but it's something much cuter.
A kitten!
It's brown and small. It lifts its head to look at us, but then, as if it doesn't care about our presence, it lies back down.
How could I be scared of that adorable animal?
"The room is a mess, I know. Some things take energy to get done. And I, clearly, don't have the energy."
What is troubling you so much? I want to ask him, but I don’t because then he'd probably ask me the same thing, and I don't want to talk about my life.
Olias stands by his closet. Reaching up to the only pile of folded clothes on the top rack.
"I wasn't going to judge you if that's what you thought. When I was at home, getting out of bed even to shower was a hard task."
He pulls something out of his closet and turns to me. Our eyes linger on each other's, his emerald, green ones seeping into mine. I wonder what he thinks of my simple brown ones. There's nothing unique to see, unlike his.
"Same," he almost whispers, then clears his throat. "That's enough self-pity for one night. Here's my last clean pair of sweats."
In his hand is red plaid patterned pajama pants. I take them; they look warm, just like his jacket I still wear, and feel soft to the touch.
"Then what will you wear?"
He looks at his closet, then at me, and shrugs. "Boxers."
"Oh... right."
"Come here." He walks past me, and I follow, holding his pants. At the end of the hall, I notice another closed room door and wonder if anyone is there. So, do he and his sister live on their own? Or are their parents here also? I'm unsure how old he is or if he needs his parents, but being eighteen, not in college, and still living with my mom (used to, at least), I wouldn't judge if he were.
He pushes open the bathroom door and flips on the light. The bathroom is bare, with no decoration or color besides the blue soap bar on the sink. Even the shower curtain is plain white. Everything else is bare and cold.
"I'll be waiting just out here, okay?" he says.
I nod and watch as he leaves the bathroom, closing the door for me. I go to lock the door, not because I think he'd ever do something to me, but because he is still a stranger. And I'm not a complete airhead despite being in his home…
I unzip his jacket and hang it on the door hook. Then, I unbutton my pants and pull them off. Immediately, I eye the dark bruises on my thigh, so high up on my leg that not even shorts would expose them. Jonah does it on purpose so that no one will see. I press down on the large one I got from his fist. He barely uses his hands, only objects, but last time, he used his fist.
He does it because he loves me.
He doesn't call it hitting. He calls it punishment for consequences. Every time he punishes me for not listening or being annoying, or like today— not wanting to have sex with him— he makes me feel better by being the nice man I fell in love with afterward. He'd give me ice packs for the following welts or ice cream to munch on after.
I've known Jonah Foyer since I was a freshman in high school. He was the loud troubled boy, and I was quiet and pretty much the opposite. When we got together, it was all anyone ever talked about. How could someone like him get with her ?
But Jonah stayed by my side and helped me build confidence, and I fell in love with him for that. I don't like his punishments—not at all. They hurt badly, and I've gotten more and more punishments since my mom kicked me out, but I stayed. Where else can I go? Besides, no one will love me like Jonah does.He has a weird way of showing it, is all.Where would I be without him? He's my source of money, the person I have to live with now, and he's connected to every part of my life. The argument we had earlier nearly pushed me over the edge, literally .Almost literally, actually. But I love him and love conquers all, right?
"Clarity, you alright?" Olias calls from behind the door, pulling me out of my thoughts about Jonah.
"Yeah," I take his pajama pants and quickly slip them on. I have to roll them on my waist several times for them to stay, yet they still drag on the floor. Why is he so freaking tall?
I open the door with his jacket, my jeans, and slip-on Puma shoes that Jonah bought me in my hands to see Olias leaning against the wall. He looks at me up and down, and I look down at my outfit: my black shirt and his red pajama pants on me.
Why does he keep looking at me like there's something wrong?
I look back up at him, and he sighs silently, pushing his fingers through his hair. "Are you all good now?"
I answer yes and give him his jacket. He takes it and walks me several feet to his sister's room where I finally let him go inside his room despite not wanting to spend the night alone. Her room reminds me of mine back home. With how clean and nice it is, hopefully, my mother hasn't done anything to it or any of the books I collected. I had tons.
Even though I know I shouldn't, I go to her desk and look at everything.
Makeup brushes lie across it, with many bracelets and a small circular mirror. A small trophy of a volleyball sits in the corner.
My eyes fall on a picture frame, and I lift it. It's a family photo, an adorable one on a beach at that. The two adults, parents I assume, who also share the black hair Olias has, stand in the back.
The photo must be a few years old because Olias, although he looks the same in the face, his hair is much shorter and thinner.
He holds a dead expression as a pretty girl who looks just like him hugs him tightly from behind, poking her head around Olias body. She's laughing brightly, making me smile because it's the opposite expression of Olias'.
"If it gets cold—" the door cracks open, and Olias familiar voice seeps through.
I jump, clutching the picture frame, careful not to drop it. My gaze snaps to Olias; his face is grave, his jaw tight.
He enters the room and walks towards me, snatching the picture from my hold. "I told you not to fucking touch anything," he spews.
"I'm sorry, I was just looking." My voice is smaller than I wish. The same voice I speak to Jonah with when he gets angry, but unlike Jonah, Olias only sighs and shakes his head. After a moment, he speaks. "It's fine, alright? It's whatever," he brushes off, yet still seems upset. "But for fucks sake, don't touch anything else."
"I won't, I promise." I lift my pinky finger towards him, and he looks at it and raises his brow.
"Pinky promise," I explain to his confused expression. Has he never made a pinky swear?
"What's that?" He asks.Is he living under a rock ?
"A pinky promise... y'know, the tradition where we hook pinkies as a way of saying I won't break my promise. If I do, you can break my pinky."
His brows pinch. "And why the fuck would I break your pinky because of a promise? It sounds like a shit tradition."
I chuckle. "Not literally , it's hypothetical. It shows how much I mean my promise. I'd put my pinky at risk for it." I lift my pinky again and point it to him. "So, let's do it."
He raises his hand hesitantly, and I laugh as our pinkies lock together. I don't miss the small smile and dimple that forms on his face.
"See? I will forever promise not to touch anything else inside here, or you can break my pinky."
He walks towards the door, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm not gonna break your pinky, Clarity. Go to sleep.”