STUFFED

Blood & Red Velvet

Courtney almost breaks her neck stepping on a box of red velvet brownies.

She heard movement just outside the door so she stepped out of her apartment to see if a package had arrived and instead she almost slips half way across the hallway because of someone else's trash.

She looks down at the box and is immediately filled with disgust. She has to admit, the wrapping is gorgeous; the bright red baked goods beautifully contrast the matte black box they're in and there's a deep red ribbon tied across the length of the box. She doesn't remember ordering anything in and people don't just leave this sort of shit around. Courtney knows it's from him.

Her focus shifts from whatever she was previously doing and now she's on a mission to get rid of the box as quickly as humanly possible. She wants it out of her sight. She'd throw it in the garbage bin in her apartment but she doesn't want it haunting her from underneath the sink. Knowing herself, she'd wake up at two in the morning fiending for something sweet and shamelessly pull the box out of the garbage can to feast on the brownies inside; then he'd win, and she's not going to let him win.

The elevator is still fucking broken and it fuels Courtney's rage. She rushes down staircase after staircase. Her legs begin to tire near the bottom and every so often she trips slightly but regains stability at the last second.

She finally reaches the garbage complex in the building and instead of tossing the entire box into the bin she opens it and picks up each brownie one at a time as if they're snowballs. Courtney fires each square of red confection against the outside of the metal receptacle. Once she's run out of amo, she drops the box on the floor and turns to leave.

It takes her just over thirty minutes to ascend back up to her apartment and she bursts into tears of frustration when she closes the front door. She can't wait for this elevator to be fixed. She can't keep climbing the stairs like that, it's exhausting her. She feels trapped in her own apartment complex.

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As soon as he puts the box down infront of her door he regrets it and as he's leaning down to pick it back up, the lock on the door makes a noise and his body pulls him away from the scene of the crime before he has time to think. He rushes out of eyesight and earshot because he can't bear to overhear her reaction, good or bad.

But regardless of his efforts to avoid witnessing her response to the gift, he gets the brutal image in abstract art plastered around the garbage unit when he takes out the trash a couple days later.

"Yeah, well, fuck you too." He whispers under his breath to no one.

Even when she's not around, his first reaction is to be verbally aggressive towards her, but it's not like her actions were any kinder.

He wishes he could let it go but for some reason he wants to get on her good side so badly.

He tosses the bags he's holding and then on his way back upstairs he passses the mailroom. There are so many boxes that they've started piling them up in the hallway. He briefly reads a few of the names and addresses until he comes across a name and a door number he recognizes.

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When Courtney opens her front door this time, she's pleasantly surprised. Usually she has to go downstairs to retrieve her mail, but maybe they deliver now? She doesn't give it much thought; and she doesn't look closely enough to realize there is no shipping label. She pulls the box in through the door and closes it behind herself.

As she slides the box across the floor over to the living room she realizes it's quite a bit heavier than she had expected a new lamp to be.

There's also a faint stench but Courtney just takes it ask the natural must from the mailroom lingering on the cardboard. She grabs a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and walks back over to the package. She separates the blades from each other and glides the sharp edge along the center of the packing tape. As she frees the flags from each other, she realizes whatever is in the box isn't her lamp. Only now does she close the flaps and spins the box around looking for a shipping label; just to find none. Fueled by curiosity, Courtney opens the box anyway. 

She peels away the packing paper and she doesn't hear herself scream because of the shock she's in.

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Ever since he found out they live on the same floor, he's been looking out the peephole on his front door before leaving his apartment just to ensure he doesn't cross paths with her by accident. The one time he neglects to check, there she is. Standing in the hallway in a pink sweatsuit that's a bit too snug on her. She's standing with her back to him with her arms crossed.

Also in the hallway, standing with her, are two cops and a firefighter.

His mind wants him to turn and go down the opposite end of the hallway but his body is moving in her direction before he can tell it not to.

When she turns to look at him he regrets his decision, she looks at him like he's the last person she wants to see right now. Regardless he's here now so he decides to ask her what happened.

"Hey."

"Hi." Her response is forced, solidifying her lack of amusement.

Before she has time to respond, an officer walks over to speak with her.

The officer tucks both thumbs into his utility belt, "Is this your boyfriend?"

She opens her mouth to dispute the outrageous claim but Mr. Despicable beats her to the punch; affirming the man's notion.

The officers next words are addressed to both of them now.

"So because your apartment is part of an active crime scene, we're going to have to ask you to evacuate for the next couple weeks. This isn't an isolated incident, we've had similar situations in a few neighbouring complexes recently. If you have any questions you can reach out to us at any time, but take comfort in the fact this isn't a targeted incident."

What has he gotten himself into? What crime scene?

The landlord is here now and the emergency team is speaking with them now. After a few minutes, the firefighters lock her apartment door behind them and everyone leaves.

Courtney is left spiraling, wondering where she is going to live for the next few weeks. They wouldn't let her take anything out of her apartment and now she's not allowed to go back inside. 

"What happened?"

Her volunteer boyfriend's voice pulls her out of the fog. She answers him not because she cares that he knows what's going on but because talking through it might help clear her head a little.

"A box was delivered to my front door and there was a severed head inside. And they wouldn't let me go back in to grab any of my stuff because it's an 'active crime scene'. And now I have no idea where I'm going to stay."

He chuckles at the way she says, "active crime scene" like it's more of a minor inconvenience than an atrocity of murder.

She looks up at him for the first time, glaring.

The smile slowly fades from his face, "Sorry."

Courtney runs her hands through her hair, letting out a breath.

"You can stay with me."

There's no way he just said that. She'd rather live under a bridge than–

"You're staying with me." He restates his sentence.

He turns and walks back to the door of his apartment, not checking to see if she's following behind him. Some supernatural force pulls Courtney forward to follow him before she's even made up her mind.

She stands in the doorway of his place; it's much cleaner than she expected it to be. She weighs the pros and cons in her head. Does she want to be within 100 feet of this man? No, but at least if she stays here she can keep a close eye on her apartment and he's less likely to murder her knowing there are going to be PI's and cops moving in and out of their floor for the next little while. Also, she can make him grab food for her and whatever else she wants. It's the last pro that sells her on the idea.

"Fine." She finally says, walking all the way in.