From Me to You (SkippyTheMudkip's 400 Followers Contest Entry)

Six - Asvoria

I woke up on the floor.

Flailing my arms around in shock at not being on the comfy old couch anymore, I nicked my arm on the coffee table, shot up in pain, and yelped as I remembered my twisted ankle. Then I stumbled and fell over, jarring the table again so a stack of books and a TV remote clattered to the ground with a bang.

I winced.

A loud crash in a room nearby, accompanied by a long string of cussing, told me that my housemate was awake. He stumbled out of his room a moment later, his black hair mussed and his pajamas- which were only a pair of plain blue flannel pants- wrinkled.

"What the hell was that!!" he screamed, holding a pocketknife in his hand. "You scared the living crap out of me!!!"

I didn't respond, distracted by his bare torso. Damn, he was in good shape, especially for a guy who seemed like he detested sunlight because of its connections with positivity and communication.

He noticed my wide-eyed stare and glared all the harder, his cheeks going red, but not moving. I shook myself out of the possibly a bit dirty-minded staring and hauled myself up on the couch arm.

"Sorry," I responded, amazed to find that I was in fact a little sheepish. "Waking up on the floor startled me, so I flailed around, nicked my arm, and fell down again-"

"Listen, I don't need your goddamn life story." Sighing, he put his face in his hands. "I'll look into getting something you can sleep on without falling off, okay? Just- ugh. I hate mornings."

I nodded, but that one simple statement blew me out of the water. It was true- neither of us knew wether I was going to stay for a long time or just for a day more, maybe even less. But those few words made me think, Am I living here now? Is this home?

"What's for breakfast?" I asked insted, trying to shake off the uneasiness of that thought. Damon flicked his pocketknife shut, placed it on the table and walked over to the kitchen, grumbling.

It was kind of gloomy in the apartment, even though the blinds were wide open, and for the first time I noticed that all the lights were off. I went up to a lamp and tapped the bulb inside, curious. The filament wasn't burned out at all. In fact, when I looked at another one, it was the same. What was going on?

A second after I had finished my investigation, Damon slammed the refrigerator door shut in the kitchen and gave off a long, low scream, spiking up fairly high, then turning into yet another long string of filthy cussing. Seriously, he knew some swear words I'd never even heard of.

"What's up?" I asked, poking my head around the archway into the kitchen. Damon had put his head down on the counter, covering his eyes with his arms. I could faintly hear a low mutter of neverending swearing coming from underneath them.

The fridge door swung open a bit, and I looked inside. The air was warm in there, and I could see a gallon of milk shedding condensation next to a half-eaten block of butter.

"The electricity's off," growled Damon beside me, looking up slightly. One bright green eye glared from the depths of his mussy black hair. "I couldn't pay the bill in time. Goddammit!"

"How come?" I asked hesitantly, not eager to face my new housemate's wrath. To my surprise, Damon looked up, a smile of deep distaste on his face. That was the kind of smile that told you the person was barely holding it together.

"Do you think I ally myself with criminal gangs every day?" He muttered through clenched teeth. "The only reason I did that job was to get some fast cash- and now it's all ruined."

Shifting, I felt something hard in my back pocket- and if I was right, it could be very useful.

"I might be able to help you out..."

* * * * *

A few hours later, Damon and I were standing in front of an ATM. He seemed nervous, but I had just put one of his coats on to cover my tattoo and told him to suck it up.

The machine beeped as I entered my secret PIN, inserting the card I had in my jean shorts' back pocket. I had stolen the card from my dad, and ever since I kept it in my pants pocket, in case I should ever need it. It's not like I was constantly a good girl and stayed trapped- I had snuck out for nights at a time before my dad caught on.

Damon pulled his hoodie tighter over his face and scowled. "Hurry up!" he moaned, his British accent making the words different than their usual timbre.

I withdrew 500 dollars from my account, closing the ATM and slipping the card back into my pocket. I tucked the money in a fold of my too-big jacket and grinned at my housemate.

"Tell me I'm fantastic."

"You're not fantastic. Let's go." He grabbed my arm and began to pull me along.

"Oh, come on! I'm paying your rent!" I complained. "Be nice for once!"

Damon sighed, then flipped around, staring at me with his bright green eyes. There was a look in them that I could not quite identify, one that both scared and delighted me.

"You're amazing, Avy," he said, and for a moment, I thought there was honesty in his eyes. Then he shook his head and looked away, and the spell he had cast was broken. "Now, let's go."

This time I let myself be pulled along, confused as to why I was blushing.