The relief wasimmense as Patrick slipped the key into the lock and turned it.Finally home.
He released a long breath, the tension already starting to dissipate as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. He juggled his messenger bag, a sack of groceries, and the set of keys, the whole lot nearly ending in a heap on the floor of the hallway when he tried to place the keys on the small table near the entrance.Damn!He caught the groceries just in time, rebalanced his load, and deposited the keys more carefully.
He chuckled to himself as he made his way through the apartment to the kitchen. He’d have been royally pissed off if he’d dropped the makings of his dinner. A dropped carton of eggs never ended well. Plus it’d just give his roommate and friends more ammunition if they heard of yet another disaster. For the life of him, Patrick couldn’t work out why he was always the one who dropped stuff, lost things, or just generally mucked things up. If he heard another reference to Murphy’s Law, he wasn’t going to be liable for his actions. Today had been another example— no, he pushed the thoughts of the meeting with his boss at the school from his mind. He’d been stressing about it all day and just wanted to relax.
As he moved through the apartment to the kitchen, Patrick was grateful his roommate, Dion, had obviously left the lights on. Once the messenger bag was safely placed on a kitchen counter, and the beer stowed securely in the fridge, Patrick gathered the ingredients for dinner. He glanced toward the hall, momentarily contemplating a shower and changing out of his work clothes. He parked that idea—the way he felt tonight, he’d never get around to eating if he didn’t do to it now. A hot shower would no doubt lead to collapsing on his bed, so he focused back on his meal preparation. Plus, as tempting as a shower and bed sounded, he was determined not to give in to the bad mood that still hovered. Something to eat, a beer, maybe a movie, andthenhe’d hit the sack. By that time, he’d hopefully be exhausted enough to sleep instead of tossing and turning, and thinking about the shitty day he’d had.
Patrick’s cooking repertoire was limited and he stuck with quick and easy, so it wouldn’t take long to throw together a simple meal. He was just cracking the first egg for his omelet into the bowl when he heard a noise coming from the direction of the bedrooms.
Strange. Dion’s supposed to be working tonight.
Patrick wiped his hands on a tea towel and headed for the doorway. “Dion?”
Dion’s bedroom door was shut, but the door to Patrick’s own room opened as he walked up the hall. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and his pulse escalated. His automatic response was to turn and run, but before he had time to move, Ian, Dion’s boyfriend, stepped out of Patrick’s room.
What the fuck?
Ian looked at him with wide eyes. He glanced back over his shoulder before turning to meet Patrick’s gaze again.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?”
“Ah….”
“What are you even doing here?” Patrick’s heart was still beating in his throat. It gave him the creeps that someone had been in his room.
Ian held up a remote control. “Dion said it would be okay if I hung out here until his shift finished. I was going to watch TV but the remote didn’t work.”
“What’s that got to do with you being in my room?”
“I couldn’t find any batteries so I was seeing if you had any.”
“You went through my things?”
“Umm… just the desk drawers. It seemed the logical place. You didn’t have any.”
“Of course I don’t have any. What the fuck, Ian? Stay out of my stuff. In fact, stay out of my room altogether.”
“Sorry,” Ian mumbled. He stepped forward, heading back toward the living room, and Patrick found himself pressing back against the wall as Ian moved past.
Patrick watched Ian’s retreating back as he fought to bring his breathing back under control. He flexed his hands, his fingers still tingling from the flight-or-fight response generated when Ian had stepped from the room and scared the living daylights from him.
I shouldn’t have to feel like this in my own home.
He took another couple of deep breaths and headed back to the kitchen. Patrick kept half an eye on Ian through the doorway as he added a dash of milk to the eggs in the bowl. Ian had turned on the TV manually—like he should have done in the first place—and the sound of canned laughter filled the apartment. Patrick whisked angrily as he watched Ian, arms spread wide along the back of the couch as he laughed at whatever show he was watching. It pissed Patrick off that Ian looked so damn relaxed while Patrick was on edge in his own home.
He ate the cooked eggs, which tasted like sawdust, standing up in the kitchen. There was no way he was going to join Ian in the living room. The idea of the shower and an early night now held even more appeal.
A couple of hours later Patrick was still tossing and turning. The movie, watched in bed on his laptop, and hot shower hadn’t done their job. It didn’t help that every time he closed his eyes he saw a vision of Ian coming out of his room. Plus he couldn’t shut his brain off. His mind kept running through the events of the day, reliving the discussion with the principal of the school where he worked.“I’m sorry, Patrick. It looks like she might be coming back early.”He’d known the administration assistant position was only temporary, but he hadn’t thought it would be over so soon. And if he lost his job, finding another place to live—someplace where he’d be comfortable—would be all that much harder.
He turned over, flipping his pillow before sinking down onto the cool fabric. It was a long time coming, but eventually he slept.
Patrick was stillhalf asleep when he wandered into the kitchen the following morning. His eyes were gritty, and his head fuzzy, and getting the first cup of coffee was the only thing he had in mind. He ran a hand through his bed-tousled hair as he padded barefoot across the linoleum. He hit the button on the coffee machine before opening the fridge to peer inside. He grabbed the milk and the bottle of orange juice.
“Morning.”
Patrick jumped and swung around at the unexpected greeting. Ian, who was only inches away, reached out and grasped Patrick’s forearm.
Fuck!
