Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My fucking tooth hurts.
I grip the steering wheel, heading home after a long day of working with clients, but I still feel that incessant hum in the back of my mind.
The hum that tells me I need to do more, work harder, get more hours.
In the last week, I’ve picked up a few more, taking on shifts for other people from the agency.
Last night, I pulled an all-nighter for a client I’ve never seen before.
Also, over the last few days, I’ve gotten quite a few texts from Micah, whom I’ve saved as CUPCAKELOVER in my phone.
CUPCAKELOVER: Hey, bro! Did you maybe leave your hoodie here?
CUPCAKELOVER: Black, with the blue circle and the red C? Some sports team, maybe?
CUPCAKELOVER: If it’s yours, I’m so sorry…Princess found it and, well, shall we say repurposed it?
CUPCAKELOVER: I can buy you a new one!!! I’m really sorry. He thought it would look better as a sort of scarf.
CUPCAKELOVER: For the litterbox. A scarf for the litterbox.
CUPCAKELOVER: I’ll buy you a new one.
CUPCAKELOVER: OH! I got Princess a new collar in case he ever does escape. He hates it. I’m pretty sure if he could, he’d sign my phone number up for endless quotes from insurance companies.
I did respond about the hoodie, ‘cause fuck that hoodie. What a fitting ending. I responded until I found myself looking forward to the vibration of my phone. When I started wondering what new emojis he’d unlock today. And then I stopped reading them, and that made everything worse.
My jaw throbs, but tooth pain is like a check engine light. If you ignore it, nothing bad is happening. Right?
Right.
My phone buzzes again from my pocket, and I ignore it.
In addition to Micah’s contact, Arthur tracked down my email a few days ago.
It can’t be a coincidence that he’s treating my patient and now sending me messages.
He’s been emailing me nonstop about the things I stole from him and the money I took.
At first, I was angry. Fuck him. Why can’t he just move the fuck on like I have?
And then that anger turned to determination.
Fine. I’ll fucking pay him back. I’ll pay him back, and then he’ll have no reason to contact me ever again.
My phone buzzes again, and it sounds like a text. What if it isn’t Arthur and it’s Micah? Although, who cares? Potato potatoe.
It took me all week to get to a point where I thought I could schedule an appointment to watch Princess. Micah won’t be there, so what will it hurt right?
As I pull down my street, I pass a fire truck.
This is just a job. It’ll be fine. I can be professional. Play his game enough to stroke his ego and then move on.
I pass another fire truck, and I stare at it. Someone must have had a fire.
Traffic gets more congested as I get closer, and when I turn onto the final street, my parking lot is lit up with fire trucks and ambulances. For a second, all I can do is stare. What the hell is happening?
A fire. Fuck, a fire at my place!
Now that I look, I see smoke coming out of the top of my building.
Slamming on my brakes, I pull my car to the side of the road–I can’t get to the parking lot anyway–and go running up. On the sidewalk, a firefighter stops me.
“I live here!” I gasp. My heart is racing, and all I can think about is getting home.
“We got everyone out.”
“My stuff!” I go to move around the man.
“You can’t go in there.” He blocks me, and a rise of irritation floods through me. What the hell? I can’t lose everything! I can’t afford to lose everything.
“Let me help.”
“The whole building is compromised. You can’t go in there.”
I want to, but looking up at the black smoke that has now doubled, I know he’s right. Still, my body is full of adrenaline. What am I going to do? I want to run. Fight. Do something.
Instead, I pace. Back and forth and back and forth, watching my life burn down to the ground.
It takes hours. And then I, along with all of my neighbors, am told we can’t go back into the building.
That the safety is compromised. The building itself is still standing, but there are windows at the bottom that have blown out, and blackened char lines the window frames.
The black char goes all the way up to my window, which is also blown out.
The lining along the side of my apartment has crumpled and twisted from the heat.
A rumor goes around that someone’s air conditioner caught fire and started it all. All because of a damn air conditioner.
I’m sitting in my car, staring at my dash, when my phone buzzes again. Absently, I look at it.
It’s almost seven, which means I should head to Micah’s house.
I drop my head back on the headrest, completely exhausted.
The tears that I’ve been trying to hold in all day burn my eyes.
What am I going to do? I wanted all that extra cash to get Arthur off my back.
And now it won’t even cover half of the recovery costs.
A new bed? New couch? New clothes, new food, new microwave, new everything? ?
For a minute, I give up. I let the tears fall, overwhelming me in their grief. Why can’t anything work for me? Why does everything bad happen all at once? Hotels are expensive. Super fucking expensive. Where am I going to stay?
And in this moment, I’m weak. I’m weak because I just want a hug and some fucking sleep. And maybe some cuddles from Princess.
Princess. That makes me wipe the tears from my eyes. Yes. I’ll go see Princess. The thought brings routine back to the chaos. It’ll be fine. I’ll see him, and then I’ll…I don’t know. Sleep in my car. Do whatever I have to to get rid of Arthur, find a new place, and be free once and for all.
So I pull up to Micah’s house and park in his double-wide driveway, getting out and going up the perfectly white concrete steps. I raise my hand to knock, stifling down the horrific impulse to cry.
And then, the door opens.