ROOMMATE NEEDED
Chapter Ten: gladiators who eat chicken made my apartment awkward
It was two-thirty in the morning. A constant reminder pulsated against the backs of my eyelids as I dragged my feet across the carpeted hallway in my apartment building. I was tired and miserable and ready for this day to be over. After accidentally scraping the key around the surface of the lock for a few moments, it finally deigned to slide into the keyhole, and I gratefully creaked the door open, closed it and locked it before heading immediately for my room. I shucked my clothes off, leaving them on the ground wherever they fell and grabbed the nearest pair of sweatpants and a tank top.
I wandered into the kitchen and fumbled for a glass of water, before noticing that the television was on in the living room. Gladiator was playing in my apartment at two-thirty-five in the morning.
…Naturally, I walked forward—like a moth to the flame—and when I was even with the couch, I saw Luke slumped over, eyes half-closed and hand clutching the remote. I looked at the movie and then at Luke again before coming to a decision.
I flopped down onto the couch.
What?
Not only can you not walk away from a movie like Gladiator, but epics like that (and Braveheart, Kingdom of Heaven, The Last of the Mohicans, et al.) are the best movies to zone out of and just daze. And dazing thoughtlessly sounded pretty good right now.
I glanced at Luke out of the corner of my left eye, who had made no movement. I knew he was awake, but I'm pretty sure he was in the same state of lethargy as me: too tired to give a shit. So I ignored him, drawing my knees up on the couch and grabbing one of the side pillows before curling up and resting my head against the arm of the couch. And I mentally prepared myself to watch Russell Crowe kick ass and take names.
Sometimes action movies are good for the soul.
And I'm pretty sure the volume went up at some point—just enough that it would put us in our own little world, without disturbing the neighbors.
So, that's where I slept that night. And there were no truces, there were no conversations.
But neither of us pranked each other again.
--
Approximately Two Weeks Later
"Why does technology hate me?" I whined, frowning at the computer screen in front of my face. A building wide blackout had wiped out about half of my proposal for the new client—a proposal which was due in about two hours, at five—and the systems were currently rebooting.
"It's not the technology. It's Murphy's Law," my co-worker Sarah said as she poked her head around the corner. I glared at her, lower lip sticking out. "Ah, is this the part where I play second fiddle at your pity-party?" she mimed playing a fiddle with an amused face.
Chuckling scornfully, I resisted the suddenly overwhelming desire to beat the keyboard against the wall. "You know, you're just so funny, Sarah Jane. Did you ever consider a career in comedy?"
Sarah sauntered into my small office good-naturedly stroking her chin. "Hmm…y'know, the thought had occurred to me, but I just never had the positive reinforcements from friends and family that I'd be funny enough. You really think I'd make it?"
When I leveled a blank look at her, she winked at me.
"Oh yeah," I said dryly, eyeing the screen as it slowly loaded the desktop, "You're a regular Robin Williams, you are."
Sarah laughed.
I sighed balefully as I pulled up Microsoft Word and realized that it had not, in fact, saved my latest draft. PCs really were the bane of my existence.
Life's just not shitty enough when it's not throwing crap at you from all angles.
"You lose anything?" Sarah asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Oh," I waved my hand nonchalantly, "Only the almost-completed draft of my proposal for the client who I'm meeting to discuss said proposal in," I glanced at my wristwatch, "an hour and forty-five minutes. No big."
I appreciated the hiss through the teeth Sarah treated me to.
"Tough break, babe," she said sympathetically as she strolled back around to the front of the desk.
"Nah," I waved her off, deciding self-pity would get me nowhere fast, "It was my fault for not saving, I suppose. I always make fun of those people who save every five seconds. Look who's laughing now, huh?"
Sarah made a noise of agreement. "It shouldn't be too tough a recovery, right? I mean, it should be fresh on your mind. Consider this a rewrite!"
"Why, thank you, Miss Optimism. Although, I guess you're right. A little," I conceded as I began typing feverishly after re-orienting myself with where the document had left off.
My job was difficult, but rewarding, and I was very lucky to have it. I was young, living fairly comfortably, in New York. Much of it was due to some handy connections, but I had put myself through years of hard work in college and had saved every nickel, penny, and dollar that had come my way for many years to be where I am today.
Things had cooled off lately, and everything was becoming routine. Don was in London for another week and a half, and his absence made the weight on my shoulders a little less unbearable. Now, Melvin had taken to coming over after school let out at around four or five, and would hang out with me. Luke wasn't very fond of the arrangement at first, but realized that it didn't really matter to me what he thought. At all.
In fact, things with Luke were a lot better in some ways. We still argued constantly, and were at each others throats like cats and dogs, but now, at least, I no longer had to worry about chocolate pudding coming out of my Herbal Essence shampoo bottle.
For a girl, that's always a fear.
Bath products and toiletries are never to be messed with.
Ever.
I noticed, glancing around the monitor, that Sarah had made herself comfortable in one of the chairs in my office. "You on break?" I asked in her general direction.
"Yeah," she assented, "Gotta take one every now and again. A body could go crazy in here."
I raised my eyebrows and smirked at Sarah. "Or maybe…just maybe…that's the point? Maybe everything around us is so monotonous and menial to drive us to our wits end and distract us from actually looking around us. Maybe our whole lives are just deceptions to keep us from realizing…" I trailed off dramatically.
I received a confused look for my efforts.
Since when had that ever deterred me?
Completely amused by myself, I continued, "that we live in the Matrix," I waggled my eyebrows for effect.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "You need to get out more."
"You are completely correct."
"Oh!" Sarah sat up, suddenly struck by one of those violent 'Now I remembers' that occur way too often for comfort, "I'd been meaning to invite you for some time now, but it kept slipping my mind. There's this party a friend of a friend of mine is throwing. Apparently it's going to be this big shindig; the guy who's throwing it is some hotshot lawyer who comes from money. You should come! Bring Angela," she suggested, seeing my unimpressed face.
"A friend of your friend? So my relation to this person would be what? I'd be like: 'Oh, hey, dude—you're a lawyer, right?—I have a friend who has a friend who is your friend, and they invited me to your party. Also, this is my bestie, Angela. What up?' Somehow, I don't think that would go over well. What is this? Six degrees of Kevin Bacon??" I shook my head, rereading the section I had just written about possible television advertisements for my client for any errors or typos.
Laughing, Sarah uncrossed and then crossed her legs again. "No, no, it's an open party. Guests are allowed."
"Is the whole of New York going to be there?" I demanded, laughingly.
"Of course not, numbnuts!"
I began giggling hysterically. "Sarah, did you just call me 'numbnuts'? Like, as a for real insult?"
"Oh, fuck off, you bully! I was just offering you a little fun to spice up your pathetically mundane existence," she harrumphed and crossed her arms, pretending to be offended.
"Why, thank you, but I like my pathetically mundane existence just fine."
"Well, at least think about it," Sarah said as she glanced down at her wristwatch, sighing, "It's already been fifteen minutes. I hate my life," she groaned. "Promise me you'll at least consider it?"
"Fine! I'll consider it," I finally allowed, seeing she wasn't leaving until I did as she asked, "briefly," I tacked on under my breath as she disappeared through the door.
"Oh, look, there it goes," I chuckled to myself. "Now back to this stupid proposal."
--
At about five-thirty, I burst through the apartment door. Slamming the door, I trudged to my room, toed off my shoes, and proceeded to toss my purse and keys unceremoniously onto my bed. Spinning on my heel, I then headed back out of the room.
Seeing movement in the living room, I halted. I stared blankly at Melvin for a minute or two before it registered in my mind what I was looking at.
Over the past couple of weeks, we had discovered that Luke usually got home after…well, whatever Luke usually did during the day at about six. I usually got home around four-thirty or so, which gave us a couple hours to socialize and talk. We had gotten very close lately, but I realized that my schedule wasn't always solid, so I had made him his own key to use at his discretion so he wouldn't be stuck outside in the hallway.
"Vinny!" I squealed, running at him. He stood up to meet my flying tackle and I clutched him freakishly tightly. Stepping back, I eyed him happily, "What a sight for sore eyes you are after a long day at the grind. I see you're using the key I made up for you."
He nodded, smiling a bit. "Thanks again, Steph. And you just saw me a couple days ago…" he trailed off, looking shyly at the ground.
"Pfft," I brushed his comment off, "A day, an eternity, what's the difference?! Feels the same, I always say. You will not believe the day I had," I ranted and raved, heading into the kitchen. Melvin followed behind, listening intently and responding where appropriate.
Aww. How cute. No one ever listens to me.
I can't imagine why.
I poured him a glass of water alongside my own. I had long since grown tired of asking him if he wanted one. The poor boy could be bleeding to death on my floor and would refuse the tourniquet I offered.
Poor survival skills, really.
Handing him his glass, and waving off his thanks, I walked us back to the living room and plopped down on the couch, crossing my feet comfortably on top of the coffee table. He sat down next to me, carefully sitting on the edge of the sofa and placing his glass gently on a coaster, before scooting backward and tucking his hands underneath his thighs. He turned his big eyes in my direction.
I snorted, and water ran out my nose. As I cough-laughed, Melvin leaned toward me concernedly, placing a hand on my upper arm to steady me.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I choked out between watery coughs.
Which was the exact point in time Luke stalked through the front door. Of course he did. What better time for him to appear than when I had some strange concoction of water and snot pouring out my nose, watery red eyes, and appeared to be attempting to cough up my left lung? My theory is, God decided: You know who should be here for this? Luke Mann.
He stopped his fast paced walk to stare at me, one eyebrow raised. I poured every bit of strength in my body into an attempt to stop gurgling and coughing—and I succeeded for a good thirty seconds—but the itching at the back of my throat caused me to involuntarily launch into another coughing fit. Luke sighed, eyed me up and down, and then looked at his brother who was buzzing around me worriedly asking questions and looking completely frazzled. He then shook his head and stomped to his room, slamming the door.
Then he bolted it.
Well, fuck you, too.
--
At eight o'clock that night, Angela rang my doorbell. Considering I was pacing in front of the door—as I always do when I know someone is supposed to be arriving soon—I opened it right after. Kind of creepy, yes, but effective nevertheless. Don't judge me.
I never claimed to be sane.
Angela raised an eyebrow, her fist still raised from the first couple knocks.
I smiled awkwardly. "I'm really fast?" I offered.
She chuckled and sauntered in when I gestured she should enter. Dropping her purse onto the small table in the foyer, she spun around to look at me as I closed and locked the door. Putting her hands together excitedly, she asked, "So, what's for dinner?"
Grinning from ear to ear, I skipped into the kitchen. I had decided this week (Monday, actually) to begin experimenting in cooking. I figure I have a kitchen, why not use it? Melvin had left to go home at around seven, under the watchful eye of his older brother. The same older brother who I was attempting to ignore, despite seeing him sprawled across the couch, occasionally peeking curiously over the edge.
I avoided his eyes. My food.
Angela eyed the food semi-cautiously as I dished it out. I had made a lovely grilled chicken to go with some rice and spicy diced tomatoes. I was quite proud of myself for creating something that tasted good (I tested it before Ange came, just in case it was craptastic so I could salvage the evening and order Chinese) and finding a recipe I could actually follow online.
After I made two plates and placed them on the table in the kitchen, I went to the fridge to pull out a bottle of one of my favorite red wines. The guilt in my gut was most definitely an unpleasant addition to my evening, as were the uninvited pair of eyes on my back.
This was a girl's night.
Sorta.
God, why do men always bust out their damn puppy eyes when it comes to food?!
When Angela sat down, smirking as I uncomfortably poured two glasses of wine, I finally caved. Sighing heavily, I glared at the top of Luke's head, which ducked back down when I looked in his direction.
"Dammit, Skywalker, get your ass in here and eat if you're so hungry," I grumbled.
Luke casually strolled in mere moments later, looking around the kitchen curiously. He hovered at the entrance for a moment, saying, "Oh, you cooked? I hadn't noticed."
He smiled innocently in response to my death glare.
Then he sat down at the table next to Angela. In front of my plate.
I felt (what was left of) my sanity shatter. "What are you doing??"
"You said I could eat…" he trailed off.
"Are you paraplegic??" I demanded.
"Noo," he said slowly.
"Then fix your own goddamn plate! You're a grown-ass man, and I am not your handmaid! Your brain must be broken!"
Both Angela and Luke stared back at me with their eyebrows raised.
"You're neurotic," Luke said, flatly.
I muffled a scream in the back of my throat and stomped in place. Taking deep calming breaths, I spun on my heel and grabbed another plate out of the cabinet. Painstakingly, I served myself a portion, plopped down across from Angela, and snatched my wine glass from in front of Luke.
"You're a stupid chauvinist. Get your own drink. Or dehydrate."
Then I dug in.
--
"That wasn't bad," Angela commented, swirling the last sip or two of wine in her glass, "actually, it was quite good."
I grinned, bobbing up and down in my chair in excitement.
"Hmm," I looked at Luke warily, mentally preparing myself to stab him in the eye with my dirty fork, "…it wasn't completely horrible."
Angela laughed at my blank expression. Finally, I sighed. "That's the best I'm gonna get from you, isn't it?"
Luke just smirked and stood, actually bothering to grab his empty plate and place it in the sink and pushing his chair in. We both watched him walk toward his room.
"You're washing that later!" I yelled after him. His response was the sound of the door closing.
"Well," Angela drawled, "You two are just two peas in a pod, aren't you? What's up with this medium to mild antagonism? You're slacking, Steph."
I groaned. "I don't know what to do with him anymore. We've pretty much stopped pranking each other. It's so awkward now. Why is it so difficult to get along with him?"
Ange shrugged.
I rolled my eyes. "You're so helpful."
Grabbing both our plates, I headed over to the sink and began the process of washing all the dishes and pots I had used to make the meal. As I cleaned up and put away the leftovers, Angela helped clear away the table and continued our conversation.
"Why does it matter?" she suddenly asked.
I halted my movements, and my hands were barraged by the hot water rushing over them—washing away the suds. Furrowing my eyebrows, I asked her, "What?"
"If you're not performing pre-pubescent pranks on each other anymore, and you don't care for each other at all like you claim, then you shouldn't have to interact. I mean, you're two adults leading two separate lives who happen to live under the same roof. Technically, you don't have to have anything to do with him. It shouldn't matter, let alone be 'awkward'."
I blinked a couple of times, and my stomach churned. Maybe that food wasn't settling well. "I…I don't know…" I trailed off, hearing a slight scraping noise from the entrance to the kitchen. My head snapped toward the noise and my eyes connected with Luke's. For some reason, heat rushed to my cheeks and I quickly turned my focus back to the dishes I had been washing moments ago. I heard the door to the refrigerator open, and peripherally watched him take out a bottle of water.
Now that the kitchen was awkwardly quiet, everyone seemed more attuned to each other's movements. While Angela and I waited for Luke to clear out of the kitchen (and I attempted to reduce the inexplicable flaming of my face) he paused a few feet behind me.
Unable to resist, I glanced at him in confusion.
He was staring contemplatively at the drying rack, an unreadable expression on his face. Then his eyes snapped to mine for a moment, before he glanced at Angela, nodded in typical male greeting, and casually walked away.
Brows furrowed, I looked at the drying dishes blankly.
Before I noticed that there were three plates drying.
"Damnit!" I declared, and when Angela looked at me, confused, I clarified: "I washed that asshole's plate!"
I could practically see that jerk's smug smirk.
AN: Happy 2010! So, this chapter's pretty massive and I updated fairly expediently. Apologies for any typos. Are you proud of me? I'm proud of me.
Special Thanks to:
Batman is exotic, kmtawzer, BasementDwellerExtraordinaire, Fiasco Can Fly, lissagrl, Bill Kaulitz, TinuvielDork, goodbyes, Jevanminx, and JadeDream
I'd like to thank everybody so much for sticking with this story, and with me! Also, thanks very much to everyone who has added ROOMMATE NEEDED to their favorites and alerts. I love you all, even you lurkers who are reading and then fleeing (:
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