The Rhythm Of Rescue

007 | No more favors

I fumbled for the light switch, finally flicking it on with a sigh. The overhead bulbs sputtered and coughed before illuminating the apartment in a dim, dusty glow. I shrugged off my heavy coat, hanging it on a rack that seemed perpetually on the verge of collapse.

Compared to my own tidy space, this was a war zone.

Jean's place was spacious, or at least it would have been if it weren't for the overflowing clutter. Here, sprawled out before me, was the living room, a dinner table, a kitchen, a bedroom with a closet, and a single bathroom-all drowning in clutter.

Surfaces piled high with precariously balanced stacks of books, empty pizza boxes, and overflowing laundry baskets. Dirty dishes sat abandoned in the sink, casting a sour scent into the stale air. The only pops of color were the smattering of mismatched picture frames scattered around - Jean and Ymani beaming in some, Ymani posing with a man I assumed was her father in others.

Despite the chaos, a single, shared characteristic struck me - the window offered the same exact view as mine.

As I nosed around, I stumbled upon a whole collection of VHS tapes-adult movies, no less. Just as I was checking them out, ready to pass judgment on Jean for having such a stash, the telephone in the apartment rang.

"Hello?" I answered. It turned out to be Jean on the other end.

"Casey," she said urgently, "please open the window to let Mr. Furrsley in. Poor thing must be starving. I couldn't feed him today because he was nowhere to be found when I left the apartment this morning. If you open the window, he might come around."

"Sure thing," I replied, already heading toward the window.

"And sorry about the window in advance," Jean added. "It's a bit jammed, so it's a tad difficult to open. But don't bother closing it when you're leaving anyway."

She hung up.

This whole building felt like a ticking time bomb, a natural disaster waiting to happen.

I wrestled with the window, just as she'd warned, until it finally budged. And right on cue, a ginger cat strolled in, completely unfazed by my presence. It headed straight for its bowl in the kitchen, meowing in protest when it found it empty.

I chuckled. "Patience, Mr. Purrr-sley. I'll get your food in a minute."

In the kitchen, I started rummaging through the cluttered drawers.

No sign of labeled cat food. The fridge yielded nothing but half-empty cartons of questionable yogurt and a forgotten container of wilted lettuce. Disappointment tugged at me as I peeked into the back - even the milk had curdled.

The top cabinet seemed to have what I was looking for, but it was just out of reach.

A rickety stool sat beside it, a silent invitation to boost myself up a few inches. Just as I swung my leg over the seat, a sharp rap on the door came through.

Mr. Purrsley cranked up his meowing volume as I hurried toward the door, my amusement bubbling over. "You really are starving, aren't you?"

Reaching for the doorknob, I cautiously pulled it open, my smile instantly dissolving as my breathing hitched.

"Where's Jean? I need to use her phone."

Theodore brushed past me, barging into the apartment without waiting for my response.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I counted to ten before finding my voice.

"She's, uh, she's not here," I stammered, cheeks burning. Why was I stuttering? I wasn't afraid of him.

Just then, Mr. Purrsley darted between my legs and weaved around Theodore's ankles, yowling pathetically. The tall guy completely ignored both of us, his long fingers already flying across the corded phone's keypad.

I crossed my arms, trying to project an aura of authority - I sucked at this.

"Excuse me!" I blurted, voice laced with nervous energy. "You can't just waltz in here and..."

Theodore's gaze flicked up from the phone, his expression unnervingly calm. "Relax," he said, his voice devoid of the usual irritation, "I'm just borrowing the phone."

The sincerity in his eyes, or maybe it was just the exhaustion etched on his face, did something strange to my carefully constructed discomfort.

I found myself speechless as I retreated to the kitchen, where his deep voice echoed throughout the apartment.

"Sunny, you can't ignore me forever ... You think I don't know that?! They wouldn't let me anywhere near the studio that's why you have to put me through to him ... What? No! ... I know, I know, but hasn't he punished me enough? No one wants to- Sunny, listen ... Sunny, don't you dare hang up on me! Sunny? Sunny! Fuck!"

The jarring crash of the phone hitting the cradle sent me scrambling. I hopped onto the rickety stool, peering into the left cabinet with renewed urgency.

Empty, but I still stretched on my tiptoes, pretending to scan for something because Theodore had ambled to the kitchen entrance, Mr. Purrsley brushing against his legs again.

"Have you fed the cat?" he grumbled, the brief flicker of calmness from earlier replaced by his usual gruff demeanor. He avoided eye contact, muttering to himself as he scanned the countertops.

"About to," I mumbled under my breath.

As I stretched to grab the other cabinet, my weight shifted and the flimsy stool beneath me suddenly snapped, and down I went like a sack of potatoes, my hip slamming against the sharp corner of the counter behind me.

***

Ouch...

Thank you for reading up to this point!♡