Sweetest Devotion | ✓

one

"Train in Vain (Stand by Me)" –The Clash

Pounding at the apartment's front door was what woke her up.

          Bonnie had no time to recall the dream she had just risen from as she peeled the sheet off her quickly, making way to the front door.

         The apartment was small, god was it tiny. Dingy and disgusting. It didn't help that Bonnie was a notorious packrat. Trashcore was stamped next to her name. 

          She didn't keep trash perse, the dishes seemed never to be done, and keeping everything she touched was another half of the issue.

          The curvy woman passed the small kitchen, rushing to the front door where the pounding continued until she opened it, "Miss Fitzgerald," the slightly short man greeted her with a smirk.

          The chain was kept locked onto the door, for if it hadn't, the landlord would have found it an invitation to barge in. It was a small thing, but it kept her safe from the man. 

          He was pleasant enough, while something about him always kept Bonnie on edge. She didn't mean to be sexist, but she was terrified of him simply because he was a man.

          "Sir, something I can help you with at–" Bonnie stopped to look toward the clock on the microwave, "–half-past six in the morning?"

         Instinctively, with one hand on the door, she used her other arm to cover her chest when the eyes of the landlord looked her up and down quickly.

          "Rent is due."

           Three simple words sent her into a panic, "But I-" she stuttered, "you said not until the first–"

          "I know what I said," he crossed his arms over his half-open gaudy Hawaiian shirt, "but I've changed my mind."

          It was stereotypical of how her life had turned out.

          She was twenty-five years old, living on her own in a disgusting apartment she could barely afford, with a skeezy landlord, and worked three jobs to make rent. Her father had passed away when she was newly seventeen, and her mother had taken her life because of it less than a year later.

          Her landlord knew she had no one looking out for her, so he gave her the creeps on purpose; it felt like, "I get paid this afternoon." Bonnie quietly said, "Is there any way I can pay you when I get home tonight?"

         He thought for a moment, enjoying the wheels turning in her brain as if it caused him great joy to watch her squirm in discomfort, "Alright," he smirked, "just this once."

          Bonnie didn't want to, but she smiled sweetly up at him. He gave her more slack when she acted childish and shy, which she found disgusting. He took her general nature as flirtatious, so it was hard to be herself. Bonnie thanked him quietly before closing the door. She looked through the peephole and watched as he walked away.

          Bonnie locked the top lock for good measure, leaning against the peeling front door with slight relief. Looking to her right, into the small yellowed kitchen, she stared at the drawer closest to her.

The handgun inside –and the bullets next to it– made a shiver of dread creep up from the feeling of being in a position to use the weapon. One of the first things Bonnie had done when forced to live on her own, was purchase and learn to use a gun.

           She looked away from it and into the apartment. Maybe once a month was she really in the mood to clean, but that was stretching it. There was no way she was cleaning that morning either. It was her only day off that week, and she wanted to spend it out of the damn place.