Don't Fall

by K. S. Thomas

  “Yeah. Okay.” I stand. This time, I’m really leaving. “I gotta go. If I don’t meet with my pillow sometime in the next ten minutes, no one is going to be safe around me tomorrow.”

  “You’re so traumatic.” She goes to swipe a loose strand of hair from her face but winds up just swishing it back and forth from one cheek to the other.

  “It’s dramatic, not traumatic. Being friends with you, that’s traumatic. For me. Seriously, Drea. Classes start back up tomorrow. It’s our final year. Don’t you think it might have made a nice impression to start the semester not hung over for a change?”

  “It’s just the first week. Nothing ever happens in the first week.” She turns until the side of her face is in the cushions and she smiles. I’m pretty sure she used to sleep with her teddy mushed against her nose like this because she’s got an oddly toddler like expression right now.

  “Yeah, I know. The first week doesn’t count. That’s the fourth year in a row I’ve heard that argument.” But she can’t hear me. She’s passed the fuck out.

  HOT NEW NEIGHBOR

  I wait until I hear the door close and know they’re both inside safely for the night before I go back to bed. Nearly called the cops two hours ago when the party spilled out into the common area, also known as my front door step. Then I remembered, I’m not old enough to be that asshole yet. So, I went back to bed.

  Until I heard shouting, which turned out to be singing.

  And I went back to bed.

  Until there was cursing and door slamming, which turned out to be sober boyfriend getting irritated with the task of babysitting.

  So, I went back to bed.

  This last go around, I woke up because I had to take a leak (in hindsight, having a drink of water every time I was up, just because, was not a great idea). Since I was up, I figured checking in with the partiers was the responsible and nosey new neighbor thing to do.

  I was just settling in at the peephole, located at a convenient angle to the door across from me as well as the stairs, given the kitty corner lay out of entry ways up on the landing, when I spotted two women struggling to get up that last flight of stairs. I was nearly out the door to help them before I decided that being the weird naked neighbor at three AM approaching drunk girls was not the lasting impression I was hoping to make around here.

  Given how close they were to reaching the top, there was no point in trying to get dressed in a hurry. Instead, I opted to supervise. From a distance. And out of sight.

  Now that I know everyone is safe and the party is definitely over, I have no plans to wake up for anything other than my alarm clock.

  Except, my night is obviously not going in that direction.

  My face has barely touched my pillow, when I hear someone at the door.

  “Goddammit.” I push up and move back to my feet, grumbling the whole way, “Freaking drunk girls. Freaking college kid neighbors.” And fucking Olivia turning my life into this shit.

  When I hear what sounds like the lock clicking, I speed up. I turn the corner to the living room, just in time to see her walk in.

  Our eyes meet.

  Her eyes drop a little lower.

  She screams.

  Because I’m still naked.

  A shit-storm ensues. I’m yanking the first thing I can get my fingers on into position in front of my crotch (the first thing turns out to be a throw pillow from the love seat) meanwhile, she’s shouting everything from four letter words to cries for help and requests for 911 calls as she makes a very calculated move for the umbrella tucked in the corner beside the coat closet, and begins swinging it at me with full force.

  “Whoa!” I duck just in time. “What are you doing?!” But she just keeps on coming, leaving me no choice but to abandon my efforts to stay covered for an attempt at staying un-clobbered instead.

  Dropping the pillow leads to two things in my favor. One, she’s temporarily distracted. Again. And two, I have two free hands with which to grab the umbrella and disarm my crazy attacker chick.

  Stumped, the crazy chick glares back and forth between myself and the door, clearly uncertain which to approach.

  I help her out. “Get out. Unless you want to stick around while I make that call to the cops you were screaming for a second ago.”

  “Are you insane?!”

  “Bold words from a crazy person who broke into my apartment and started swinging an umbrella at my head!” Now that I’m not longer under attack, I make the time to walk over to the kitchen table where I left the laundry basket, and pull on the nearest pair of sweatpants I can find. I’m almost not surprised when I turn around to find she’s followed me.

  “I’m not the one who broke in,” she screeches, “and I’m definitely not the crazy one here!” Though she does seem less convinced of this when she comes to a stop in front of me, taking in the whole room.

  “You’ve been here long enough to do laundry? What are you? Some sort of a squatter?”

  I close my eyes and count to three. I’d like ten, but three is all I have time for. “Look, I know you girls have been partying really hard tonight, and things get a little confusing after that much fun, but this is my apartment. Not yours.”

  She stares at me and I get the odd sensation she’s silently counting as well.

  “First of all, I’m not drunk, and while I’m exhausted enough to believe that I may have temporarily lost my mind and wandered into the wrong unit, that still doesn’t explain why my key fit or why this place is filled with all of my shit.” Her pitch rises even higher as she spreads her arms out to her sides, indicating that everything in sight is hers. “My shit. ALL. MY. SHIT. Plus, YOU! Why do I have you? You don’t go with anything in here!” Exasperated, her flailing arms collapse at her sides.

  Then, the door swings open, and drunk girl from before comes stumbling in along with sober boyfriend right behind her. “We heard yelling,” the guy announces.

  “You’re late,” crazy girl spats. “I could be dead right now.”

  “Hot New Neighbor wouldn’t kill you,” drunk girl points out, laughing to herself.

  Crazy girl’s eyes widen. “This is Hot New Neighbor?”

  “Well, that’s not what I’m calling him,” sober boyfriend chimes in, “but yeah, that’s the dude you’ve been subletting your place to.”

  “I’m not renting from her,” I point out, feeling the onset of a revelation coming for us all. “The woman I spoke to sounded a lot older. And frankly, more sane.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Crazy girl whines, dragging her feet to the first kitchen chair in reach and sliding her small frame into it. She suddenly seems a lot less crazy and a lot more vulnerable. “Who would rent out my condo?” She buries her face in her hands and I have to fight the urge to reach out and comfort her. Instead, I march into the kitchen and retrieve my lease from the drawer below the coffee maker.

  “Edith Dash.”

  Her head lifts and her glassy eyes peek out. “What?”

  “Edith Dash, that’s who I’m leasing from,” I explain, coming back toward her to hand over the lease so she can see for herself. Only she doesn’t take it. She just starts shaking her head ‘no’ over and over again.

  “Not possible,” she whispers.

  “Why isn’t it possible?” I ask, growing increasingly frustrated with the way this is dragging out for no apparent reason.

  She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “Because Edith Dash died two months ago.”

  “What?”

  “Edith Dash is...was...my great aunt. I’ve lived in this condo with her for the last decade. It’s been my home from the moment she invited me in, I seriously doubt her dying wish was to steal it out from under me. So, no. It’s not possible that she rented this place to you. And, even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s mine now.”

  “This is your condo?” I ask, trying to clarify what has become confusing beyond my four am brain capacity.

  “Yes. My condo.”

&
nbsp; I pull up a chair and sit down across from her. “Which your aunt sublet to me, for a year, before she died.”

  “Just to be clear,” sober boyfriend interrupts, “no one is going to kill anyone tonight?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we can rule out murder for the time being.”

  “Cool. Then I’m going to take drunky here back to the couch.” He scoops her up into his arms and turns to leave without further ado, pulling the door shut with his foot on the way out.

  I stare back across the table at the girl who now looks neither drunk nor crazy. Just exhausted. And heartbroken.

  “Look,” I start quietly, “it’s late. There are two rooms here, two beds and two of us. Any chance we could just get some sleep tonight and sort all of this out tomorrow?”

  Her jaw stiffens, and her lips turn into a thin streak on her otherwise soft face. “You want me to stay the night here with you? A total stranger?”

  I can see how that sounds like a stupid idea. So, I extend my hand to her. “Michael.”

  She grudgingly lifts her own to meet mine. “Tessa.”

  “There you go.” I smile, sort of. “Not strangers anymore.”

  Chapter Two

  Tessa

  I wake up to a set of claws digging into my side.

  Dick.

  Drea’s cat. Well, really, her boyfriend, Scott’s. Two years ago, he asked me to cat sit while they went to Cancun for spring break and I’ve been trying to get him to come and take him back home ever since. I’ve tried repeatedly just leaving him at Drea’s, but inevitably, he finds his way back in through cracked windows or doors being held open a second longer than necessary. Doesn’t help that Drea doesn’t keep him locked in. Or that Scott seems rather disinterested in making the drive back home across town with him, but I’m not giving up hope on a Dickless life yet. Even if I have taken him to the vet twice and bought cat food every two weeks since I ran out of the first bag he came with. Dick is not mine. He’s not.

  As soon as he feels me move, he switches positions and comes up to greet me, his motor-box running on overdrive. I laugh when his whiskers brush against my cheek, and finally, I open my eyes even though my alarm has yet to go off.

  “Nothing like having a Dick in your face first thing in the morning,” I mumble quietly, although I suppose sarcasm is lost on cats. He noses me several times, waiting for me to finally reach up and scratch his ears. As soon as I do, he drops down on his side and goes back to massaging my ribcage with his pointy little nail extensions. I don’t even care. I’m actually smiling, his sense of contentment is so damn contagious.

  Shit. Dick is mine. He is.

  Slowly, I drag myself out of my make-shift bed compiled mostly of an old comforter and pillows stacked up in the rarely used and thus semi-empty dining room, and make my way out into the living room, cradling the cat like a baby while he curls into me. If only it was this easy with two legged men.

  Drea’s still on the couch where Scott left her, but she’s awake and sitting up like maybe she’s been that way for a while.

  “Aw, look at you holding Scott’s Dick in your hand.” She snorts, she’s so amused with herself.

  “That joke never gets old,” I grumble under my breath, because sarcasm is also lost on early morning Drea. “Speaking of jokes, where’s Scott?”

  She grimaces. She caught that one. “He took off a while ago. Had to get to work.” That explains why he was so agitated about not finding his keys last night. Also accounts for his sober state of being given the firehouse is no place for a hangover. For all his lacking heroics last night with Drea, Scott still turned out to be a decent human overall.

  “I take it you two are over your little tiff from last night?” I ask, slowly moving my way around the room, still slightly distracted by the quiet purr of my cat.

  “We had a tiff?” Of course, she doesn’t remember.

  “You woke up in your prom dress. That didn’t trigger anything for you?”

  She shrugs. “Not really. Woke up wearing my grandmother’s wedding dress last weekend. If that wasn’t cause for concern, I’m not likely to be all that worried about waking up in much of anything else.”

  I take a minute to let her words sink in. “You ever think maybe you drink a little too much?”

  “I’m pretty sure I do,” she agrees, “but you and Scott make it so easy to be reckless.”

  I sigh, lifting Dick to mush his head to my cheek. Cat cuddles, man. “I’ll have to talk to Scott about that.”

  “Be sure and tell him thank you when you do,” she says, waving her hand at me like she just remembered something.

  “Why am I thanking him?”

  She smiles, the way only a truly proud girlfriend could. “He unloaded your car for you this morning before he left.”

  “He did?” Now I’m smiling. The way only the friend of a proud girlfriend could. “Scott is so nice. I don’t know why we’re always so mean to him.”

  She throws her hands up at me, dismissing the statement. “He has it coming. Every time!”

  I laugh. They’re a weird pair those two, but I can’t even imagine either one of them with someone else. They just...fit.

  “Meanwhile, do I smell coffee? Please tell me I smell coffee.”

  “You smell coffee.” She nods. “But it’s not ours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs. “I got up to open the door to the balcony a little while ago because it was so stuffy in here. Scent must be wafting over from your place.” Despite the intruder’s efforts to make nice, I rebuked his suggestion we both spend the night together on account of knowing someone’s name not making them any less of a stranger.

  “Is it? My place?!” I drop Dick in her lap and move on to the kitchen. I’ve got my hand on the door to the pantry when I hear her make an almost painful sound. “What?”

  She makes a face to match the sound. “I forgot to pick up more coffee when I was out yesterday.” I get it now. The sound. The face. It was in anticipation of the pain I’m about to inflict on her.

  “Drea! It’s coffee! Coffee should always be available for those who need it! It’s coffee for God’s sake!” I don’t know why I keep referencing coffee as if it’s a legally required beverage or something. Clearly, I’m the only one who understands and respects the importance of the coffee and one’s need for it. “I can’t believe you, Drea. I need the coffee. I need the coffee like I need the air. No air, no Tessa.”

  She laughs at my plight. “I get it; you need the coffee like you need the crack. Why don’t you just go home and ask if Hot New Neighbor can spare a cup? Actually, that’s totally what you should do.” Her eyes light up and she’s suddenly wide awake. Scheming does this to her.

  “You’re out of your mind. I’m not asking Hot New – Michael – for anything.” I look at the curtains blowing in from the balcony. “I am going to go and stand out there to try and get high on the scent though.”

  “Get that crack, girl.” She giggles and hurls the one remaining throw pillow from the sofa at me, I guess in lieu of cracking a whip at my heels? I don’t know. I do know it hits me upside the head just as I reach the doorway, causing me to step outside looking even more disheveled than I did before.

  “Good morning.”

  I yelp. “Holy shit. You scared me.” I scramble to straighten my hair, or, at least push it back out of my face. On second thought, maybe I’m better off leaving it there. I’m fairly certain last night’s makeup doesn’t look so hot this morning.

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to keep startling you.” But he’s grinning, so I’m thinking I don’t buy that.

  “Well, stop creeping up on me and that won’t be an issue.”

  He laughs. It’s a baffled laugh. Like he can’t believe the things I’m accusing him of. “I was out here first. If anything, you’re the one creeping up on me this morning.”

  “I smelled coffee.” It’s the truth. It’s also the only thing I can think to say. It’s pretty m
uch the only thing I can think period. And not because it’s the crack. Because he’s fucking gorgeous. Ugh. Drea was right. Hot New Neighbor suits him way better than Michael. I must have been really out of it last night not to notice sooner. Well, that and the whole thinking he was a rapist burglar thing did sort of sway my perception of him.

  He holds up his mug. Steam is still coming out of it. He must have just refilled it. Bastard.

  “Would you like a cup?” God, he’s so nice. Gorgeous and nice. That can’t be right.

  “I’m dying for one actually. Drea’s pantry is deprived. Of coffee...” I’m rambling like a buffoon. If buffoons could talk. I think being around him is making me stupid.

  “Deprived of coffee, huh?” I don’t think he understands the importance of the coffee either. This helps. He’s losing his appeal already. Plus, he’s still holding a cup of the liquid life source and I’m not, which honestly, I’m starting to feel a bit resentful over.

  “When you asked if I wanted a cup, were you just inquiring out of interest or were you actually offering to share?”

  He chuckles softly, holding up his finger indicating for me to wait before he disappears inside his – my - apartment. When he comes back out, he’s holding two big mugs.

  Good God, he’s hot.

  For a moment, he looks as if he’s contemplating the best way to hand it to me from one balcony to the other.

  “May I?” I point over to his landing.

  “Come over here?” He doesn’t seem to think that’s possible. Little does he know that before Drea landed this place, I was neighbors with Always Locks His Keys Inside Lucas.

  Always Locks His Keys Inside Lucas was never comfortable with handing out a spare set of keys, but had no problem with leaving his balcony door unlocked and asking me to break into his apartment on a regular basis. Always Locks His Keys Inside Lucas is in jail now. Broke into someone’s house. Some nights I worry I gave him the wrong idea about things.

  I wave my hand impatiently to get him to back up. I really want that first sip of coffee to happen while it’s still piping hot. Holding onto the outside light, I step up onto the railing and then climb into the frame of the window separating our unit from his. If I had a fear of heights this would be problematic, as it is, I pause briefly to remind myself that this is smarter than walking through the apartment and out through the front door because this way Drea can’t see me, then continue onto the neighboring window where I can repeat the steps I took leaving Drea’s balcony to join Michael on mine.