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“Uh, well…” I should’ve thought of a less embarrassing story before asking for help. “They don’t seem to be working right. My key gets stuck a lot, I finally had enough of it.”
Paul tossed the old parts down and fit the new ones into place. He shook his head in disgust. “Damned superintendent doesn’t do shit around here. I hate this place, but it’s all we can afford. I called for them to fix our dishwasher a few months ago. Called seven times, before I said screw it and bought the parts myself and did it. Fucking landlord wouldn’t even reimburse me for the cost. Said it was my choice not to wait for the super.”
“That’s awful,” I said, not wanting to get into a longer conversation, though he was absolutely right.
After a few more minutes of work, the locks were installed and Paul stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “All done. Make sure you give that jackass landlord the copy soon. He’ll flip his shit if he finds out you did this and didn’t tell him.”
“Yeah. Will do. Uh, sorry to bother you guys. Thanks.” Ducking my head, I gave him a wide berth to go home.
He grabbed his tool bag and walked across the hall. “No prob. Anytime. Goodnight.”
I slipped into my apartment and locked it, then leaned against the door, breathing deeply. I should have tried the four keys it came with, but I didn’t want to reopen the door. Not right now. I didn’t have it in me. My day had absolutely worn me down, plus I was starving. All I wanted to do was go to bed, but the cramping in my belly told me I’d have a hard time sleeping without something on my stomach.
I surveyed my sparse pantry and grabbed one of the cans of Spam I’d bought. While a few slices fried, I boiled some water for pasta. I found a half-moldy onion too. Score. I cut off the mold, sliced it, and threw the rest in the pan.
After mixing the sliced meat and onions into the plain pasta, I sat to eat. There were two small packets of barbeque sauce in the fridge that I dumped onto my sad little meal as well. It was by no means a good dinner, but I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. The fact that the addition of Spam was what made the meal more satisfying was a little depressing though.
Forcing myself to only eat half, I put the rest in a container and left it in the fridge to have for dinner the next day.
A loud bang erupted from the wall behind the refrigerator, and I jumped, catching a shriek in my throat. Putting a hand to my mouth, I listened to the muffled sounds of a fight next door.
My shoulders sagged with relief once I knew no one was trying to bust my door down. The neighbors beside me were always louder than Paul and Suzy, even without kids. That would’ve at least given them an excuse to be loud. The fight next door raged on for several minutes as I tried to ignore it. It wasn’t easy, though. The walls were so thin I could almost make out their words.
I sat on the couch and jotted away in my journal as I waited for the fight to end, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep until they quit. The little notebook was where I kept all my secrets. Like a friend, I found solace in writing down everything that had happened to me in my life. Names, abuses suffered, heartbreak, all of it. I had things in that book I hadn’t even had the guts to tell my therapist yet. As cathartic as it was to write in the journal, it was times like this I wished I had a TV or something else to pass the time. Better yet, a dog or cat for a companion.
Looking around at the dingy apartment, I changed my mind. I wouldn’t want to subject another creature to such a sad place. No curtains, one dirty couch that had come with the apartment. My bedroom was just a mattress and box springs on the floor, and I had a couple of totes that acted as a dresser. Plus, I worked so much, any pet would be lonely and miserable.
Despite my rent taking well over half my monthly tips, I had a tidy nest egg saved up before I met Carlos. I’d scrimped and saved and then had to spend it on a lawyer to try to get custody of my sister. When that became impossible, I saved again and had nearly gotten enough saved to move far away from here. Far away from anyone who’d ever known me.
Then Carlos found the money and said I’d been hiding things from him. That had been the last straw. He’d blown it on a TV he said I needed for when he was here. Said it was essential. He took it with him when he finally accepted that I’d broken up with him. At least I hoped he’d accepted it.
After ten minutes, the shouts and howls of a fight changed to the low muffled sounds of moaning that meant they’d made up and were having sex. It was a fairly typical night for my neighbors. Fight then fuck. At least fucking was quieter. I fell into bed, covered my head with the blanket, and passed out.
The alarm on my phone buzzed the next morning, way too soon, but if I didn’t get up as soon as it went off, I’d snooze half the morning away. I rolled out of bed to start another day. As I brushed my teeth and took a fast shower, my mind was preoccupied with the dread of another twelve-hour workday . My apprehension was interrupted as I dried off by the creeping sensation of being watched. All I had on was a towel, and I felt even more naked than that.
Spinning away from the mirror, I looked into my bedroom. No one. The bed was right on the floor, so nobody could hide under it, and the tiny closet was wide open. The only window in the whole apartment was in the living room. My meager belongings didn’t give enough room for an intruder to conceal themselves. Despite the fact that it wasn’t possible for anyone to be watching me, the feeling wouldn’t leave. I padded through the kitchen and living room. Nothing. Even the window I’d left grimy, so it wasn’t so easy to see in.
Frowning, I hurried to get dressed, the whole time unable to shake the feeling that eyes were on me. It was creepy and uncomfortable. I berated myself for imagining things, but it didn’t stop my anxiety from skyrocketing.
I ate a handful of cereal—couldn’t afford milk—and finished off the jar of peanut butter I’d bought a few weeks before. It wasn’t a healthy breakfast, but it’d do. I’d almost managed to convince myself the sensation of being watched had been in my head, but as soon as I stepped into the hall to lock my apartment, it returned, this time even more powerfully.
I snapped my head around, glancing back and forth, but the hallway was empty. Still, I was freaked out and once both locks were secure and double-checked, I hurried down the hall to the front door. One small blessing was that I was on the first floor with no dank dark stairwell to traverse.
Once I was out in the morning sun, the impression of being watched faded. Probably my subconscious afraid that Carlos was going to be waiting for me, standing outside the apartment, pissed off that his key didn’t work anymore. His reaction to changing the locks was something I didn’t want to think about. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
As badly as I wanted to make a lot of money, I was also exhausted from the day before. It was Sunday too, the day the diner opened earlier than usual to get the brunch and early churchgoers crowd. It would be packed. I steeled myself to work my ass off as I walked up to the back door.
My theory that we’d be busy was right. The whole day was nonstop. Even if I’d wanted to splurge on some food, I wouldn’t have had time. Someone sent a fruit cup back because they didn’t like honeydew, so that was my snack. A handful of french fries off plates and an uneaten portion of a barbecue chicken flatbread kept me going.
By the end of the night, I was about three steps beyond exhausted but also frustrated. People had tipped like shit all day. After counting my tips, I’d only made a hundred bucks the entire day. It almost made me start crying right there at the back of the kitchen. I’d been stiffed on a few tables, but the rest had been nothing more than a dollar or two. One asshole had left me two little stacks of quarters.
While I sat there berating myself for buying stuff I hadn’t needed the night before, Clint walked in.
“Dahlia? Are you okay?” The concern on his face twisted my stomach even more. It made me feel worse thinking that someone cared.
I nodded absently, thinking of Carlos and his fucking TV. “People are shit, that’s all.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Hopefully I’m not included in that.”
