3. Chapter Three
Micah
Friday’s finally over, and it’s almost midnight by the time I get home.
Arlo warned me that exhibition nights run late.
When I left, he was all snuggled up with Tiernan on the office couch.
I ignore the pang I get every time I see them all loved up.
The last thing I need is some clingy boyfriend, because I’m fine on my own.
I’m done peopling for the week, and I’m looking forward to doing absolutely nothing all day tomorrow. I need to recharge.
Before O’Rourke’s, I’d never paid attention to MMA as a sport.
Sports aren’t my thing. Watching a bunch of hot, muscular guys wrestle around and punch each other?
Turns out I’m a huge fan. After seeing the way they all train, it’s no wonder they’re all walking around with six-packs and V-cuts.
The eye candy makes this whole job worthwhile.
Troy is my favorite fighter to watch, especially when he spars.
He’s also exactly my type when it comes to hookups, except he’s not a dick, which seems to be my go-to lately.
And we’re friends, which means I choose to ignore how attractive I find him.
Mixing work and personal is a recipe for disaster, no matter how sexy I find him. Everyone knows that.
When he’s in the ring, he’s a beast, but out of it? He’s bringing in lunch and quietly fixing stuff around the gym. I couldn’t figure out his angle at first. It never occurred to me he didn’t actually have one. What does that say about me? This is why I need therapy.
My roommate, Jasper, is asleep. I take my shoes off at the door, shutting it quietly. The dude’s a dick ninety percent of the time, but it’s much worse when you wake him up.
I’m moving out as soon as I can. I don’t have an actual lease because technically he’s not allowed to sublet, but we agreed on a year and I want to be fair, even if he’s a jerk.
He seemed fine when I first moved in, but it’s been a few months and now I’ve seen his true colors. But my budget was small, and I was desperate. I’ve got to remember to ask the guys if they can point me toward a cheap place to rent.
When I open my bedroom door, I’m speechless. My room is trashed, and it takes a minute for that to really hit home.
My clothes and my bedding have been dumped in a haphazard pile in the middle of the room.
The desk and dresser drawers are all open and empty, the contents strewn across the floor, including my brand-new set of colored pencils.
Damn, those were expensive. And there lies my old sketchbook—face down on the floor, a page half torn out and folded at the corner.
Oh, hell no! That fucking asshole!
A rage like I’ve never felt before hits me, and I’m banging on Jasper’s door before I can stop myself.
“Wake up, Jasper! What the hell happened to my room?” I shout through the door.
I hear some shuffling before the door is flung open.
Jasper is not an attractive man. Even less when he’s woken up.
He says he’s thirty-eight. While that may be true, he looks far older.
His receding hairline and the tufts of gray hair sprouting from his ears like an unweeded garden tell a different story.
They wiggle when he gets mad. I can’t decide if it’s disgusting or hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.
“I’m sleeping! What the fuck, Micah?”
“What happened in my room? Was there a break-in?” I’m not shouting, but I’m definitely not friendly.
“What? Of course not. Why would you think that?” he glares at me accusingly.
I take a deep breath and count to three before I answer. It should be ten, but it’s late and I’m tired.
“Because,” I say with more patience than he deserves. “My room has been trashed and my change jar is missing.”
“You woke me up for that? Dick move. I needed some money for pizza. I was short. Why are you being an asshole?” He shakes his head as if I’m at fault here, before tugging his blue terrycloth bathrobe closed over his sizable beer belly.
“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go looking for change in your room?” I ask because snark is my default setting.
“What? Of course, I’d mind. Jesus, that’s my personal space.” He looks offended that I have the audacity to even think about entering his room. Fine, two can play that game.
“And my room is my personal space,” I say.
“Dude, it’s my apartment. Everything is my personal space,” he huffs at me. That’s right. At me. As though I’m the one being completely ridiculous.
“That’s not how it works,” I shout, the volume of our voices increasing with every exchange, and my frustration with it.
“That’s exactly how it works,” he shouts back. I’m absolutely dumbfounded by his thought process, if it can even be called that.
“Stay out of my room, Jasper,” I tell him, trying to sound as if I have any authority.
“Don’t tell me what to fucking do in my own place, or you can get the hell out. I don’t need your shit, Micah. I’m fucking doing you a favor by letting you stay here.”
And with that little gem of wisdom, he slams the bedroom door so hard the walls shake. I’m stunned because what the actual fuck just happened?
Whoosh.
The bedroom door flies open again. Jasper’s red-faced and furious.
“You know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I don’t need this kind of crap in my life. Find somewhere else to live, ‘cause you can’t live here,” he sneers, squinting at me with his watery blue eyes, bushy eyebrows wiggling with the force of his emotions.
“What the fuck, Jasper? You’re just kicking me out in the middle of the night?” I knew he was a dick, but seriously?
“The fuck I can’t. My apartment, remember? Get out or I’m calling the cops.”
Is he kidding me right now? The cops? Jesus, I’m the one whose room got trashed.
His face gets a spiteful look, and it occurs to me he’s not angry; he’s genuinely malicious. How did I miss that? I’m getting the hell out of here. People like Jasper can do some serious damage. It’s time to cut and run.
He looks at me expectantly. Is he waiting for me to beg him not to kick me out?
“I’m going but I’ll be back tomorrow for my furniture,” I tell him, seething inside.
“Whatever. Just get the fuck out.” His face is smug and arrogant.
What a fucking dickbag.
The walls shudder as he flings the door closed.
I grab garbage bags because it’s not as if I was expecting to move today. Of course, Jasper couldn’t leave me to pack in peace. He keeps opening his door to give me the evil eye like some kind of Marvel villain and asking when I’ll be done.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. It’s not like I didn’t know better. I wish I could kick my own ass. The fact that I have nothing in writing means that I have nothing. And if the cops come, I’m just some trespasser. Who knows what he’d tell them. I’m way too pretty for jail.
An hour later, everything I own, except my furniture, is bagged and lining the apartment hallway.
My furniture won’t fit in my tiny ass car and there’s no way I can move it all alone.
I’m worried about leaving it here, but there isn’t much of a choice.
It took me quite a while to save up for a bedroom set, and I’m beyond pissed that it could get damaged.
Sure, it’s only IKEA, but it’s mine. And it’s the first complete matching set of furniture I was able to buy on my own.
I haul it all to the elevator, sweaty and panting by the time I’m done. I work at a gym, for God’s sake. How am I this out of shape?
I get it all outside and into my car where it barely fits.
I’m going to have to pile some bags onto the driver’s seat to get any sleep tonight.
No way can I afford a hotel. I’ve got exactly $25.
00 in cash on me, and my checking account is below the minimum of $50.
00. Which means they’ll charge me ten bucks that I can’t afford to pay.
At least one bag has my pillows and bedding, so tonight will be bearable.
It’s not the first time I’ve slept in my car, or even the first time I’ve been homeless.
No one gives a shit about kids who’ve aged out of the system.
Never fool yourself into thinking that the government, or anyone really, cares what happens to foster kids.
The entire system would be set up differently if they did.
Where the hell do I go? While I’d normally hit up a Walmart parking lot, the nearest one is about a half hour away, and I can’t afford to waste gas.
My budget is even tighter now since I just paid that asshole a month’s rent last week.
Money I’ll never see again. This is my own fault.
I never should have agreed to a verbal lease only. Way to shoot myself in the foot.
The alley behind the gym is the only place I’m sure is safe. Tiernan’s a decent guy, and I’m hoping he won’t mind. I almost call Arlo, but it’s two thirty in the morning. It’s too late, and right now, I’m desperate for some sleep.
The two dumpsters near the gym’s back door have just enough space to fit my car between them. Parallel parking isn’t my best skill, but I’ll make it work. At least no one will care if I bump the dumpster.
It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to get Corkus nestled in there, nice and snug. As I settle in for the night, despite everything, a sense of relief washes over me. I’m safe here, and that’s more than I’ve had in the past.
After cobbling together a makeshift bed in my back seat, I use a couple of towels to block the east-facing windows. It’s almost three a.m. and I’m in desperate need of some solid sleep. It’s surprisingly quiet back here, and sleep takes me quickly.