That One Guy

In a manner of speaking, fate sort of brought us together.

I needed someone to share the expenses with and the landlady brought him to me. For a time I’ve had issues with sharing the flat with a guy, (nothing about the awkwardness of it, just that guys have the sort of reputation for being pigs, and I don’t want a messy place), but then the landlady assured me that the guy she’s talking about is pretty neat. I caved in and let her do what she thinks is best.

We were introduced, of course, and for that one meeting we feigned interest and exchanged smiles. Five minutes later I couldn’t remember his name. I bet he couldn’t remember mine either. He entered his room and I went to mine, which gave me the weird feeling that this will be our permanent refuges for the succeeding months.

He’s a very private person, and I was never nosy. I don’t really know much about him except for the fact that he’s a medical student and that he doesn’t talk much. We only see other in the early morning when we set to go out, and late at night when we come home. We exchange timid smiles and then we go on our businesses.

He is indeed very neat, I can give him that. He would never leave toilet seat up after he uses the bathroom, he would never enter the flat with his muddy shoes, and he would sweep and clean every once in a while when he has the time. Or maybe he just respects my rights to the space and doesn’t want to invade anything that we share. Still that makes him a decent person, which is good.

The bills come in every month, and one of us would leave a note of the division of expenses. I would leave mine on the table in a white envelope and he would do the same. Sometimes I would give the payments to the landlady, sometimes he would. It was sort of an understanding we’ve had even if we don’t really talk.

We’ve also had some kind of mutual understanding with regards to the use of the living room. From seven in the evening up to nine I stay there and watch the news. From nine onwards he owns the living room to study. I rarely get out of the room beyond nine anyway, except when I go to the bathroom and stuff. It has been an agreement between us, even when, again, we don’t really talk.

He rarely brings anyone home with him, which is also good because I rarely entertain visitors either. Sometimes my mother would come over to give me stuff she thinks I need, but then he would never be home to pretend to socialize. It was obvious then that we were not friends, just two people who happen to share the same roof.

That’s the way it is and the way it always will be, so I thought. But then that night...

That night was just the same as other nights. He was locked up in his room, most probably studying, and I was holed up in mine, watching DVDs and all that stuff. I was into the CSI fever that particular week, and I’ve been watching succeeding seasons nonstop. I was totally engrossed with it one night when I heard a soft knock on my door, so soft I began to doubt it was even an actual knock.

But then the knocks grew persistent. So I got up to answer it, and there he was, my stranger flatmate, with an eager expression in his face as if he was about to ask me some kind of favour that he’s sure I won’t agree to but he’s hopeful anyway.

“Yes?” was all I said. I realized my voice might have sounded irritated cause he was a bit taken aback.

He looked at me with same eager expression and I was so lost in his eyes that when he pulled me, forcefully, to him it took me a few seconds to realize what was happening.

He looked possessed. His hands were holding tightly around my hips it almost hurt. His lips would not take no for an answer, forcing my lips to part for him to explore the inside of my mouth. He smelled kind of...fruity, with a hint of peppermint. I’ve never known anyone who smells like that, and I never did know anyone like it since.