Renaissance

VI

Heph's P.O.V

      There's a giant hole in my former apartment.

   The whole complex is cordoned off with yellow police tape. A few cops are even still standing outside. I sigh softly, and walk around to the main office that sits across the yard. Hopefully, they don't think I'm dead and didn't throw away all my clothes...Do they do that? Jesus. How did I get this fucking poor?

       Oh. That's right. College and I have one job.

          Also, a car was thrown through my apartment.

       I walk into the lobby, looking around for one of the ladies who runs the place. Heading over to a wall filled with small, personal offices, I see her. She's plump, and her brunette hair is done up in a high ponytail that doesn't exactly suit her face. She's sucking on, presumably, the fruit candies in a porcelain dish on her desk, and tapping her kitten heels against the leg of her chair. A ryhthmic pinging noise fills the silence. She doesn't notice me right away but keeps tapping small, chubby fingers against a keyboard that makes clicking noises loud enough to alert the pope.

            I hope they don't think I'm dead, that would be really awkward. My hands have dried blood all over them and I'm fairly certain my chin is scraped up too. I'm probably a huge mess, like something out of a nightmare.

            Just my luck.

           I nervously knock on the open door, startling the woman inside. She looks up at me, hair whipping around her head like a helicopter, and before I even say a word, she somehow stumbles up from her swirly chair. She's shivering like she's seen a ghost.

           "Don't you live in that apartment?" Her voice trembles and I find myself keeping my distance. In fact, staying out of the office at all times. With a quiet nod from me, she squeaks like a mouse–what is with me and mice today?–and waddles over to a closet hiding behind a bookshelf filled with self-help books and a copy of "Taxes for Dummies'. Maybe I should borrow that.

           "You, you are Mr. uh...Mr. Sorio–"

           "Hephaestion." I interrupt her, looking at the floor to avoid her confused gaze, "Hephaestion is fine." I feel my face get hot and–not really sure why–I shuffle and look towards the main entrance. I could run and not come back. Clothes are a social construct anyway.

           I stay, and she pulls a cardboard box out from the closet. It's got my apartment number and last name written on the side in sharpie.

           "This is what we found of your clothes. Uh–Well, not us but your friend." She spoke quietly and I had to really strain to hear her, but a few well-placed nods later and I walked out with a small box of t-shirts and underwear.

           She had become catatonic when she saw my still bloody hands but I'm pretty sure she'll be okay.

      On the way to the supermarket, thoughts were knocking every which way in my head, I got lost twice. I don't know how I trust myself to live alone. With a cat. Me, of all people, should not be allowed to be responsible for the life of a very spoiled, very adorable Maine Coon. Let alone, navigate New York.

      I can't believe Leo. One second he's sweet and helpful, and the next he's as cold and sharp as an icicle. I thought he liked me but that's what I get for being so fucking naïve. They're ninjas, and mutants at that. They have to keep it on the downlow and maybe humans are just not...downlow.

           Whatever, I'm just being stupid.

           I get Raphael being like that, but...maybe brothers are one and the same.