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The first step to starting any day is peeling back the covers and stepping onto the cold floor.
Sleeping with socks has always been my thing, but I haven't done laundry in weeks.
Ever since I moved from England to Australia things have been rocky. My bestfriend, who has been the only one to keep me sane, found out that my boyfriend back home had been cheating on me since I left. Maybe even when I still lived there. That didn't ease the whole 'my parents don't care for me so they shipped me into a different country' thing.
I check my appearance in the mirror quickly and smoothe out my unruly bedhead before trudging into the living room. The stale smell of paint still lingers from the previous day, even though the windows are open. The main living room space was bright orange and yellow when I first moved in, so I had to repaint all of the walls with multiple coats of white paint.
"I guess I can take these sheets off now." I say to myself, peeling back the dirty sheet from the couch. I dump the sheet in a pile against the wall and reach for another when someone knocks on the door.
I ignore the fact that I'm wearing pajama bottoms covered in sheep and open the door. A tall blonde stands outside, holding a can of Febreeze.
"The paint smell from your apartment is starting to reach mine. You could probably use this more than me." He comments, handing me the can of Ocean Breeze.
"I'm actually finished, the smell should be gone by tomorrow. I'm sorry." I apologize, spraying the can behind me dramatically. He chuckles and leans against the door frame.
"I didn't really dig the wall color either. I'm not sure what Edith was thinking."
"Who's Edith?" I ask, curious to know whose taste could be worse than mine.
"The woman who used to live here. All her children moved to America so she decided to follow. You'll probably be more interesting anyway. All she ever did was go grocery shopping and criticize the way the complex is run." The tall blonde explains with humor laced in every syllable.
"I'm not sure you'll find me very interesting either. I paint walls and throw sheets into piles."
"Speaking of sheets, do you want me to bring those down to the laundry room? I've got a load to do anyway." He offers. I shake my head and explain.
"I have to go down there later anyway, I have laundry to do as well. Thanks, though."
"At least let me help you, and we can go down together. What can I do?"
"You can take those sheets off the furniture and add them to the pile while I go collect my laundry." I smile. He steps into my apartment and I close the door behind him.
It takes me ten minutes to collect every article of clothing and put it into three bags. I meet the tall blonde in the living room and lead him out the door.
"I need to stop by my apartment and grab my laundry, wait here." He says before speeding down over to the apartment next door. Even after living here for four weeks, I haven't met my neighbors.
He steps back into the hallway with a bag of clothes and waits for me to catch up. I fall into step beside him and we take the stairs down to the bottom level, where we cross the lobby and enter the laundry room.
"I never got your name." The blonde states, tossing his laundry into the washing machine.
"Meredith Bear. You?"
"Luke Hemmings."
