Chapter
Three
Every step along the sidewalk sends another pang of agony through my skull, and I wonder if I should boycott The Pancake Plate for the foreseeable future. The food is great for diner food, but I always end up eating too much and too unhealthily for my delicate system to process.
But I’m just built different, I suppose. Different enough that pancakes in butter can send my stomach into spirals, which in turn keeps me up for the entire night to lie on my bathroom floor while praying to God to justend itinstead of putting me through this torture.
Yet, alas, he never does. Such is my punishment for being a filthy matricidal maniac, or whatever, I suppose. But my shift at the bookstore felt agonizing today, even with the foot traffic being next to nothing. Every little sound or movement orvoicemade me wince until I felt like I’d melt into the floor like the mess that I am.
A crack in the sidewalk that I’ve walked over a million times before catches my shoe, and I stumble forward, managing to catch myself on a light post before I eat shit. A low sound of dislike leaves me, and I stop for a moment, closing my eyesand sucking in a breath through my teeth. Everything is fine, I promise myself. I’m all but home. Just a few more steps to the apartment building, up to my floor, into my room, and then I can faceplant my bed. I have nothing to do tonight, and certainly won’t be going out to eat, anyway. If I eat anything at all rather than just subsisting on coffee and spite.
But nonetheless, I promise myself I amso closeto fading out from the world and pretending I don’t exist. This year feels like karma kicking my ass in a bad way, and I wonder if this really is divine retribution for killing my abusive as fuck mother with a goddamned flashlight so many years ago.
I push open the door of the apartment building and glance at the elevator to find it working, thank God. It’s always hit or miss, so I cross the empty foyer to it, ignoring the mailboxes on the wall to my right. I’m sure the only thing we might have in there is bills, and since Esme has been home all day, she likely ventured down to get the mail at some point.
“Whatever,” I grumble, jamming the button for the elevator. It takes ten seconds too long for the doors to open, and my head protests, pounding angrily as I step in and blindly hit the button for the third floor, though I nearly miss and almost hit thePfor the parking level below us. I’m grateful that our mid-quality apartment building is usually pretty quiet, and it doesn’t feel like a frat house or college dorm. Honestly, I don’t even know who our neighbors are. The only thing I know is that the other apartment in our hallway is empty. But otherwise?
Well,Michael Myerscould live here and I’d have no idea. That’s how observant I am.
The doors slide open softly, though one catches in a way that makes me eye the elevator and swiftly step out onto the old, chipped hardwood of our floor.
Loud banging immediately makes me look up, and I hate that for just a moment, I wonder if it’s my skull finally implodingfrom this fucking headache. But no. Instead, I see a figure in front of my apartment, and I’m a little slow to recognize Alan standing there, hand up as he slams on the door with shaking rage.
“Let methe fuckin, Esme!” he yells, his voice echoing in the narrow space. “You’re being a fucking bitch!” He doesn’t notice me as I stand there, which is definitely a positive for me, because my brain is working a bit slower than normal and I have to just stare at him, my mouth open.
“What in the fuck…?” I breathe, not believing what I’m seeing. My phone vibrates in my hand, but I don’t look at the screen. I’m too busy staring at the mess in front of me. I tilt my head one way, then the other, feeling like a stupidly curious puppy while I watch him pound on the door hard enough it shakes.
“ESME!” Alan roars, making me jump so dramatically I think I might have levitated.
“Jesusfuck,” I hiss, drawing his attention and belatedly realizing that’s probably not a good thing. “Are you drunk?” But even as I ask, I study his face and find that unless I’m mistaken, he’s sober as hell.
Alan rounds on me, his cheeks red with fury as he takes a step toward me. My phone vibrates again, and Alan’s display isn’t nearly intimidating enough to keep my attention on him. I glance down to see a few missed calls from Esme and frantic messages from her, outlining the current situation.
Which would’ve been great to know before I got off the elevator.
“You have a key, don’t you, Tova?” Alan snaps, and I look up at him to find him standing still except for the trembling. “I need to talk to Es.”
“Yeah, I… uh, actually got that. From the banging on the door,” I quip in response, though I shove my phone in my backpocket and loosely fold my arms over my chest. I’m standing balanced, and my arms are relaxed enough that if he tries something, I won’t be caught unaware or be unable to defend myself. Normally, I wouldn’t think that I’d have to worry about violence from Alan, but tonight…
There’s something different about tonight.
The setting sun outside the hall window casts an orange glow into the hallway, but I don’t move. I just watch him, studying his small, jerky movements and the way his eyes flick from side to side.
He might not be drunk, but Alan is definitely not okay, nor in a place where I think he should be around Esme.
“I need to talk to Es,” Alan snaps again, like I didn’t hear him the first time. “Where’s your fucking key?”
I shift, one hip jutting out slightly as I watch him with my head cocked to the side. Without replying, I just watch him, thinking. There’s no way I want him in my apartment with my roommate. Not with how he’s looking at me. But I’m not sure I can convince him to move or get past him without some kind of physical violence.
“Did you hear me? Are you deaf?”
I just blink placidly, and that does more than any words could ever do to fuel his rage. Alan takes another step toward me, but I still don’t move.
“God, you really are stupid, aren’t you?” His sneered insults might hurt Esme’s feelings, but they only cause my lip to curl into an amused expression, and I never look away from his light brown eyes and curly, messy hair.
He’s pretty, I suppose. Though not in a way that appeals to me whatsoever. I could never see myself with Alan, considering his shitty attitude and vanity that somehow Esme is blind to. My posture stiffens slightly as he takes another step, and I can feel my friendly neutrality draining from my face.
I’m not like Esme.
