Freefall | Eren x OC

Chapter 05: Potato Chip Girl

"NOOOO WAY!! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE???"

Sasha's eyes are as big as saucers and her mouth is wide open as she enters your house and rapidly turns her head in every direction, taking in every sight of your spacious living room and open kitchen. She takes in the second-floor mezzanine and the chandelier above her, hanging from the ceiling of the second floor and shining down into the ground floor. She runs over to the big 70-inch flat screen tv and then over to the credenza housing a large turntable and countless records. She takes in the beautiful black grand piano overlooking the backyard with a giant pool and lounge area.

"How the hell can you afford all this?" she asks bluntly.

You laugh as you walk over to the kitchen counter and drop the bag of munchies you had grabbed while out picking up Sasha.

"Ahh almost all of this is inherited. Hell, my brother LaMarcus got me the television, my gift when he moved out. It used to be in his room. And he helps me with paying for this place, I wouldn't be able to afford it on my own."

Sasha's eyes haven't gone down in the minutes she's been here. 

"Gurl, drop your gaze, you're making me feel so weird," you tease her as you pour the bag of pretzels out into a bowl. You pour some potato chips into another bowl and give it to Sasha, who immediately starts shoving them in her mouth.

"Sasha, we haven't even smoked up yet!"

Sasha ignores you and keeps stuffing her face as you laugh. Damn Connie was right about this girl, she can't go five minutes without eating.

"Okay, okay, relaxxx," you exclaim as you grab the bowl out of her hand. "You grab the joints and take them upstairs to my room, it's the room on the far left. I'll turn on some music."

Sasha smiles as she starts walking up the stairs, "Oh I can't wait to smoke up on THEE Marie Antoinette's bed."

"Shut the fuck up," you laugh as you head over to the turntable. You turn it on and place SZA's SOS vinyl onto the record player. As the music of SOS begins, you turn the volume way up so it can be heard in your bedroom and head upstairs.

You reach the top of the second-floor landing and walk down and past the open mezzanine that houses your father's music memorabilia. Sasha's looking some of them over, and you smile in amusement. You've seen these things every day for 20+ years, and you often forget how extraordinary they are. A leather jacket, Alfred's prized possession, signed by Michael Jackson, James Brown, Johnny Cash, to name a few. A picture of him and Quincy Jones grinning and leaning against the grand piano downstairs. An old sound mixer from the 90s. A gold record with his name and the words 'Best Music Production of 2002; Alfred Woods.'

"Wow, is this all your dad's stuff?" Sasha asks quietly as she turns to look at you. You smile sadly as you look them over, noting the accumulation of dust on some of them. 

"Yeah, this was all his."

"Your dad seemed like a pretty cool guy," she says somberly.

You shrug as you turn to walk to your room. "From what I can remember at least."

You walk into your bedroom, which was once Alfred's. The room is a bright canary yellow color, with plants littered throughout the space. There are plants on your dresser, and several tall plants around the floor. There are succulents in several nooks of your bookcase and a cute succulent on your vanity table. Your bed is a nice queen-size with a deep green headboard, several pillows lined up against it. Against one wall are floor to ceiling mirror tiles and French doors that open into your walk-in closet that in turn opens into the upstairs bathroom. On the opposite end of the room, natural light pours in, as the glass panes look out onto a small, tiled balcony overlooking the pool and the ongoing sunset.