The Last

I sat down my box of things and stared at the crooked number 6, preceded by a 4 and a 0, clinging to the door by a loose screw. Pathetic. Three years out of college, and I couldn't even get a decent apartment. I went back to my car and half-heartedly began to drag another box up the stairs. As I attempted the third flight, the bottom of the flimsy, cardboard box gave. My things spilled down the stairs. I collapsed on the concrete steps and begin to sob. Pencils and old articles were strewn all over the place, and I felt stuck. Stuck, just like I was stuck doing quote checks for high school football reviews at the office, just like I was stuck in that cramped space between some smelly fifty year old and the geeky intern in the basement of the Jersey Printer, the official newspaper for the New Jersey middle class family. Stuck, like I'd been since my senior year of high school. Stuck without real friends. Stuck without real relationships. Stuck in a never-ending circle of night clubs and disco bars, where I didn't want the thrill, just the food.

"Oh, no. Here, let me get these for you." I looked up and saw a man collecting my rejected articles and some chewed pens.

"Thank you," I sniffed, too worn out to protest a stranger's assistance.

"I'm John Fairfax," he said with an armful of clutter. I nodded and wiped my eyes with a free hand.

"Janie Elliot," I murmured. "Thanks for this." He shrugged and grinned. I took note of his friendly face. He appeared to be in his mid or late thirties. The brown-- almost black-- hair around his temples was beginning to grey. There were laugh lines around the corners of his large, black eyes. His complexion was browned from the sun. It contrasted with a row of straight, white teeth.

"It's not a problem. Do you know your room?"

"Yes, it's just this way." I finished the trek up the last flight of stairs and led him to Room 406.

"I'm just right there. Room 408," John said, pointing to the door next to mine. I took note of the straight numbers on his door. Maybe his life wasn't falling apart. "If you need anything, just knock on the door. Or the wall. They're pretty thin." I shoved open the door with my shoulder and pointed to a rickety table. He sat the papers on the table.

"Thank you so much, John." I attempted a smile, but I could tell that he knew that it meant little.

"It was nice meeting you, Janie." I shut the door and surveyed my new home. The walls were a light cream with an eggshell finish. I walked around the apartment to ensure that the one bedroom and one bathroom really were there, in addition to a sort of back office. I flipped the switch in the bedroom and noticed that one of the light bulbs didn't work. I made a mental note to call the front office. I turned on the water in the bathroom and grimaced when sand came out. After a few seconds, though, the water became clear. I lifted a handful to my mouth and drank. Clean. I returned to my sitting room and collapsed on the couch. I leaned back into the lumpy pillow and closed my eyes. The article on the growing number of participants in internet dating services could wait editing. A rumble came from my stomach. I reluctantly shifted from my reclined position and shuffled to the avocado colored refrigerator. It was barren, except for a carton of milk. I decided on cereal. I pulled out the milk and sat it on the counter, then pulled a box of cheerios out of the shallow pantry. When I opened the milk, the odor that came from it nearly knocked my over. I gagged and took two steps back. Holding my breath, I checked the date-- it was two weeks gone. My heart fell and I felt water rise in my eyes. I pursed my lips. I was determined to have dry eyes for the rest of the day. I could just have plain cheerios. I flipped open the lid, only to have two cockroaches scamper out. I screamed, took off my shoe, and chucked it at the fatter one. My aim was on, but despite that the floodgates opened. I began to sob just as loudly as I had in the stairwell. Within moments, a knock sounded on my door. John Fairfax. He'd probably heard me crying through the thin walls. I grabbed a dish towel and wiped my eyes, then opened the door.

"Rough day at wok?" John said sympathetically. I shrugged.

"Something like that," I muttered.

"Can I come in?" I nodded. He walked over to the couch and took a seat, then surveyed the apartment as I had just ten minutes ago. His eyes fell on the pile of boxes in the corner, along with the dead cockroach, who rested in peace-- or two pieces-- just outside my kitchen.

"Dinner's on me," he said decidedly. I couldn't protest. He made a phone call, and in thirty minutes, a runner boy brought two cartons of takeout to my door, and John Fairfax and I dined on my sagging couch.

I knocked on John's door. A few moments later, he cracked it and peeked to see who had come knocking. I tilted my head, hoping he remembered my face from our dinner three weeks ago.

"Oh, it's you, Janie. Come on in."

"You play beautifully," I blurted. He reddened slightly.

"You can hear through the wall, I suppose." I nodded.

"Please, keep playing." He consented and sat at his piano. His hands drift over the keys as he began to play again, and I was mesmerized. Tears began to leak out of my eyes. I didn't notice when he stopped playing. He stared at me.

"Janie?" My eyes snapped to his face.

"I hate my job."

"The Jersey Printer is an awful paper." I recalled the time when he had examined some of my articles.

"I can't afford to keep my apartment. I'll have to move again."

"I can help." My eyes widened.

"What? No-"

"For a favor," John interrupted. I wrinkled my brows. What kind of favor?

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Tea. I want you to come over every night after work-- I know you don't get home until eight or nine-- and I want you to come here and listen to me play and have tea with me on the balcony. Maybe I can even teach you how to play." I smiled.

"My, aren't you right out of a history book. Tea time?" I teased. He wryly grinned.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, Janie Elliot?"

"You'll see me tomorrow, John Fairfax."

It was late. My gosh, it was freaking late. But I was happy. I was elated. How can one word cause such happiness? Promotion. Writing. I could write real articles now. No more editing. No more quote checks. No more running around, filling up coffee cups. I slammed my car door and raced to the building. Oh gosh, I couldn't wait to tell John! The tea was probably already brewed, and I imagined that he was getting anxious about my being late. I felt in my pocket for my apartment keys. I stopped. No, I must have left them in the car, in my purse. I giggled. All the excitement had made me lose my wits. I jogged back down the dark sidewalk to my car and yanked on the door handle. Someone shoved me in to the car and pinned me down. On instinct, I kicked. My foot hit air. They were pushing me in, trying to get my legs in the car.

"John!" I screamed. "Help! Somebody help!" They-- he-- slammed a fist into my back. I temporarily lost my breath, but it returned. I kicked again and hit shin.

"John!" I screamed as I desperately tried to scramble out of the car. My skirt protested. It was not meant for such activity. I came face to face with my attacker. He shoved me again. Adrenaline rushed. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down with me. I brought out my teeth and prepared to defend myself.

"Janie! No!" Someone pulled the stranger away from me and threw him to the ground. He grabbed me and wrapped his arms around me tightly. I began to cry.

"John. Help me," I sobbed.

"It's okay, Janie, it's okay." He rubbed my back, then released me. I leaned against the car for support. He pulled up the attacker by his collar and punched him square in the jaw. The man's eyes rolled back.

"He's out cold," John announced. He pulled out a phone and dialed the police. Within a few moments, they arrived and handcuffed him. I gave my statement, still leaning on John for support. As the police drifted away, he nudged me toward the stairs.

"You don't have to come to tea tonight," he said, breaking the silence as we reached our floor. I shook my head.

"I don't want to go to my apartment," I insisted with a small voice. John was silent for a moment.

"Do you want to sleep in my apartment?" I suddenly realized that John's arm was almost fully supporting my weight. I leaned into it more.

"Yeah. I'm just a little shaken up," I admitted. We reached his apartment.

"How's the couch?" John suggested, avoiding my eyes.

"Sounds good," I replied, catching the quilts and sheets that he tossed me.

"Um, okay then." He ruffled his hair and looked around the apartment as though he didn't quite know what to do.

"Are you going to put the tea on?" I asked.

"Are you sure?" I nodded and proceeded to fix my bed. By the time I finished, the tea was also ready.

"Guess what?" I began once we're sitting on the balcony.

"What?"

"I got a promotion. I'm writing articles now," I announced proudly.

"Janie, that's amazing!" John cried. He embraced me. I inhaled deeply. No. I pulled away and tried to clear my mind of the fuzziness that his scent produced. I recalled Jude and the feeling in the pit of my stomach when he left. I looked over John's features and considered how wonderful he was. I thought of his smile twisting into a frown. I couldn't. As much as I wanted to be with this man who was ten years older than me-- who was a human-- I couldn't. I could not hurt someone I truly cared for. I couldn't do to him what Jude did to me. John cleared his throat, and I realized that my thoughts have created a gap in the conversation. I also realized what I must do. I must do what Jude did to me. I had to go.

"I ought to go to bed. I've had a long day," I muttered. I rose from the bench and moved to go inside, but John caught my wrist.

"I saw, Janie," he blurted. I paled, hoping that he's not referencing the appearance of my teeth during the encounter with the stranger.

"What are you talking about?"

"Janie, c'mon. We've known each other for nearly a year. I know." I shook my head.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, John," I said, pulling away.

"I saw your teeth. You're a vampire."

"That's crazy."

"I'm a vampire." This stopped me. I turned around slowly and stared at his jaw. He repeated his statement.

"Let me see," I murmured. He leaned over and opened his mouth. I saw them. My fingers developed a mind of their own and crept to his jaw. I could feel his skin under my fingers, along with a slight scruff. He grabbed my fingers.

"Janie," he whispered with a strained voice.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." I backed away, but he didn't let go. He lowered my hand from his jaw and clenched it to his chest, but he didn't let go.

"Janie," he said, looking at me strongly. "I'm ten years older than you."

"I don't care."

"Janie," he said hoarsely. He pleadingly looked into my eyes. I determinedly stared back. He yanked at my hand, bringing me into his chest. He leaned over and pressed his forehead to mine, sighed, and repeated my name. I squeezed his hand. His other hand pressed the back of my neck, and our lips collided. We stood in the moonlight, gently kissing and exploring for a few moments. He finally pulled away, breathless.

"I fell in love with you when I saw you sitting on the stairs," John murmured. I smiled and wrapped my arms about his middle.

"I fell in love you with when I heard you play the piano, but I don't think I realized it until you carried me up the stairs." He chuckled. His laugh caused his chest to pleasantly vibrate. As we stand there on his balcony, a few stars shot across the sky.

"You're going to be just fine, Janie. We'll be just fine."