by Unknown
“Once you have a job, new friends, a girlfriend-”
“No girlfriend,” I retort eyes still on his vehicle.
“My point is, once you have these things to fill your time at a more frequent rate, once you have a new established lifestyle, the cravings will eventually stop being at the front of your mind every day.” When my eyes finally drift back over to him he firmly says, “But make no mistake Ryder. The craving is never completely gone. Just subdued. Every day you have to show up. You have to be strong. You have to choose not to give in.”
The epitome of what life is. Choices. What do you choose to do at every opportunity presented? To think if I would've made just one choice differently ten years ago, I wouldn't be in this hole in the wall diner. I wouldn't be talking to another recovering addict. I wouldn't be the defective disaster I have to stare at every morning.
**
Noah kills the engine to his Mercedes. “I think this one might work out.”
“You said that about the last three roommates we looked into.” Skeptical I hit my head against the back of the seat. “Maybe I should live alone.”
“You can't afford to live alone yet,” Noah's reminder causes my face to ruddy in response. “Besides, I think you've spent plenty of time alone, Ryder. You're starting over. Make new connections. Let new people into your life.”
“Right.” I nod. Giving my freshly cut hair a pull, I sigh, “Let's go meet this guy then.”
The two of us get out and walk straight ahead for the apartment closest to us. “Now, I've background checked him. He seems legit. Has a steady job. No priors came up. No recorded use of substance or any other kind of abuse. Nothing to worry about.”
I give my brother another nod and knock on the apartment door, which is a wide berth already from the shit holes I had been concealing myself in just months ago.
Almost immediately I'm greeted by a brunette male, same height, similar build, and matching eyes to my own. He finishes wiping what looks like oil off his hands. Casually he says, “You must be the dude here about being my roommate. I'd shake your hand, but it's not clean yet. I was just changing the oil in my girl's car. I'm Merrick McCoy.”
“Ryder Collins,” I introduce myself. “This is my brother, Noah.”
Merrick gives me a once over and questions, “Chaperon?”
I mutter, “Basically.”
Noah starts to speak when his phone rings. He lets out an exasperated sigh before excusing himself. “I have to take this. It's work.”
“It's fine.” My assurance is met with an incredulous expression. “Really, Noah. Go.”
His lips twist tightly, but he leaves.
Merrick immediately tilts his head towards the apartment. “Come on in.”
With a gracious nod, I enter the apartment.
“I'm gonna wash my hands,” he announces as he moves to the left, the direction of the kitchen. “Feel free to have a seat on the couch.”
I take his offer and sit down in the middle of it, eyes wandering around to observe the new environment I could possibly call home. Well. Not home. My stable place of residence, which is still more than I've had in the recent years. In front of me is a small wooden coffee table covered in art and car magazines alike. The odd combination conjures up the urge to smile over the idea he's not too uptight like the last guy I interviewed with.
“Alright Ryder Collins,” Merrick says pulling my attention to the small open kitchen he's lingering in. “Let's cover the basics. Job?”
I fold my hands together. “Looking.”
He tosses the paper towel away. “Income?”
“My brother until I find someone to hire me.”
“Which is why he came with you.” More or less. “Grad student at Ashwin?”
“No.”
“Student at all?”
“No.”
His arms fold across his chest. “Why'd you leave your last place?”
“My time was up.”
Merrick's expression slightly shifts. It's expected. It's always alters as the decision to keep looking for a more suitable roommate occurs. “Jail?”
“Rehab.”
To my surprise he asks, “So you're looking for a second chance at things?”
“Life,” I effortlessly confess.
Silence replaces the mundane conversation. Unable to resist looking around I make note of the walls, which are home to graffiti framed art work, the freshly cleaned hardwood floors, the flat screen television mounted on the wall directly across from me, and the fact this place doesn't smell like feet or ass.
“My girlfriend, Jovi, comes over several nights of the week. Sometimes we crash here,” he informs. The offered data turns my head back to him. “So get used to her being here. If you so much as blink at her in a way she finds uncomfortable or disrespectful I'll bash your teeth in.”
Stunned by the comment, I simply surrender my hands. “Understood.”
He points. “The first door on the right down the hall is your room. Bathroom is connected with a door in your room as well as one on the outside in case guests need to use it. Door at the end of the hall on the left is my room. There's a gym by the front office. Rent is due the 29th, so I can pay it on time on the first. We get cable. Netflix. Internet. You cover half of the bills and we'll figure shit out for food as it comes.”
I nod once more before clarifying, “This is if I live here? If you pick me as your new roommate?”
“No.” Merrick shakes his head. “You are my new roommate.”
Pleased that I am making progress causes me to cock a smirk.
Unexpectedly he questions, “You know anything about cars?”
“We talkin' basics like oil changes or advanced like properly installing performance parts?”
His face grows a grin. “The fact you even know there's a difference answers my question.”
I grunt a chuckle.
“There's an opening at the local garage I take my girl's car to-”
“You don't handle all the repairs?” The comment isn't meant to sound cheeky but does. Knowing I should try to fix it, that I should try to be as nice to the guy who is being bonhomie to me, I prepare to do just that when he starts talking again.
“I would if I was back home and still worked in my family's shop. I handle what I can and take it to Big Mike's for everything else. Anyway, Big Mike needs a new mechanic. Hours would vary except for Sundays when they're closed. If you're interested, the job is yours.”
Impressed at his confidence I question, “You've got that kind of pull?”
“Big Mike owes me a favor or seven.” He shrugs with a cocky smirk. It suits him. However, his self-confidence doesn't irritate me as expected. It's almost contagious. “Besides if I get him a new mechanic it'll keep him from continuing to ask me.”
“You don't want it?”
“Nope,” he quickly denies. “I have a job and fucking love it.”
Unsure the last time I had a legit job I merely stare on in continued disbelief. How does someone end up in a job they fucking love? How does this guy have all his shit together with what looks like minimal effort? What if I never get to that point no matter how fucking hard I work at it? What if I spend the rest of my life like some fucking orphan on the outside of the candy store looking in? Waiting for one person to offer me a slice of sympathy? What if this is that slice and I still manage to send it straight to hell? The insecurities drop my head forward. Instinctively, I tug at my hair in hopes of keeping it together.
In a cautious voice he asks, “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I whisper out, though the feeling of my chest constricting is a clear objection. “Just um...just need a minute.”
After a brief moment of stillness he quietly states, “You made a mistake.” The familiar sentence has my eyes closing. “You live with the reality of wondering if that mistake will forever be who you are or if the world will ever see you as anything more. Truth is, it's not about anyone else. It's about what you see in
the fucking mirror every morning. If you can swallow that...the rest of the bullshit will find it's place.”
Through gritted teeth I growl, “Am I that transparent?”
“No.” His answer shifts my vision back over to him. “I've just been there.”
Impressed by his honesty almost as much as I am his generosity, I calmly inquire, “When um...when can I move in?”
Another cocky smile crosses his face. “This weekend?”
With a final nod, I stand, and meet him in the middle to shake hands. “Thanks.”
“Just don't make me regret this.”
“I won't.”
Regret. That's one word I'm fucking tired of dealing with. The struggle to move forward with my life may be brutal but I'll be damned if it carries the same burden as my past. As tired as I am of advice coming out of every Tom, Dick, and Harry to cross my line of vision, the message is solid. It's the one that's staying. I've been given a second chance at almost everything and I'm obligated to make it work. I will make it work. I owe that to everyone who's helped me this long. I owe it to myself.
Presley
“I just have to let the movers in mom,” I huff. “It'll only take a second. Go ahead and leave now. I'll meet you there. I promise.”
“You sure?” she asks for the millionth time in a fragile voice.
Honestly? I'm so over having her hold my hand like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. I understand where she's coming from. Any time my brother would have a break up, a meltdown of epic portions would follow, that and of course most people who break up with someone after half a decade are typically a blubbering mess, not just scatter brained. But I'm not most people. Breaking up with Xander was more like throwing away a pair of old tennis shoes. I don't typically think about him until the desire for something reliable soft balls itself into my life.
“Positive,” my voice strains. “See you shortly.”
Without giving her the chance to continue her overly concerned tone, I hang up and head for Merrick who's hopping out of his truck.
“Morning Boss Lady,” he cordially greets and turns his black baseball cap around.
“You know, you can call me Presley? Especially outside of work.”
“You don't like Boss Lady?”
I shrug. “I don't hate it. I just don't want you to feel obligated to call me that.”
“Truth?” When I nod he smirks. “I don't feel obligated to do much.”
After a small chuckle, I shake my head at him. “Fair enough.” His body pauses directly in front of mine. “Are you moving all the boxes alone? I mean you probably could but-”
“Nah. My roommate should be here any minute. He had to stop and turn in some final paperwork for his new job. What do you mean I could move them all alone? Are there not many? Is it mainly furniture?”
The line of questioning has an unfortunate feeling dancing on my tongue. Instead of eating my emotions, I've been starving them. Falling into a pattern of eating my annoyance or discomfort was the path I wanted to take, but Katherine's constant lectures on the issue pushed me a different direction. Now I have to force myself to eat most of the time. This new trend spurs her to give me textbook lines about finding a balance in every aspect of my life. While I miss her as she travels for her book tour, I don't miss the face to face speeches about healthy life choices.
“Actually,” I start slowly. “I don't have any furniture.”
His eyes brows shoot up. “Like any?”
“No. The house thankfully comes with the kitchen basics of a fridge and dishwasher, so I don't have to buy those while I'm out, but everything else....yeah. In fact, I'm gonna be gone the entire day. I have to pick out furniture then have dinner with my family. I'm gonna go ahead and leave you with the cash now on the honor system you'll split it in half with your roommate.”
Merrick holds up two fingers. “Scouts honor.”
My head tilts. “I have a hard time believing you were a scout.”
“Fine. Gear head's honor.” Once I smile, he sighs, “Seriously though? No furniture? What are you gonna sleep on?”
I whisper with a scrunch of my own face, “Floor.”
“Where's all your shit?” he bluntly asks. “I mean obviously this isn't the first place you've ever lived. Last place catch on fire or something?”
Choosing my next words requires a deep breath. My body tenses during the reply. “No. I broke up with someone and let him keep everything that wasn't mine. Figured a fresh start would be best.”
“I know all about fresh starts...” There's a short pause. “With all due respect though?”
I lift my eyebrows for him to continue.
“He's a fucking moron if he let you leave,” Merrick says sweetly. “You're a helluva boss, so I can only imagine you were a helluva girlfriend.”
Now if only that were true. As time has passed I've found myself wondering if maybe I didn't try hard enough. If I didn't do my part to make things work. Sometimes I wonder if I blame him for being distant so I don't have to take the responsibility of being distant myself. For being an independent person. For being too weak to face what was entombed inside of me. The substantial fact that part of me, an important part of me, may never let go of someone I'll never see again.
Shaking my head, I pull the cash out of my pocket. “You Merrick McCoy, are too charming for your own good.”
He winks and takes the money. “It's a McCoy thing. We all are.”
I remove my keys from my purse as I question, “There's more than one of you?”
His smile extends. “Three more. I just happen to be the youngest. Charming runs in our DNA.”
“That I don't doubt.” With a giggle I back up towards my car. “Stay out of trouble though. Moving truck is unlocked. Just turn the bottom lock on the front door when you're all finished.”
Merrick gives me a nod. “You got it.”
Turning around I take a few more steps and unlock the door as another vehicle pulls up to the curb across from Merrick's truck. Once I'm settled in my car, I take one more deep breath in hopes I can prepare myself for the day that lays ahead. I can do this. I want to do this. I want to put myself back in the driver's seat. Re-establish my self-reliance. After giving the key a turn, I pull off down the road, glancing in my rear view mirror to see Merrick shaking hands with what has to be his roommate. From a distance his face looks oddly familiar. However, chances of it actually being familiar are slim. The number of people I know from outside of the school are limited to my family now. Along the way any mutual friends Xander and I had lost touch with us or vice versa. Just one more thing I'll have to eventually invest time in. Though, if you ask me, one friend is plenty.
**
“What about this bedroom set?” My mother rushes away from me and points. “It says...sexy and single!”
Neither of those are messages I want to deliver. “It's um...it's modern.”
“Modern bedroom for a modern woman.”
In a whisper I plead, “Please stop using cliches.”
She playfully elbows me. “I'm trying to make this fun for you.”
“I know, mom,” I hopelessly sigh. This day has been anything but fun. Aggravating. Tedious. Obnoxious. The list of negative adjectives could run for miles with exhausting as its foundation. Between perplexing patterns and complex names for objects I would've just labeled table or dresser, it's obvious I haven't had to do this in years. Really ever. Most of the things in the apartment came with Xander or he picked out the new ones while I was working. This entire experience has me longing for the callous ease of having someone else around who only cares about themselves, which takes away the stress of having to do things like pick out end tables.
“Presley,” her voice drops to the overly concerned level I loathe. “Look at me.”
My eyes turn away from the stiffly designed area we were just staring at.
“We don't have to do all this right now. We can come back-”
“No,” I cut
her off quickly. “We can't. I don't have anything in that house.”
“Pres-”
“No,” I preemptively argue. “I don't want to wait, mom. I want to buy new furniture. I want to get settled in my life. I want to move forward and the longer it takes to do all this, the longer it's going to take for me to reach that point, so please...please...let's just go back to looking at bedroom sets.”
She offers me a pained expression. “You don't have to rush to get over Xander.”
With a shake of my head I start to walk away. “That's not what I'm rushing.”