Page 64 of All the Ugly Things
When I was done, she met me at the back of my car, the elevators right across the way. “Come on. I want to see my soon-to-be new home.”
“You’re choosing to move in here before you’ve seen it?”
“You once accused me of being a fool. Or an idiot, which made our first meeting incredibly memorable by the way. You’re also right. I’m tired of living among roaches as my only friends and looking over my shoulder. I doubt you would have let me move into a building that wasn’t safe, so, I’m choosing to trust your decision.”
Her words hit me like a ten-ton brick. I was the roadrunner and an anvil had just fallen on my head, flattening me with surprise. “You trust me.”
“With this, yes.” She speared me with a look, a challenge. “Don’t abuse it.”
I would do everything, absolutely everything, in my power to not let it happen—any more than I already was.
16
Lilly
“You love it here.” Ellen ran her fingertips along the edge of the television stand—because yes, Ifinallyhad a television that wasn’t manufactured in the late 90s—and then moved toward the window.
I fell in love with the apartment on sight. Exposed brick walls lined the outside of the apartment. The ceiling was high, showing ductwork and pipes. There was a small kitchen island with granite countertop, the dark coloring of it matching the brown and tan bricks on the wall. The cupboards were white, brightening up the space. It was small. But furnished as was, there was a round dining table with four chairs, a couch and two accent chairs. The kitchen wouldn’t host massive parties but was the perfect size for two people to be in comfortably.
Bonus: The bathroom had a separate, huge soaking tub. I’d almost cried when I saw it and I’d taken a bath every day since.
The building was eight stories. I was on floor five with a view facing west which meant I got to wake up every morning with a view of the city and go to sleep at night with the sun setting behind it. Samaya was on floor two. With the underground garage, she and her kids would never have to shovel snow off her 2005 Nissan Altima again or worry about it getting broken into.
She moved in the day after me, unable to help herself. Apparently, she didn’t have to think too hard about her choice, but I was glad I knew someone here other than Hudson.
Not that I’d seen him at all in the last few days.
The last time I saw Hudson was Saturday afternoon, the day after he showed me this place. He showed up at noon, shortly after I woke up from my overnight shift and declared he was there to help me move. Together, we loaded all my simple belongings into the bed of the truck. Other than my worn clothes and a couple torn duffel bags, the only other supplies I wanted to keep were my laundry hamper and my meager amount of pantry goods and frozen dinners.
My newly furnished apartment had everything else. It was almost depressing, seeing how little I owned, and even most of that was given to me from the halfway house or Goodwill.
Hudson never said a word and he never once acted like me having barely enough belongings to fill the back seat of a sedan, much less the bed of a pickup, was anything worth being embarrassed about.
It took three trips to get everything out of the truck and once it was done, he gave me the keys, the security code, and left me to unpack.
I hadn’t seen him in the few days since.
Saturday night, I cooked a meal in a kitchen that had more than three feet of countertop space and went to bed on a mattress without lumps for the first time in seven years. And it was a queen-sized bed. I hadn’t had that much room in a bed inyears.
He’d handed me a gift, and while I didn’t fully trust there weren’t strings attached that would someday be pulled so harshly they would swipe me off my feet, I was trying to ignore it. To see the good in all of this.
I had a safe home to live. A respectable home. I was near graduating with my two-year degree and had an opportunity to be respected among people who not only knew my past, but weren’t turned away by it.
It gave me hope others, someday, might understand.
I was so excited I went and bought a disposable camera, took a full roll of pictures, had them developed and sent them off yesterday along with one letter to my parents, even knowing the effort was futile. Unable to throw them away, they were now tucked in a shoebox in my massive closet. My clothes only filled twenty percent of it.
I had no doubt this one would be returned as well, but for some stupid reason, I couldn’t stop trying. I wanted them to know I was well even if they’d been the ones to rip all my goodness away.
The other letter went to Candace. She’d smile at the pictures, grumble about how no man could be trusted when she read my explanation of how I came into it. I most likely wouldn’t hear back from her either, but I was okay with that.
“Was I supposed to talk to you before? Before I moved, I mean. It all happened so suddenly.” As my parole officer, I had to follow her rules and one of those required a home check-in any place I lived. I’d totally forgotten to call her after the attack and everything else happened in the blink of a few days.
“Yes, but it was within twenty-four hours, I’ll let it slide. Anything else I need to know about?”
She eyed me curiously. Who could blame her? There was no way under normal circumstances I could afford a home like this, and when we met for dinner, just over two weeks ago, I’d made no mention of this move. Not that I’d known about it then.
Everything. I suspected everything I’d come to expect was changing. My guess? Ellen knew it too.
