Savior

The Boy in 24B

L

*Harry and Layla live next door, not across the hall. I changed it*

Living in Cheshire for almost a week now has made me realize a few things about the notorious city in the just as famous country:

1.      The Netflix is better, for whatever reason.

2.      Most of the grocery stores will deliver your groceries to you.

3.      The oven is straight up weird: two burners and what looks like to be a microwave as the oven itself.

4.      The bathrooms don’t have outlets. At all.

5.      The rent is incredibly cheap. Praise Allah or God or Buddha or Jared Leto or whoever is out there.

Of course the list is quite short considering that I haven’t actually left my apartment since I moved in. After I hacked my old best friend’s Netflix password from my old IPod and discovered that I can have groceries delivered, I haven’t really found the need to yet.

I am aware that I will have to eventually venture outside, but I will be the first to admit that I’m a coward. At first, I was waiting for the bruises on my neck and face to fade away, but I know it’s much more than that.

It’s the fact that the old woman at the front desk saw my bruises when I bought this apartment –I could tell by the pity in her wise eyes. It’s the fact that I can’t bring myself to actually begin all over again despite my determination only a week ago. It’s the fact that I haven’t had a proper conversation with anyone but Him in over a year. It’s the fact that my neighbor probably thinks I’m a psycho because he caught me in the middle of a tantrum.

That’s right, not even a day had gone by of me living in my new apartment that I had a mini anxiety attack. And by mini what I really mean is: a sobbing, hyperventilating, throwing the only tableware left in the cupboards at the wall anxiety attack.

Which of course prompted one of my neighbors to make sure I wasn’t murdering anyone like it probably sounded.

I was off to a great start.

It’s just all a bit overwhelming to pick up and move to a foreign country alone with a whole new identity when I spent the last two years of my life practically imprisoned. I think I am entitled to at least one freak-out.

I should be used to being alone –I had been my whole life up until the last three years when I met Him right after I graduated high school. He is all I have ever known -He isolated me from any friends I did have and made sure I almost never left the apartment. I became completely dependent on Him for everything and now I’m alone for the first time since I met Him and it’s harder for me to adjust than I thought it would be.

But, I know I can do this. On my own, I will rebuild my life. I refuse to be dependent on anyone for anything ever again. I’ve learned that in the end, all you really have to count on, is yourself.

And as I look around my new apartment –or ‘flat’ as they do say here- I can’t help but feel it’s quite symbolic to my rebirth.

The walls are an almost obnoxious white that is peeling slightly and the floors hardwood and slightly warped. It’s an open floor plan, so the kitchen is connected to both the dining room and living room. The kitchen is much too small for my liking considering that baking is my favorite pastime and the foreign oven makes me even more wary and disappointed.

The living room is quite small and barren considering I don’t have any furniture, but it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that have me wanting to stay here my whole life. The windows are straight across from the front door and is surrounded by white brick. I’ve found myself passing the time just by staring at the hustle and bustle of the streets below me. Of course the apartments are pretty secluded from the city, but there is still a decent amount of pedestrians.