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  I force a smile, feeling a chill sweep through me, loosening the coil in my chest, as I turn back. “No, Todd, it’s not you.”

  “Love!” He reaches for me as I move to close the door behind me. “We’re good together, you and me. Why are you doing this?”

  He truly thinks we’re good together? We exist together. I pass through the motions. He reaches for me and I stand still. He’s trying. He’s hoping. He’s fighting. And I don’t care. I don’t see what he sees. I see in black and white and he sees in color. He’s normal. I’m broken. He’s being human, and I’m just pretending. We don’t work well together. I close the door.

  I walk inside, leaving him staring after me, bypassing the girl at the front desk with her black lipstick and pentagram tattoo on her neck. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I lick my dry lips as I climb the stairs, once again, taking the long way up. The smell of my dorm room is moldy and dry and as I close the door behind me, I decide against turning on the light. My phone stops buzzing and starts ringing. Todd is calling. I block the call. In the darkness, I stare at the two empty beds before crawling into one, setting my alarm, and going to sleep, hoping at least one of us will be better off.

  Beverly shows up in a flurry of perfectly polished nails and expertly teased hair to drop off the majority of her stuff. She directs a pair of professional movers who are obviously more interested in flirting and getting into her tiny shorts than they are with their actual job. That is until Beverly receives a call from a friend and bails. Only then do they actually get to work. I ignore them as I lug my own packages up to our floor, enjoying the quiet hallways. Already, this place is much better than the dorms.

  When 5pm rolls around, and they've unloaded everything Beverly brought, I thank them and show them out. I'm left with an apartment full of boxes that make the entire place smell like it's built out of cardboard; a lot like another place I used to live.

  I ignore all the piled boxes and head to my new room. I kick a box out of the way and start to assemble the new desk that I ordered from a cheap resale place online. The instructions are simple, but it’s hot as hell and after spending the entire day in the sweltering heat of the apartment – the AC hadn't been turned on in only God knows how long and it was taking a hot minute to kick in – I stop to crack open my window and let a breeze roll through the room.

  Taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air, I find myself staring out the window, and thoughts start to take root in my mind. Did I really do the right thing with Todd? He’s been texting me all day. His calls automatically go to voicemail and I know they’re piling up. I don’t have it in me to listen to them.

  The front door bangs open and disrupts my thoughts. Setting the notebook to the side I hear Beverly giggling as she strides in, obviously sloshed. I get up and head towards the living room only to see her stumbled over herself and smack her arm into the wall. I sigh, reaching for her arm, and steer her toward the hallway, not realizing that there's someone behind her.

  "Come on in, sweetie!" Beverly calls back.

  I blink. It's the young girl from the day before; the one with long, golden hair and big, doll-like eyes. She stands just in front of the open door with her arms crossed over her chest like she's holding herself together, or she's just really cold, because in the hallway of the apartment complex the AC is blasting, and her thighs are pressed tightly together.

  "Hi," she says quietly.

  "Can I help you?" I ask, blinking in confusion.

  "I...um," she looks to the side, toward the door to apartment 7101, "I'm sorry to ask this, but, one of our bathrooms isn't usable, and the landlady isn't sending anyone out until tomorrow. My brother's friend is in the other bathroom and I really have to go." She blushes and leans forward. "I think I um...I think I started my period."

  "First time?" I ask.

  Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head with an embarrassed smile. "No, it's not my first one, but I live with my older brother and his friends. It's – they don't–"

  I hold up a hand to stop her and give her a gentle smile. "Say no more," I reply. "Come in."

  I point the girl toward the hallway bathroom, and then make sure Beverly made it to her room, which she has. She stands at the end of her bed with her shirt off as she struggles with undoing the button on her jeans. I close the door and leave her to do her thing. From the glittery tube dress I spotted on her bed, I know she won't be staying in long.

  My phone goes off in the bedroom, and I hurry to grab it before whoever is on the other end hangs up. But as I pick up the phone and the screen flashes, I know this person wouldn’t stop until I picked up. It's Trish. I answer on the next ring.

  "Hey–"

  "Love..." Trish says. Her voice is tired and watery. I sigh and peek over my shoulder at the open door. I don't want to close it in case the girl comes out.

  "What's wrong, babe?" I ask.

  "It's Lawrence," she says with a hiccup at the end. "We – it’s hard to explain – you won't – I don't even understand." She can’t even make coherent sentences.

  "Where are you?" I ask.

  “In my car.” Trish’s quiet sobs shock me. She breathes hard, trying to be silent, but I hear the tears in her voice.

  “How far away are you?” I ask calmly.

  “Around the corner,” she hiccups. “I can’t believe how bad I’ve messed this up.”

  "You know my new address?" I double check.

  "You texted it to me," she replies.

  "Okay, babe, I'll see you soon. Come right up. Don't worry, we'll talk about it."

  "Thanks, Love," she says with a deep sigh. "I love you, see you soon."

  "Hello?" I hang up as the girl's voice sounds in the hallway. I head back into the common area of the apartment, and she stands awkwardly by the bathroom door. "I found a tampon under your sink," she says uncomfortably. "I didn't have any because I wasn't expecting..."

  I shake my head and then smile at her. "No problem. You should probably take a couple until your brother can grab you some."

  Her eyes widen, and she laughs. "Tax wouldn't go get them. He'll take me and just avoid the tampon section completely."

  "Take a couple anyway," I offer, opening the door and grab a handful to give to her.

  With her cheeks tinted pink, she accepts. "Thanks."

  I walk her to the door and crack it open. The man from before, the one who had been sitting in the car with her – her brother, I'm assuming – stands outside in the hall with his fist raised to knock. He stops when he sees that the door is open and the girl steps out.

  "Hey, sorry about that," he says awkwardly. "Thanks for letting her use your bathroom."

  He's tall, several inches taller than Todd. It’s the first thing I notice. Unlike Todd, though, he's not classically handsome at all. In fact, some people would probably be turned away by his looks. Not because he’s ugly, but because his features are intense. The way his eyes are shaped casts shadows down across his cheeks. But when he looks up I have to fight not to suck in a breath – not that I could anyway because all of the oxygen in my lungs evaporates. I’ve seen men with dead eyes, with greedy eyes, but this man’s eyes are…windows into a place I know I should be terrified of. They’re dark and gorgeous and so incredibly alluring. I don’t realize I’m staring until he blinks, disrupting my view of them for a millisecond. Those are the kind of eyes that lead straight to hell, and entice you further every step of the way.

  I look down at his sister. They’re complete opposites. She has soft, honeyed skin and bright sunny hair. Her brother, on the other hand, is as dark as she is light. Inky black hair, tanned skin, and there's a sprinkling of dark stubble over his jaw that crawls halfway down his throat. A throat, I’m thinking, that looks strong and thick. How are throats attractive?

  Black tattoo lines peek out from beneath his t-shirt and travel down his right arm. I'd bet good money that those tattoos go back up and across his chest, and probably even his back as well. His eyes are hooded and dark, midnight bl
ue. In them, I see something familiar. Something that calls out to me. Maybe that’s why my heart is galloping in my chest the way it hasn’t for a long, long time. In his eyes, I see a well of darkness and pain.

  “It was no problem,” I finally reply.

  His apartment door opens, and my head automatically turns as another man walks out. He’s dressed in tight leather pants and a ripped t-shirt. This man’s striking, blond hair is spiked up in the front and flattened forward from the back. Several belts circle his waist, hanging around his hips the same way several bracelets line one of his arms. Surprisingly, there are only two leather, chain necklaces around his throat hanging over the white fabric of his shirt. He’s the kind of guy who is more Todd’s speed, but, like Todd, his external attractiveness pales in comparison to the man in front of me.

  Beverly bumps my back as she exits the apartment, clad scantily in her bright green tube dress, clutching a tiny, black purse that can't hold much more than a credit card and lipstick. She takes one look at him and I see a predator appear in her eyes.

  She practically purrs as she sashays toward the new guy. "Hi there," she says in a throaty voice. "I'm Beverly. Are you one of our neighbors?"

  The new guy looks her up and down once before flashing her a cocky smile. Well, what do you know, I think, two peas in a pod.

  Ally tugs on her brother’s shirt and whispers something to him. He glances at me as she whispers. He pauses, unsure, before shaking his head and whispering something back. Ally pouts adorably and then turns to me. "Do you like music?" she asks suddenly.

  I blink, startled. "Uh," I begin, "I suppose."

  “Ally,” her brother warns.

  She ignores him. "Because my brother is in a band and they play at a bar called City Limits. You wanna go?"

  I look at her in surprise before I glance at her brother. "You take her to bars?" I ask curiously. There's no disdain in my voice. Ally seems like a sweet kid; obviously she's proud of her brother.

  He shakes his head. "No, she's not coming. Ally has schoolwork to do." He looks down at her, but she hasn't taken her eyes away from me.

  "So, do you want to go?" she insists.

  "I...uh..." It strikes me that I don’t know these people, yet when I glance at Ally’s brother, I feel a curiosity that so rarely comes over me. And though it seems that Ally is sweet, it feels like her brother isn't too keen on inviting me. "I have someone coming over tonight," I say finally.

  "It's not tonight," her brother says. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, tensing the muscles in his forearms as he does. I don't even think he realizes how large he is. "It's this Friday. We play on Fridays and Saturdays if you want to come by."

  I open my mouth to politely decline, but the pain that only consumes the blue fire in his eyes catches me again. This isn't a situation where pain would be present in a person’s expression. Boredom maybe, but not pain; not unless that pain has been buried deep inside, burrowing until it can't get any deeper, sunk into a person's soul. I see that pain, and my own echoes its plea.

  Instead of saying no, I find myself nodding. "Yeah, that sounds cool. I'll try to stop by." I glance over their shoulders at Beverly as she and the friend eat each other alive with their eyes, flirting hardcore. "It looks like my roommate likes your friend. I assume he's in the band. Can I bring her?" She’ll be a welcome distraction if I need one.

  Ally and her brother glance over their shoulders as well. "Shouldn't be a problem," the brother says turning back to me. "I'm Tax, by the way." He tugs one of his hands from his pocket and extends it to me. I take it and let his fingers clasp tight around mine.

  "Love," I say. I try to stop the way my hand tenses in his, waiting for the ultimate 'What? That's your name? How funny' comments. Surprisingly, though, he doesn't do that.

  Instead, he smiles and finishes the handshake. "It was nice to meet you," he says instead. "Thanks for letting my sister use your bathroom and for the – um—" He looks down at the tampons in her hand and grimaces before jerking his gaze back to mine. "Anyways, thanks."

  I nod as he turns around and Ally waves before heading back into their apartment. Tax calls for his friend before knocking on his shoulder and telling him to get his ass back inside. It seems Beverly has his complete attention, though, so I'm not sure how that will go. I turn and head back into my own apartment. Just as I'm about to close the door, I hear the elevator down the hall ding and the doors slide open. Trish steps out with her mascara a smudged, black mess on her cheeks. She sees me and heads my way, bypassing Beverly and the band guy, whose head tilts in her direction for a split second before returning to Beverly.

  I close the door behind us and her whole body trembles as I enfold her into a hug. I usually don’t like giving or receiving hugs because I feel stifled, but I’ll hug her because I know that’s what she wants – she wants someone to shove all of the emotions back inside, squeeze them until she can close the hatch and secure them once more. I’d rather let them all out and then lock the door behind them when they leave. If all they lead to is this, why would I want them? She smells like lemons and ocean spray, probably a mix of cleaning products and her shampoo. When she finally releases me, I notice I have some of her mascara on my shirt, but I don't say anything.

  Trish follows me into the kitchen and fresh tears fill her eyes as she sits down at my cheap kitchen table. Even though it's hot outside and summer isn't quite over yet, I make us hot chocolate. It's the only chocolate I have in the house, and I read an article once that said 40% of women would prefer their favorite food over sex. This is her favorite because she finds it comforting, but I think it might be more comforting if she didn’t have a reason to cry in the first place. I set my teapot on the back burner to heat before taking a seat at the table with her to wait. Immediately, her face flushes red again and she bursts into tears. I reach awkwardly across the table to pat her hand.

  She cries and blubbers and stumbles through a confusing explanation of what happened with Lawrence. A fight of some kind. They're the kind of couple that always fights, and I don't like it. It seems stupid to me. Trish has told me several times, though, that fighting is normal for couples. Not fighting is what's abnormal. I never fought with Danny…or Todd for that matter. But she assures me that fighting means they care. That makes sense, then. If I never fought with any of my exes, it only proves that I didn’t care.

  "–so he told me if I felt that way, then I could find somewhere else to sleep tonight," she cries.

  That last, little tidbit perks my ears. "He kicked you out?"

  She shakes her head, stopping only to direct her gaze everywhere else in the room but at me. "N-no, of course not. He just meant–"

  "If he tells you to sleep somewhere else, that sounds like he's kicking you out," I interrupt, my voice hardening.

  Trisha heaves a big sigh as I stand up and attend to the screaming kettle of hot water. “You just don’t understand, Love. Things are different when you care about someone.” She blanches. “I mean, not that you don’t care about people. You do, and that’s not how I meant it. It’s just that—”

  “I’ve never been in love,” I state plainly as I pour the hot water over two mugs filled with chocolate powder. I don’t believe in it. Lust, yeah. That I can believe in. I’ve seen a lot of lust; been the recipient of the unwanted kind for a long time.

  She sighs again, deflating further into her seat. “I’m an asshole.”

  I shake my head as I stir the powder together with the water before adding dashes of milk. “You’re not an asshole,” I assure her. I hand her one of the mugs and then retake my seat. “And you’re right. I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it’s like.”

  A part of me wants to ask her why she comes to me about these things, because with age does not always come wisdom, and I am especially untutored about love and relationship matters. Anything that I’ve had in the past was always a give and take kind of relationship. Companionship and sex for…what? Stability? A roof over
my head? The cure for loneliness? But I don’t say anything because the reality is, I like it when she comes to me. Even if all I can do is sit here and listen to her, I feel like I’m helping and playing the role of her sister the right way. Being in the right role after a long time of being in the wrong one feels different, it feels good when so very few things ever do anymore.

  Trish stares at her steaming mug of hot cocoa for several long moments before setting it on the table. She doesn’t move to pick it up again, and it’s the first time I notice that she’s wearing long sleeves. Her fingers grip the hem of each sleeve, pulling them further down, covering half her hands as she folds her arms on the table and rests her head atop them.

  “Can I stay here with you tonight?” she asks.

  I sip my cocoa and nod. “You know you’re always welcome to stay with me.”

  She smiles, but it seems wan – incomplete.

  We don’t talk about Lawrence anymore. Instead, she changes into an old pair of sweats and leaves her long sleeve t-shirt on. I offer to let her borrow a tank top since I know it’s hot, but she refuses so I leave the window in my room cracked all night. Long after Trisha has fallen asleep on the other side of my new bed I hear the front door open, and Beverly comes in giggling and stumbling, and muttering to herself. I hear the telltale sound of high heels being kicked off in the hallway as they smack against the wall. I think it’s a good thing we bought renters insurance because if she destroys the place, maybe we can call it in rather than lose the deposit.

  Trish grumbles quietly in her sleep and rolls toward the wall as Beverly’s bedroom door slams closed. I lay there and consider what my sister must be feeling. I know I’ve never been in love. I don’t really understand how people do fall in love. Is it automatic? Sex doesn’t equal love, but do most people begin to develop a connection for people they’ve slept with?