The Guys on my Flat

Chapter One

Nobody likes picking up after the dog.

Nobody likes cleaning up after a toddler.

And nobody likes cleaning soy sauce from whites.

So I don't see why I should like it when my ice-cream melts and splats on the pavement as if it was a paintball.

I stared at it. I was officially depressed.

The whole day had been annoying for me, but that was just the cherry on my sundae of composure.

I held my creamless cone outside a large apartment building, with two rooms per floor, where every flat was made for the purposes of renting. I've been living here for about a little under a year. It wasn't luxurious, by by far it wasn't much of a looker, but it was home to me.

I didn't know much about my past neighbours, they never really made an effort to know me, so I never made one to know many of them. I only knew a few of my neighbours, the ones who haven't moved since I started living there. Captain G. Smith on floor three, the newlyweds, Mr and Mrs Merlins who occupy the whole of the first floor, Cassidy from the top floor, and the landlord Anthony Merando.

But new people seemed to be moving in. I may even get a new neighbour.

The thing about this little renting building is almost every single resident was normally temporary. Not something I really liked, but something I put up with.

I walked to the front of the building and pushed against the doors, I was almost immediately rail roaded backwards by a tall man. I stumbled back and fell over. I looked at my assaulter; a man, a tall man, with long brown hair tied back into a ponytail, a relatively handsome unshaven face, buff chest with matching shoulders and he wore a white button up shirt, with the first few buttons undone, and black pants.

My eyes locked on a lipstick stain on his collar.

He gave me a look of what could only be described as pure annoyance and distain. "Watch where you're going, kid," he snapped as he collected himself and walked down the road.

"Well stuff you too," I mumbled. I gave him my coldest glare as he walked away. What a gentleman, he didn't even apologise. I hadn't ever seen him before.

I pushed myself up as another man came out; he was short compared to the first man. His eyes were kind, his face clean, he wore what looked like some sort of full body apron and he gave me a charming smile that would make most girls melt if he tried. "Afternoon, Katie," he greeted me, he was holding a broom and rubbed the back of his head nervously, messing up his short brown locks.

"Hi Andy," I greeted as cheerfully as I could given the circumstances.

He tilted his head, "What was that?"

I copied, "Huh?"

"'Hi Andy,'" he mockingly mimicked, "You call that a 'cheerful' greeting?" His eyes soon darted to the ground, and I soon noticed he was death staring a stray leaf.

I shrugged as I showed him the evidence of my depression, "My ice-cream dripped right off my cone," I informed with deliberate pouting. He looked down the pathway and went wide eyed when he saw my mess of cream. His nose got red from his irritation. Mr Merando, aka Andy, was in his mid twenties and had a cleaning and organisational OCD. Anything out of place and his head would pop like a pimple.

He was seeing a therapist about it.

But I don't think it was working.

I quickly blocked his view from it. "Andy, do you have a hose I can use?" I asked his ears soon mimicked his nose.