Accidental Housemate

01: housing

01

HOUSING

we let our lives mix with our dreams
like two coloured paints
until we didn’t know
which is what,
and we didn’t care

. . .

Every penny I owned went into that flat in London.

Well, except the ones that were spent on the shopping bags, which I held in my hands as I fumbled to unlock the door. I sighed, frustrated with my futile attempts at finally claiming my place away from everyone I never wanted to see again—my parents, ex-friends, and ex-coworkers.

That flat was going to be mine all alone, private, calm, and personalised. I would never have to hear Mum scream shame at me again. I would never hear Dad knock on my door to ask for money, nor would I receive the judgemental looks from our neighbours anymore.

The flat was a little too old, small, probably holding old-fashioned furniture too, but that all didn’t bother me. With my new job, I was going to make enough money to revamp it and possibly move to a better one later too. At the time, I had a two-bedroom flat. One room for me, and another I could rent to aid my finances. Sounded perfect to me.

Despite my previous fluster, a smile spread across my lips as I put the bags down and held the key properly to unlock the door. It clicked open, finally revealing the site of the lovely place that smelled like… city pollution? No issues: I was going to use my favourite scented candles that I had just bought.

As I entered and pushed my shopping bags inside, I noticed the balcony door was wide open, which probably caused the place to smell that way. The thin, white curtain whooshed with the wind. I frowned, not remembering that I or the previous owner left it open when he showed me around the last time. Perhaps he came for the last check later after that visit and forgot it. That open window meant a long round of dust mopping for me.

Again, I would not ruin my happiness for myself. That was my flat that I was going to embrace with all its flaws.

However, I wished it stopped at that. As I made my way further in the small place, towards my supposed bedroom, I heard the shower running. I gasped to myself, thinking whether I was experiencing my first robbery incident already. Since when did burglars shower in their victims’ houses, though? How shameless was that person?

My hands got too sweaty for me to ignore, so I wiped them on my coat absentmindedly. I wasn’t prepared to deal with such situations. I went back on my tracks and stood by the exit door again to be able to escape in case the robber wanted to hurt me. I fished my phone out and flipped through my contacts. Well, for that time, I only had the ex-owner and the agency I applied for on my contact list. I deleted everyone else.

I dialled the ex-owner. The usual phone lady replied to me, saying the line was unused, so that meant the man had already left the country. He had told me he wanted to sell the place before he left for Canada.

I was left to my inevitable fate of a possible robber in my new place. I didn’t want to deal with that, so I did the first thing any sane person would do in my case: I attempted to call the police.

Just as I was about to, I heard the toilet door open. I flinched, and my phone fell to the floor with a thud. From my spot in the living room by the door, I was unable to see who it was yet. Shakily, I kneeled and tried to grab the phone back to call the police quickly and use any second left before he saw me.