Accidental Housemate

27: winning (or not)

I had spent my whole life
learning how to survive.
that day,
I learned survival was not
the same thing
as living.

WINNING

. . .

I didn’t like to be a frequent visitor to the police station.

That was where my life was headed, apparently. First, my dad’s issues; second, the flat robbery case; and third, reporting Hannah.

What was surprising this time, though, was that I deserved money as payment for damages the agency had caused me.

“We did it,” Ellen announced, then took in a big breath as we exited the station. The level of her similarity to a zombie was worrying.

“Yeah, thank you, Ellen. Hope things go well for you. I’m really sorry about what you’re going through in your life now.”

She smiled faintly. “Everyone pays for their wrongdoings sooner or later. I mean, what did I expect when I had a sex with my manager?”

I swallowed. I didn’t understand why the word ‘sex’ had started to have a weird effect on me.

When I didn’t reply, Ellen went on, “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything towards you. To each their own. I have great respect for you, Perrie.”

I flashed a polite smile. “Thank you again. See you around. Have a safe delivery.”

With that, I closed the chapter on lingerie modelling, Hannah, and Ellen.

I didn’t feel like going home yet, so I stopped by a café for something to drink and possibly a sweet treat. I had realised how long it had been since I last treated myself, which had affected my mental health. I’d been through so much, so I needed a serious break.

The text Dave had sent me the previous day hadn’t left my mind. The disappointment poured from his words until it flooded me. I had realised, at that time, I cared about it—not because of the people-pleaser side of me, but because I cared about what someone like Dave thought of me.

I had clearly fucked up.

Since he blocked me, what could I do? Go to the flat we used to call ‘ours’ and force him to hear what I had to say?

What would I even say?

I could only come up with apologies, then hope he’d accept them. If he didn’t, I’d collect my dignity and leave.

To save myself from my own mind, I reminisced about the good things that had happened so far. I got my money back, moved in with a friend for a semi-stable place to live, sued my assaulter, and then I was having a nice drink in a calm place. Things weren’t that bad, no? All would be good.

To put the cherry on top of the cake, I decided to visit the restaurant Courtney had mentioned to ask about the job offer.

The place was simple and had a cosy theme, branding itself as a nature-themed café and restaurant. The owner was an old lady, maybe at the beginning of her sixties, working with her husband towards their dream project, so they needed employees to fill in. As they were a new business, I hoped they’d accept fresh, inexperienced employees in the catering field for lesser pay.

They welcomed me warmly and let me fill out an application with my primary information. When I wrote the last word, an idea popped into my head. I told the lady to give me another template and started to fill it out, too. Hopefully, things would work the right way, and everyone would be happy.