A Little Too Twisted

chapter 3

Diana

This is my place.

His words are like sharp toothpicks repeatedly poking my brain. What does this mean for me? Is he going to kick me out? Can he kick me out?

I phone Viola. I feel bad for interrupting her vacation, but this is an emergency. It rings before it directs me to her voicemail. I leave a message and hope she checks it right away. I also send her a text message and an email just in case.

I already know what the caretaker will say, but I phone him anyway. Just like I suspect, he tells me he has to check with Viola and will call me as soon as he gets ahold of her. I thank him and say goodbye.

I want to body slam Thorne's door and demand an explanation. I want to know what he is planning to do. Specifically, with me and my lease.

I play a few scenarios in my head involving poison and prayers and an RPG. I can't give up this place. All the other places I have lived, I have lived with other people. This is the very first place I can call my own.

Giving it up means giving up my independence, my freedom, my chance at a new life. Maybe my last chance. A surge of anger swamps me. It's an emotion I am very uncomfortable welcoming. Anger is draining.

But I will not give up my place. I can give up a lot of things without a fight, but not this. Not this.

Okay, calm your tits. Let's think about this for a moment. It's been an hour since my conversation with him. He hasn't come back and threaten to kick me out, so maybe...

Is it too much to hope he'd been abducted by aliens? Or maybe in the last hour since our confrontation, he's lost his memories?

I open the fridge and stare inside it, not really seeing anything. Then I shiver. I realize I'm still in my underwear and that I'm still wearing his jacket. I want to burn it, maybe sell it on Ebay. This brand can easily pay three months of my rent, maybe more.

What does he do for a living that he can afford this jacket? And if he can afford this jacket, surely, he can afford a new place... right? He didn't even introduce himself. Not really. How do I know he is who he says he is?

The pictures in Viola's apartment, hello?

Yes, okay. Light bulb moment.

I didn't recognize him as Viola's grandson at Doby's earlier because I only saw his profile at the store (okay, I was gawking at his body more than his face, but still) and I've never seen him in real life before, only his pictures.

This is my place. She's been threatening to rent it out if I don't come home. I guess I was too late.

So the two rooms in my apartment must be his. Just how long was he gone that Viola threatened him like that and followed through? I think about how I would feel if I found a stranger occupying my place without my knowledge. I'd be mad too.

I shake my head. This is what I do. I always make excuses for other people's actions. I don't like hurting or inconveniencing others. I don't want to be a burden to anyone. Life is already hard as it is. But...

I had never met anyone as rude as him. He makes me think about him whether I like it or not. He is like an itch I just want to get rid of as soon as possible by scratching my skin very, very hard and I don't stop until I sigh in relief.

Viola must have her reasons. Maybe his lease expired. But it doesn't matter. I remind myself that I have an agreement, a lease that Viola and I signed. I have a right to be here too! 

I take his expensive jacket off, throw it on the floor, think about stomping on it. Two seconds later, I'm picking it up, dusting it off, and folding it nicely. I'll think about how to return it to him without meeting him some time this year. Or in my next life sounds more appealing.

Setting aside my granny panties, I grab the shirt on top of my laundry and put it on, then the yoga pants. Feeling better now that no one will call the cops on me for public exposure, I can think more clearly.

Let's focus on what we can do now. I need a list. Yes, a list. Making a list will make the world make sense again, easier to figure out and solve its mysteries.

I make a new list for the day, but before I could finish, I spot the pack of cigarettes on the counter. Damn. I have to give those to Ivy or she'll flip. One person going berserk on me is enough, thank you very much.

I make sure The Lion is not in the hallway first, and when I'm sure the coast is clear, I run to the stairwell. Ivy lives on the first floor beside Wild.

When I reach the landing on the second floor, a floor-to-ceiling window greets me with the charming view of The Courtyard. I can't help it; I stop and appreciate the view. I really love this place. I will never give it up. There must be a reason why Viola rented his place out, and I will not feel bad for him. I will not feel bad for him. I will not feel—

"So that's where you've been hiding."

"Hey! I was just on my way—"

Ivy flicks her blond hair behind her shoulder and glares at me. "Where are my cigarettes?"

She sees them in my hand and snatches them. "If I ask you a favor and you can't do it, you should've just said so, Diana."

"I got busy and it slipped my—"

"That's your problem, not mine. I've been craving it all day. Do you mean to say you've been home for hours now and you haven't given it to me? Really? That's so inconsiderate. If I'd known you'd be like this, I would have just gotten them myself."

Maybe you should, I wanted to say. But instead, I shut my eyes for a moment, pursing my lips to keep myself from saying those words. Nothing good will come out of it.

I feel a tightness in my chest. I am overwhelmed with everything that already happened today, and now this. 

"I'm sorry," I say. An apology usually ends it, but her eyes light up.

I recognize what that light is. It's a light behind the eyes of a person who craves drama. A light ripe with malicious intentions and the intent of hurting someone who they think is inferior to them. I've seen it countless of times before.

And suddenly I realize why I've never felt comfortable around Ivy. She reminds me of my sister.

"If you're sorry," she says, sneering, "then buy me another pack tomorrow."

I am saved from answering when her phone rings. Her eyes light up again, but this time in excitement. She shoots me another glare before answering her phone with a small, sweet, girly voice. "David, hi! I've been waiting for your call all day! How are you?"

She opens the door to the hallway and disappears.

I slump against the wall and run my fingers through my hair. I take a deep breath. I just want to go back to my apartment. But even that is in danger of being taken away. How long can I stay there? Will I be homeless tomorrow?

Hot tears cloud my vision. I am exhausted. Today has been a very long day. I want to curl in my bed and wake up ten years later.

I take the stairs in front of me carefully. When I turn to the next staircase, I freeze. Thorne is standing in front of the window, his stance indolent. He is leaning back, elbows on the railing, an unlit cigarette in his fingers.