A New Way of Living

Chapter Six

Author's Note: I do not own West Side Story or any elements of it.

When they reached Riff's building, Vivienne wasn't quite sure what she expected.

It was a real building, with lights and sounds of other people. Sure, windows were broken and the sounds of other people were that of yelling and babies crying, but it was a real building nonetheless. Not the broken down pile of rubble that for some reason she imagined him living in.

She followed closely behind Riff as they walked into the building and up the steps. At one point, they had to step over the body of an unconscious man who stank of booze. Riff seemed to know what he was doing, so she figured the man was probably more a piece of furniture than anything else.

When they reached his door, Riff glanced up at her as he unlocked it, probably trying to suss her reaction. She kept a cool exterior, not wanting to give him any signs of nerves of unsteadiness.

They stepped inside and she looked around.

It was tiny. The kitchen was packed together so tightly that it looked like it all might come tumbling down if you opened the door to anything. She probably could have covered the whole space in just a few steps, she thought. Even so, there was furniture, sparse as it was. It strangely tidy. A tiny table sat in the kitchen upon which Riff threw his keys down onto.

He turned around and watched her as she observed the space. She craned her neck to look into the next room - another tiny space that held just enough floor to house an old looking couch and a ratty armchair. A small worn lamp gave the room a dusty yellow glow.

"You live alone?" she asked.

"The Jets are always comin' and goin'," he commented with a shrug. "But technically speakin', yeah."

She let out a small scoff. "And you gave me an interrogation about living alone?"

"Yeah, but I'm a no good delinquent," he replied with a wry grin. "Alone is my natural state. There's a hook above the radiator if you wanna hang your coat."

"Okay."

"Seriously, though. Hang it up. You're drippin' all over the damn place."

Vivienne looked down at the small puddle of rain she had now created from standing in one spot. She quickly removed her coat and hung it up as instructed. When she turned around, Riff had disappeared into a doorway into what she assumed was the bathroom, leaving her alone.

She listened out for any sign of him coming back, and when it didn't come, she crept forward and walked towards the only other door. It was already partially open, so she reached forward and pushed it ajar to reveal the bedroom. The bed itself was small, and leaning more towards one side than the other. A crack in the window had been covered up with tape, and a chest of drawers sat against the wall. Strangely, there was nothing in here that showed any personality. Nothing on the walls, no photos - the only thing that indicated any real sign of life was a small pile of magazines and a small radio in the corner of the room. It wasn't the room of a normal guy their age, that was certain.

"Can I help you?" Riff's voice came suddenly from over her shoulder.

Vivienne spun around and brought her arms across her chest. "Sorry. I was just..."

"Just stickin' your nose in other people's business, huh?" he said, his voice playful. He rested his arm against the doorframe, now standing over her and making her feel small.

She backed away and moved towards the bed, feeling the mattress hit against the back of her knees.

"I'm kinda tired," she mumbled, deciding she wanted their interactions to end for the night.