Apartment 2B

by K. Webster

  Swallowing the anxiety that is encouraging bile to rise, I slowly open the door and slip my head through the crack.

  “Can I help you?” I squeak at her.

  She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth, and I find myself studying her shiny, pink lips. I’m pretty sure she has lip gloss on. Lips aren’t that shiny naturally.

  “I’m Tina Caldwell. Joey said that you might like someone to talk to,” she informs me as she grins, and it feels infectious. Returning her smile feels foreign, but I can’t help myself. When I do, her green eyes glitter with happiness. She seems so joyful.

  “Oh, yes. Please, uh, come in,” I say nervously, opening the door and gesturing her inside.

  When she walks past me, I smell a lovely floral scent that makes tears spring to my eyes. The tears are ones of sadness and loss. Tina appears to be every bit of a normal woman my age, and it only solidifies that I am not.

  I lead her over to the sofa and motion for her to sit down while I take a seat in the armchair. We're both quiet as we study one another. I’m completely captivated by her. She looks professional yet approachable in her grey suit and pink camisole. The fact that she wears bright pink matching heels makes me think she is a fun person—as if I would know about that sort of thing.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” she begins softly, watching my reaction carefully. I feel like I am a specimen under a microscope. My skin begins to crawl, and I feel like sending her away so I can go shower.

  “Well, me too, I guess,” I reply. I didn’t mean to slip out the last part, but it happened. Something about Tina makes me want to tell her things.

  “You guess?” she queries.

  Yeah, this woman doesn’t miss a thing.

  My eyes begin to dart around the room as I try to determine how to back myself out of that one. Finally, I sigh and meet her eyes.

  “She wasn’t exactly nice to me. It’s sad, but I almost feel relieved.” There, I said it. After living eleven years with a mother who abused me, I suddenly feel happy to have said the words.

  Tina looks at me sympathetically and nods her head. The gesture is one that sparks something inside me. Like maybe it’s okay for me to feel this way?

  “Sweetie, what’s your name?” she asks me.

  “Sidney. Sidney Hunter.”

  Her smile at my answer has me beaming once again in response. What is it about her that makes me do that?

  “Well, Sidney, it is very natural for someone to feel that way if they have been in an abusive relationship. Do you feel that you were abused by your mother?”

  Here is the moment of truth. Admitting what I knew all along. My mother was terribly abusive—not just physically, but mentally as well. From what I read in the library books and on the Internet, I was the recipient of abuse. No brainer there. Problem was, I always had trouble figuring out what to do about it.

  “Yes. I know that I was abused by her. I’m glad she’s gone. I don’t feel terrible about it either. In fact, I can’t wait to start my life,” I rush out quickly before I lose my nerve.

  Her face is sad and full of compassion as she regards me. I’m not used to seeing someone look at me in such a way. Momma was the only one who ever really looked at me, and it was definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum.

  “Sidney, what kind of abuse?” Her eyebrows furrow as she asks the question.

  I decide that I am taking control of my life. Hopefully this woman will help me.

  “Uh, let’s see. Mostly just whippings with her switches. Those are manageable. The baths—the baths are horrible,” I confess, and a shudder racks my body at the thought of one. Tears fill my eyes, but I force them away by blinking wildly for a moment.

  “You are speaking in present tense. Sidney, she can’t ever do those things to you again. You’re safe now. Together, we’re going to get you through this.”

  And for the first time in the past eleven years, I am suddenly filled with a very foreign feeling—a feeling of hope.

  It’s been a week, and in that time, I’ve learned that Momma paid rent on a month-to-month basis with no lease obligations. She also had a very meager amount in her account. It is imperative that I find a job and soon. Today, I have the classified ads spread over the table as I search for a job that I could handle.

  There are many positions for fast food restaurants if I wanted to be a cashier. The problem with those is that I’d have to talk to people, and I just don’t know how ready I am for that. Unfortunately, because of Momma, I am severely uneducated. She homeschooled me, if you could even call it that. Everything I learned came from library books. As far as college goes, that’s not an option.

  I scan until I find the miscellaneous section. One ad in particular piques my interest.

  Looking for help caring for elderly woman. Must be able to cook and clean. Position would be required for weekdays only, 8-5. $10 an hour plus free rent and utilities at apartment complex where duties will be needed. To apply, complete application at Hollow Wood Apartments.

  This might actually be something I can handle. I cooked all of the meals for Momma, and since she was such a neat freak, I can handle cleaning. The address is actually around the corner from the library not far from here. I excitedly jump up from the chair and walk into my room to search for something presentable to wear.

  Momma always insisted that I wear long pants and sleeves to keep the toxins from landing on my skin so easily, so there isn’t much to choose from for this warm weather. After settling on some loose-fitting black slacks and cream-colored cardigan, I slip on some flats.

  My hair seems so boring, so I pull it into a ponytail as an attempt at a style. Maybe I could ask Tina how to apply makeup. She has called me every day to check on me. I actually find myself anticipating her call each afternoon. After I find my purse, I walk outside and squint at the bright sunshine. When you spend so much time in the house, you tend to feel like a vampire when you go outside.

  I walk purposefully and with an eagerness I cannot contain toward the apartment complex. The walk only takes about twenty minutes before I finally stop in front of my destination to take it all in. It is a small building that can hardly be called a ‘complex.’ The grass is overgrown and the building is in desperate need of a paint job.

  Now, my nerves are starting to build. The idea of having a job is much better than how I feel it actually happening. Biting my lip, I tell myself to calm down and get it over with. I have to survive, and surviving means finding a job. Slowly, I make my way up the steps and into the building. To the right is a small office where a dark-haired middle-aged woman sits watching an old television. She is smoking like it’s her duty, and I almost choke on it.

  When a small cough escapes my lips, she turns to me.

  “Can I help you?” she asks with a gravelly voice that indicates years of smoking. There isn’t a trace of a smile, which makes me nervous.

  “Um, yes, I, uh… I am here about the ad,” I finally manage to sputter out. My hands are fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as I anxiously wait for her to speak.

  “Yes, we don’t have that position filled. Complete this application please.”

  She hands the paper over to me and I accept with shaking hands. Her eyes fall to my hands and her lips purse together.

  “Hon, there isn’t anything to be nervous about. The elderly woman is my mother. It is too hard for me to care for her and the building. I’m just looking for someone to help me out with her during the day. Have you worked before?” she questions gently.

  People must see something in me that I cannot see. They treat me as if I’m made of glass.

  “No, ma’am,” I sigh as I confide the truth. “My own mother just passed away—hence the reason for needing a job.” My lip trembles a bit, and I curse myself for being so weak.

  The woman studies me for a few seconds before reaching for the application I’m holding. She doesn’t look happy, and my eyes immediately fill with tears. I want this job so badly. I need it.r />
  “Please,” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m a quick learner.” Even though I am unsure if that’s true or not, I say it anyway.

  I see indecision war over the woman’s face. When her gruff look fades a bit, my heart skips a beat.

  “Fine. You can start tomorrow. I’m Donna, and my mother is Leta. She’ll eat you up, which is the only reason I’m hiring you since you clearly don’t have any skills. I’ll show you to your apartment. You are welcome to start moving in tonight. It’s furnished, as all six units are. Mother is in 1A, and I’m next door in 1B. You’ll be above me in 2B. I expect that you’ll be quiet.”

  She picks up a set of keys from the desk, and I follow behind her to a stairwell just past the office. The building is old and smells musty. When we reach the stairwell, I realize that it stinks even worse than the lobby. My skin starts to crawl as I quickly stomp up the stairs, eager to get to the second floor. Thankfully the smells aren’t as bad on this floor—probably because she doesn’t chain-smoke up here.

  “There are only two units on each floor. In the basement, you’ll find the laundry room. Since I’m including the utilities in your pay, feel free to use the laundry soap that’s down there. Okay, here we are.” She unlocks the door, and I follow her inside. While she rambles on about the size, new refrigerator, etc., I make a beeline for the windows to make sure they open. It takes some work, but I finally get one open and gulp in the fresh air. If the window wouldn’t have opened, it might have been a deal breaker.

  “The only downside to these units,” she says as I follow her into the bathroom, “is that there aren’t tubs. All you’ll have is a shower.”

  “I’ll take it!” I say with a little more excitement than someone should have over such a dumpy place, but she had me at no tub.

  Once again, she narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to peek inside my head.

  “You’re a strange girl. Can I count on you to take care of my mother properly?” she asks pointedly. I don’t blame her for questioning my abilities. In fact, I question my abilities.

  “Of course. I will do the best I can. I’m not half bad at cooking and I am somewhat of a clean freak. I promise I will do my best to not let you down, Donna.”

  “Okay, hon. Welcome to Hollow Wood Apartments.”

  It’s been a couple of weeks, and I am getting the hang of things. Leta is sweet as they come. She may be half deaf and mostly senile, but she adores me. Leta is what I imagined a grandmother to be like—funny, caring, and sweet. It isn’t hard for me to pretend that she’s in fact my own blood. I certainly haven’t told Tina that. There are some things better left unsaid with her.

  Tina has become a crutch for me. She has aided me every step of this entire transition into having my own life. With her help, we got my things moved to my apartment, sold everything else, and took care of handing the place back over to the landlord. Once I was settled into the new place, she took me to Walmart, where I was able to find groceries and more temperature-appropriate clothing. She still calls me but not as frequently. It is nice being able to talk to someone about why I am the way I am.

  “Leta, do you need anything else before I head out?” I ask her as I set a fresh glass of iced tea on the table beside her recliner.

  “What?” she practically yells. Most days, she doesn’t hear my mousy little voice.

  I turn to her and speak much louder this time. “Leta, do you need anything else before I head out?”

  “You’re going out on a date? Why, that’s wonderful, child. Have fun on your date.” She smiles sweetly at me as she sips her tea.

  Instead of correcting her, I just wave, snatching my keys on the way out the door. Normally I would peek my head in at Donna and give her an update, but she’s on the phone, so I head for the stairwell.

  Everything about my new life is better than I could have imagined. I control everything in it for once, and it feels wonderful. The only thing I hate is the stairwell. There’s only one light bulb, and it’s situated halfway up the stairs. When I leave Leta’s in the evening, it’s dark and I get the chills every single time. I’m getting some pretty toned calf muscles because I bolt up the stairs every single time like my life depends on it.

  Reaching for the door handle, I take a deep breath before I open it. Finally, I slip inside, and just as I am about to run up the stairs, I hear a noise from the dark, shadowed area in the corner. A man steps forward, but I can only see the light reflecting off of his face. My heart beats wildly in my chest as I worry if he’s planning on trying to hurt me or not. I haven’t seen him before in the building.

  “Boo!” he spits at me angrily, successfully scaring the hell out of me.

  I jump about foot in the air and hightail it up the stairs faster than any other time before. My pace doesn’t slow until I’m safely inside my apartment with the door locked behind me. What kind of creep hides in dark stairwells waiting to scare women?

  Immediately, I need air, just like every single time I come to my apartment. Tina says that it is part of my obsessive compulsive disorder. No matter how many times she’s tried to tell me to vary my routine with this, I can’t. I hurry to the window, wrenching it open and taking deep gulps of air until my heart rate finally evens out.

  Since I already ate an early supper with Leta, I head straight for the bathroom to shower. This is also part of my ritual, but I don’t tell Tina about it. It is absolutely necessary for me to take a cold-as-possible shower every day after work. Once I’ve stripped out of my clothes, finally, I turn on the water and step inside.

  The cold water cleanses me and I instantly relax as my screaming skin starts to chill. Tina says that, even though I have scars, it is mostly in my mind. If feels real to me though. After an entirely way-too-long shower and my toes are starting to feel numb, I get out and dry off. Peeking at my reflection, I frown. The same blue eyes stare back at me as they always do. Lately, they’ve seemed to sparkle a bit. My bags under my eyes are nearly gone.

  My eyes flick down to my shoulders and chest, which makes me shudder. The scars are everywhere. Thin, pink lines crisscross my skin, and it makes me feel nauseated. These scars are constant reminders of the hell I lived.

  Now that I reside alone, I’m free to do things the way I want. One is walking around naked. Not having the clothes touch my skin when I don’t have to is freeing. I’m my most comfortable at night, at home—my home.

  I walk to the refrigerator and pour some iced tea before heading to my bedroom to dig into my newest romance novel. I’m just sitting down on the bed when the phone rings, making me spill my tea all over the sheets and nearly jump out of my skin.

  “Shit!” I curse. Cursing is a new, liberating thing for me. I still only do it by myself. Grabbing the cordless phone, I answer it while I yank off the sheets before the tea seeps too much into the mattress. “Hello?” I ask, completely annoyed and distracted.

  “Sid? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Tina’s barraging me with questions.

  “Uh, yeah. I just spilled tea all over my sheets and now I need to go wash them before bedtime,” I huff.

  “Don’t you have an extra set?”

  “No.”

  She must have heard the pout in my voice because she giggles on the other line. “Oh, Sidney. What are we going to do with you? Put sheets on your list for our next Walmart trip. How are things going today? I thought I might could come over later and check on you.”

  “Tina, things are fine. Leta is doing great, and I’m pretty sure Donna is pleased with all of the deep cleaning I’ve done for her mom even though she’ll never admit it. Aside from now having to get dressed and do laundry, today has been an okay day. Oh! Some creeper scared me half to death in the stairwell. I told you the stairwell was eerie and not just my imagination.”

  “What a weirdo. Does he live in the building?” she asks worriedly.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t met anyone besides Donna and Leta.”

  “Okay, well, be careful,
and I’ll come visit you in a couple of hours after dinner with Joey.”

  I was completely right about her relationship with Joey and had learned this not long after we’d become friends.

  “See you soon, Tina. Bring ice cream if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Hell no! Your place is always freezing. I’ll bring hot cocoa,” she jokes, which in turn makes me laugh with her.

  “M&Ms then?”

  “Fine, okay. I’ll bring you something sweet. Bye!” She hangs up and I grin. Even though Tina helps me a lot with what goes on in my mind, she is actually a really good friend. I feel like I would die without her. Definitely my crutch.

  I pull on a sundress—sans bra and panties since I’ll just be depositing the sheets in the washer and coming right back. After sliding into my flip-flops, I scoop up the dirty sheets and head out the door. The hallway is extremely quiet, and I once again feel the dread consume me at having to take the stairs all the way down to the basement. I’ve considered buying lots of clothes just to avoid having to do laundry so frequently. Usually I try to save the laundry for Saturday morning so I can at least have daylight on my side.

  I hear a noise to my right and dart my head to see where it came from only to see the door close to the unit next to mine. So someone does live there. We must have completely opposite schedules because I never have even seen my neighbor.

  With lightning speed, I fly down the stairs and start a load of laundry. The basement is spooky as well, but at least there is more light down there. Keeping my head down and tuning out sounds, I run back up the stairs to the second floor. Once I fling the door open and step into the hallway, I nearly squeal in delight from having not run into anyone.

  I’ve almost made it back to my door when I feel someone staring at me. Glancing over toward my neighbor’s door, I see a man standing out front of it, arms crossed against his muscular chest. At first, I am stunned. The man is absolutely beautiful. He has to be just a few inches over six foot and the jeans he’s wearing perfectly fit his build. The black T-shirt he’s sporting is stretched tight across his body, showing off each ridge of each muscle. His light brown hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it to make it look messy. His lips are pressed together firmly in an unhappy line, which makes me look up at his eyes.