Revenge(7)

The first pangs of a powerful emotion hit me. What am I feeling? I’m not that worried about my eye, because it will heal. Even the roommate situation isn’t so bad, as long as I think of it as an adventure.

I guess what I’m feeling is homesickness. I’ve never been away from home before, so this is new to me. I miss my best friend, even though it’s because of my best friend that I’m here. I wouldn’t have made the trip without the encouragement.

I feel so sad, like I’ve just broken something. And there’s also the feeling of too much wide open space all around me.

Eating some food will help.

My pockets hold a bit of spare change, so I duck into the first coffee shop I come across. I check around for the musician, and I’m both relieved and disappointed he’s not here.

After counting up my change carefully, I order a pastry plus a small coffee. I take the small mug and doctor the coffee with cream, sugar, and vanilla powder. Nobody sitting in the cafe acknowledges I’m here. This is so different from back home.

A guy comes in the door. Is it him? My heart jumps up.

No, it’s not my mysterious singer.

I take a seat in the corner and read someone’s discarded newspaper. I pull out my phone a few times to check for messages, but none of my friends have messaged me since the last time I checked. I have a sinking, suspicious feeling they’re all hanging out somewhere. I bet they’re gossiping about me and taking bets about how soon I’ll come home. They’d laugh at me if they knew I was already thinking about that return ticket, not even an hour ago.

They’d laugh, and that’s exactly why I can’t use the ticket. Not yet.

I sit and eat my pastry, pretending I fit in here.

After an hour, I walk back home again.

Back at the house, I fidget with my keys trying to figure out which one is for the top lock. The door swings open.

A skinny guy with long, brown hair blinks at me.

“Hi Caleb, I’m Jess,” I say, extending my hand.

He met me this morning in the bathroom, but we didn’t do introductions. I was too busy running out before he got naked.

He shakes my hand. His fingers are clammy, his handshake weak. “You’re the new girl. I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

That’s right. The last time he saw me, I was desperately trying to cover myself with a towel.

“Nice to meet you.” I push my way past him, into the house.

“What the hell!” he says.

Shaking my head, I mutter, “Sorry for pushing. I just want to be alone.”

“Not that. I mean your eye,” he says, jogging to catch up with me. “What happened? Did you call the police yet?”

My homesickness rises up like a tide of anguish. I want to hate Caleb, because he’s just some random creep passing through, but his sympathy is hard to resist.

He follows me into the kitchen, where I open the cupboard with my name scribbled across the door in thick marker. Below my name is the name Diane, crossed out with the same thick marker. The people whose names are on the lease have obviously given up on getting the damage deposit back.

Caleb follows me into the kitchen like a puppy.

I’m not hungry, but I pull out my bread and peanut butter anyway, because it’s my comfort snack. I’m so glad I picked up a few groceries yesterday. I’m broke, but I won’t have to starve until payday.

“What happened to your eye?” he asks.

“I got mugged,” I tell Caleb. “About five blocks from here.”

He takes a seat on one of the stools along the counter and rests his elbows on the surface. “Jess, that’s not normal for this neighborhood. Nobody gets mugged around here.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Don’t be so defensive. I’m trying to be a friend. I want you to know you’re pretty safe around here. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

We’re interrupted by my skanky roommate coming into the kitchen. Her eyes are squinty with suspicion. “I thought I kicked you out,” she says to Caleb. “Leave Jess alone. She’s sweet and innocent. Not like you, pervert.”

“Um, thanks?” I say to her, my voice lifting up at the end so it sounds like a question.

She reaches into my bag of whole wheat bread and grabs two slices without asking. I don’t protest, because I know the rules. We keep our stuff in our own cupboards, but we all share, and it’s supposed to work out. There are three of us roommates, all girls.

She pulls open the cupboard with the word Queen Bitch scrawled on the door. Her name is actually Amanda, but either she or someone else crossed that out and wrote the other thing. The more I get to know Amanda, the more I think it was her.