Three Knocks

The air was cold. A hint of Christmas lingered in the January air and lights surrounded all the houses on the block like fairy lights. Leaves crunched under Catherine's feet before she marched up the 29 steps to her studio. She had just returned from the art store and carried three blank canvases.

Catherine shook out her long, beautiful hair from it's constricting bun and sat at the table. She examined the paints she'd bought; blue for her eyes, beige for her skin and yellow for her hair. She loved painting self-portraits.

She began at once, tracing the familiar shape of her face through to her neck. The paintbrush dipped in the three colours simultaneously like a whirlwind of colour. Three and a half hours whipped by quickly and Catherine was ecstatic. It was a crucial moment, for she'd never been quite able to capture her own eyes perfectly. She walked over to the kitchen sink to refill her water glass, leaning against the counter while the cup filled up. Suddenly, she was hit in the eye with a burst of cold water. She shrieked and hastily turned the faucet off, sputtering.

She bent over, inspecting the pipes below. A horrible stench came from the pipes, smelling like rust and rot, making the woman gasp for air, she could not inspect the problem herself.

Catherine cursed the crap apartment she lived in while wiping her face and picking the receiver out of it's cradle. She punched in the plumber's familiar number; her ex-boyfriend, Charlie used to work there. She couldn't name the amount of times she'd called to make sure he was alright when he hadn't come home on time.

"Rutherford and Co. Plumbing, Joe speakling."

"Hi Joe, I have a problem with my sink, could you send someone over please?" She sat back on the couch, doodling an indistinct object on the corner of a napkin. "I live on 23rd and Park." 

"Sure, we'll have someone right there," said the man on the other line. "You wouldn't mind if it was someone new?"

Catherine hesitated. A new plumber would take longer, increasing the pay rate considerably. She didn't want to be rude, but felt she had no choice.

"Well I-"

"We'll cut the rate in half."

Well, she couldn't argue with that. The artist returned to her easel, raising her paintbrush, dipped with blue. This was the moment.

10 minutes later, she stood back and inspected her work, disappointed. The eyes looked depressing. She hated that they did, but also knew that was how they looked. Charlie had stolen the happiness from them.

She knew the plumber had arrived when there came 3 hard knocks on the door.

"It's open!" Catherine yelled from the kitchen.

Footsteps echoed through the apartment and she looked up. Catherine's breath caught. He was the spitting image of her ex. The plumber had the classic look she loved and wore a white shirt and blue jeans. He had spiky black hair and green eyes. He leaned against the doorframe and extended his hand to her.

"I'm Nick," said the plumber coolly.

"Cath," she said, still not believing her eyes. "The kitchen's this way."

He followed her to the sink and removed a tool box from his bag. Nick began tinkering around with the pipes when the stench hit him.

"Phew! What the hell is that?"

He didn't wait for an answer but simply continued picking around in the faulty pipes. Cath waited by the counter, biting her nails anxiously. About an hour passed with Nick buried under the counter before he resurfaced, bearing a boyish grin. He switched the water on, calling Catherine over to witness the spray-free running water. She smiled, satisfied with the work.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, digging in her pocket for a twenty she wasn't sure she had. He opened his mouth to answer when a sound of protest came from the sink, hosing down both Nick and Cath with an angry jet. She yelled and ran for cover while the plumber hastily switched it off.

Catherine plopped down in a chair, biting into an apple. She offered Nick a chance to rest and he sat down next to her, also grabbing an apple.

"So... they said you're new. How long have you been a plumber?"

"That obvious, huh? Well about 6 months now. You're into art?" he asked.

Cath was surprised. "How'd you know?"

Nick chuckled, waving a dramatic hand around the room where lay assembled sculptures, pencils and Catherine's self-portrait.

She laughed.

Nick delved into a rant about his grandfather who was an also a plumber and his father before that, but Cath had tuned out, distracted. She felt a fiery hatred for Nick as he talked, remembering the tears she'd shed over Charlie and how much Nick reminded her of him.

He stood up and pushed in his chair before walking over to the sink. He asked Cath to come over and she obliged, standing next to the counter.

He pushed himself back under the sink and the metal clanks he made with his wrench intensified Catherine's wrath by the minute.

Nick resurfaced, smelling awful and covered in dirt. He was sweating and looked parched with thirst. Normally a sympathetic person, Cath was disgusted at the pathetic sight in front of her.

She remembered how it felt to walk in to Charlie's room the night he left, not finding anything save a handwritten note. He really hadn't deserved her, always spending more time at work with a wrench than at home with her. The thought made her wistful and depressed.

Tonight however, her sadness was gone, replaced with a vengeance so intense it could've melted the ice outside.

Nick sat on a chair, taking off his toolbelt to rest. A glimmer caught Catherine's eye. She slowly unsheathed an unfamiliar artefact from the belt and walked up behind the man. 

"So how long have you been in New York for?" she asked conversationally.

"Well, actual-"

But Nick had stopped talking, for when he turned around, Catherine brought down the weapon like a gust of wind, with every intent to crush Charlie's skull.

A small trickle of blood had sprouted from the back of his head and while she should've been appalled, the artist found the sight beautiful. She picked up her paintbrush and swirled it around in the blue paint before dabbing at the self-portrait once more. This time, when she stood back, Cath liked what she saw. The eyes were intimidating and determined, like a heroine's. She stood there in triumph and then swore. She'd realised there was something horribly wrong about the whole night: she hadn't gotten the sink fixed.