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4928 Words
The sound of remorseless strike of thunder disintegrated my dream bubbles the second I jolted awake. The involuntary jerk caused my bag of chips to splatter against the fur rug. The reflection of vivid, opaque lightning flashed against the walls of my dark room with the sound of people speaking indistinctly that was coming from the television that hung on the wallpapered concrete.  “Ah s**t, my Doritos.” I cursed after getting a glimpse of the mess I made on the rug at the second flash of nimble lightning. Rolling my eyes, I reached for the remote on my side table to turn off the TV, why the heck was Suits playing on my TV screen? Slamming the remote back on the side oak table, I sighed tiredly. Rain pelted heavily against the mullioned windows of my room as I pushed my thick covers away from my legs, shivering at the sudden drop of temperature. After fumbling aimlessly for a bit, I pulled an oversized knitted sweater over my head and shuffled down the staircase listlessly. I reached for the wine bottle over the counter instantaneously as if it was the most natural thing to do and sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island while pouring the red liquid lazily into the glass I used hours ago. Small flecks of redness bounced and stayed against the top of the glass. Satisfied with the amount, I dropped the now empty uncorked amber bottle on the counter, swirling my glass around as I stared at the Italian red liquid moving like a tornado in slow motion.  Leaning my head to the side—feeling it heavier than usual, I stared mindlessly at the floor to ceiling windows across my bigger-than-usual loft. Unwelcome flashbacks seemed to take up my vision and I remember holding my graduation scroll after completing law school, fighting my first case ever and winning it, saving up just enough to get my new place and a car followed by many dinners and social events, flashes of camera in my face... And now, look at me. I chewed my bottom lip, suppressing an incoming faint, inarticulate whimper that I could no longer hold—I burst into silent, exasperated tears. I was ugly crying, sniffling, and sobbing uncontrollably. I covered my mouth, forcing myself to dial my emotions down a notch lower but to no avail really. I am an attorney by profession, well, sorry, was—a really famous one in actual fact. But, I quit. Looking back at it, life has been rough for the last two years ever since I threw in my letter of resignation that I reconsidered many, many times. I was pretty much draining my bank account slowly but surely and I spent money as quickly as I got it. I looked around at the very first living space that I bought and paid with cash, my crying came to a gradual halt as I grabbed my wine glass from the counter, taking in small, pathetic steps as I walked into the lounge area. I stopped at a particular piece of furniture and smoothed my cold fingertips across the delicately carved wooden vase. I breathed in, ever so silently. The tears subsided and I was filled anger, then guilt as I gripped the neck of the vase hard, my fingers, my arm and even my entire being shaking uncontrollably as I swallowed a lungful of the fermented liquid, relishing in the bitter yet sweet aftertaste on my tongue. What I am doing, really? How did a famous attorney like me end up in such a washed up, pathetic state? The sound of the doorbell echoed through my place caused the ringing in my ears to dissipate. I snapped out of my daze, my lips slightly parted as I shifted my attention towards the door, took a quick glance at the clock that hung against the wall, then back at the door again. It was 3:50 in the morning, who the hell could it be? Did I order post mates in my sleep again?   The doorbell rang again. My pace towards the door was restless but quiet, the only company I had was the wine glass in hand. I closed an eye, the other looking into the peephole. There was a man in a white dress shirt half tucked in and half out of his slacks, his dark brown hair dishevelled and was dripping wet—literally drenched from head to toe. He looked tired and worn out but underneath all that, he was a really, really attractive man.  He proceeded to knock against the door once he realized merely ringing the bell wasn’t going to work (especially when the owner of this place pathetically ogled at you from the other side of the door). His sudden gesture caused me to jump a little in surprise, spilling some red liquid on my sweater. “Ah s**t!” I cursed silently. “I can literally hear you, will you please let me in? It’s freezing out here.” “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked through the door.  “Uhm, you put up a poster searching for a roommate, didn’t you?” he asked. He now looked directly into the peephole, knowing full well that I was on the other side of this little, glass protected crevice. His eyes were tired and had a hint of amusement in them as he continued watching me. I blinked, trying to remember what poster exactly had I put up. Damn all the wine I took, it was starting to haze my memory as well. “Will you let me in once you’re done eye r****g me through the peephole?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, revealing his perfectly angled jawline. “No I wasn’t!” I squeaked then clamped my mouth. In denial and a p*****t were two things I would probably describe myself as of right now. “I was kidding.” He said offhandedly. “But I’m most certainly not kidding about the weather, it’s really cold out here.” He tugged at the sleeves of his dress shirt down his exposed arms to prove a point. I unlocked the door and a couple of beeps of the main door went off.  “Did you run away from a gun fight or something?” I suggested anxiously as I saw got a closer look at his sleeves. I gasped. “Are you a wanted criminal or something?” “What? No.” he preposterously snorted as he kicked off his shoes and placed them neatly by the door. “I was sort of sceptical about the place to be honest because you did not put up any photos, only an address, a rough description of the place and a phone number.” He remarked. “But I wasn’t about to call someone at 4 in the morning.” He added dully. A part of my brain was trying to process every word he had just said to me in the midst of the chaotic weather that was going on outside of the building and can be heard through the balcony. I think I stood there with the male stranger for a good two minute before he cleared his throat, wondering if he’s the one that’s about to get murdered instead of the other way around. He was, after all, with a stranger with probably bird nest hair (oh lord I had completely forgotten to fix how I looked), tired, hollow eyes and a tear stained face with a faint stain of red liquor on her sweatshirt, wait, was I wearing any pants? Uh oh. “What am I doing? Letting strangers into my house at this hour of the day.” I mumbled to myself and once again, the sky rumbled in the distant, snapping me out of a daze. “Oh, thank you.” He said eagerly as he took the wine glass from my hand and chugged whatever’s left in it. “Do you have anything to eat?” he asked as he looked around from the door, taking in the layout of the house. “Just instant noodles.” I answered mindlessly but made sure to keep a good distance from him for whatever reason. “Nice, do you mind if I..?” he asked, pointing towards the cupboards. I look towards where he pointed as he ventured further into the kitchen. I slammed the door shut behind and winced lightly at the weird encounter that happened in front of my loft. “Uh yes, sure.” I struggled for words as he flashed me a small smile before it disappeared again. “What is it that you do again?” I asked, finally reaching for the light switches on the wall. The dark, gloomy living space suddenly roared to life once again and he too, looked up in surprise as if he didn’t notice the lights weren’t switched on from before. “Office job mostly.” he answered. “That’s very brief.” I said, stuffing my hands deeper into my knitted sleeves as I took slow, tentative steps into my own kitchen. “I didn’t know you needed a resume for your new roommate.” “I d-didn’t, I mean I, no, I d-don’t need one.” I stuttered so bad I wanted to dig a hole in my sofa and bury my head right there and then. So I cleared my throat and was willing to pull myself together. “So long as you can pay your share of the rent and not a wanted criminal.” I said composedly. “I can assure you that I’m not a criminal and yes I can pay rent as well. But if you were to ask me, I think the amount for rent you stated in the poster is a little too low for this place with a view like that, even if you actually own this unit.” He pointed his thumb towards the large balcony doors that were ajar, the curtains swayed from side to side languidly. Outside, the magnificent view of still-dark city sat still with the occasional pulsing lights from all around.  “I do own this unit.” Not sure why I even had to clarify that with a stranger. “In that case, I guess I could increase it a bit?” I raised my brow, folding my arms as I wondered who the heck would offer to pay more than stated?  Someone with a fat bank account, that’s who. He nodded in agreement as he looked around for a pot and filled it with tap water—this man moved around so easily as if he knew his way around and has been living here for some time. “You look really tired.” I blurted, after noticing him at the door. “Do you want to take a shower first or freshen up?” “I could say the same about yourself.” He countered my words but did not sound the least bit rude. “You look like you fell out of bed, crying buckets over something.” He said, pressing the buttons on the electric stove, frowning as he figured out which button was which. “How’d you know?” I asked casually as I moved over to where he stood and tapped on the right button for him. “Wild guess.” He shrugged as he placed both his hands on either side of the stove as he turned his head to the side to get a good look at me. “So what do you do?” he asked. His eyes were staring directly at mine and for some reason, I did not waver at his gaze. Those warm, gentle orbs encouraged me to give him an answer. “Attorney.” I answered without thinking. “Well, I was an attorney.” I corrected myself as quickly as I could. Damn it, no one needs to know you were an attorney. “Was huh.” He said thoughtfully. “So why do you need a roommate? Don’t attorneys earn a truck load?” he raised a brow, genuinely curious and for some reason I felt compelled to tell him the truth. Well if he was going to be living with me for some time… and I knew he was because he’s already made himself comfortable in my living space. “Not this one.” I admitted, looking a little sheepish. “I don’t work at the firm anymore, at least not for the last two years.” I said and he nodded in understanding. “Thank you for telling me.” I fought the urge to raise a brow at this man, he was surprising me bit by bit with the way he carried himself and the way he spoke. “Do you want me to soak it clean?” I asked, gesturing towards his dress shirt with blood stains on it. He snapped out of his stance, removing his palms from the stove as he observed his sleeves and pursed his lips. “Could you really?” he asked, sounding hopeful as if it were his favourite shirt or something. But then again, a person who asked for a higher rent could probably afford ten more of these. “I hope it washes off though, I kind of like this shirt.” He said as he began to pop the top buttons of his dress shirt without giving much thought. My eyes widened as I got a peek of his chest as he proceeded to unbutton the rest. I opened and closed my mouth in awkwardness and quickly turned on the balls of my feet, pretending to dust invisible dust bunnies off the kitchen counter. “Here, if you don’t mind.” He said, fighting to hide the hint of amusement in his voice. “Uh, yeah sure.” I craned my neck just for a tiny bit and as soon as I caught sight of the white fabric, I took it and tried to remember the way to the laundry area. “I’ll be right back.” I announced. “And I’ll be right here.” He answered. Alright two things. One, that man just stripped in front of me as if we knew each other for a long time and felt comfortable enough to do so and two, did I just offer to do a man’s laundry? Was this a service I offered to whoever was renting at my place? Oh god, what has gotten into me?    I poured some soap powder into an empty clean bucket and turned on the tap while I waited for the bucket to fill up. The scent of his cologne lingered on his semi dry shirt, it smelled woodsy and expensive— just the way I liked it. It smelled nice, just the way I liked it. Ok, now who was the p*****t? I straightened the sleeves so that it would be soaked thoroughly, rubbed some stain remover on the sleeves and left it to soak overnight. Once I was done, I switched off the lights in the laundry room and made my way back into the kitchen. “Come sit, I made noodles for you too.” He says as he placed a second bowl of steaming hot soup on the counter next to an existing bowl that I guess was for him. Yeah, my noodles. I realized he was wearing another white t-shirt now.  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve helped myself to your drawers, I’ve not eaten anything since this morning and I’m starving.” I shook my head when I realized I didn’t mind it a bit at all. “That’s alright, really.” I said earnestly and he offered me a grateful smile as he handed me a fork and spoon, taking a seat on the stool next to me. “How are the sleeping arrangements like?” he asked, mixing his chicken noodle soup with his fork, letting the steam out from the mixture.  “I sleep alone.” I answered almost too quickly but then, it was at this moment, I wanted to just melt into thin air. His hand froze when he was about to take the first bite of noodles. “I know that,” his lips curled into a smirk at my stupid response and I turned to the side and winced, probably cursed in silence. “I was asking where do I sleep now that I decide to stay here…with you.” He said, taking a quiet sip of his soup. Whoa whoa, hold up, did I say you can stay here already? At the same time, I felt my face burn with embarrassment when he felt the need to clarify himself because I wasn’t adept in that department of common sense.  I mentally slapped myself, squeezing my eyes shut as I heard a chuckle coming from him. “I’m sorry, it's 4 in the morning and my brain isn’t functioning like it used to.” I defended myself.  “Used to? He echoed.  “You know what I mean.” I squeaked. He stared at me for a bit, trying to decide if he was actually renting out a room at the asylum or a loft so I continued. “I have a spare room just down the hall—there’s a bed, wardrobe, desk and everything you need and also, you’re more than welcome to use my study upstairs. Although we do have to share a shower temporarily because the one down here is yet to be repaired.” I realized how wrong it came out and I looked down, wincing yet again “Wait, I don’t literally mean share a shower like shower together, I meant…” “You really don’t have to explain yourself although I’m positive that you’re quite an amusing woman.” He said gingerly. “It’s 4 in the morning, even though I admit, my brain isn’t exactly processing my thoughts. It’s alright, I’ll pretend I never heard that. But if you’d like, I could fix it for you.” He offered. “Thank you for that but you don’t have to trouble yourself, I’ve already called a plumber.” I now curled my noodles around my fork and stuffed it into my mouth and moaned silently in appreciation. I did not even realize I was actually starving. After all, I only had half a bag of Doritos and wine as dinner. We ate in silence, listening to the heavy and tempestuous rain shower outside and wind howling ceaselessly through the balcony doors. I realised I’ve not eaten quite a meal like this at this hour and with someone, especially with a stranger that I’ve just met less than an hour ago. Surprisingly, it was pleasant and comfortable—it was as if I knew this stranger my whole life to be completely fine to dine in silence. “So, what do I call you by?” he asked, placing his utensils down. I poured us both a glass of water from the jug that sat at the corner of the counter. “My name is Rosie, and you?” I asked. “Jacob.” He smiled, extending a hand and I took it without giving much thought. His grip was firm and genuine. Someone said to me once, if there’s one way to tell of a person’s character, it is through their handshake, be it firm or gentle or even unsure… Jacob’s handshake was a firm one. “It’s getting late, don’t you need to get to work tomorrow?” I asked, bold of me to assume that he does have to actually but also, it was the weekend already. “It’s a weekend tomorrow Rosie, I’m not much of a workaholic. Besides, I did just get back from work.” He scrunched his nose a little. “What?” I fought the screaming urge to ask ‘this late?’ “What job is it that you did again?” I asked, still unconvinced that an office job could get you a bloody sleeve like it’s the most normal thing ever.  “Office job, literally. I’m a workaholic and sometimes I do OT’s as well.” “You’re really vague about what you do...” I trailed. “Are you perhaps…embarrassed of your job?” I raised a brow. Wow look who’s being inquisitive now? He shook his head and he almost looked proud. “Never.” He clasped his hands together, speaking confidently. Seeing I was about to ask for, he interjected. “But I think that’s a topic for tomorrow, it’ll give me a chance to get to know you better, Rosie.” I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. I nodded in agreement and I stood up from my seat. “Do you mind showing me to my room? I’m actually really tired, having worked 18 hours straight and I’m in dire need to rest my eyes.” He said as he placed both our bowls into the sink. Eighteen hours straight? He was definitely a workaholic, this one.  “Uhm, yes sure.” I said, currently finding it hard on what to say to him because almost every sentence that came out of his mouth left me speechless in almost every way possible. “Leave the dishes, I’ll wash them later.” I pushed the stools back into the compartments neatly and I looked up, silently watching his back muscles move through his white s**t—it reminded me of the waves that moved with the ocean, drawing in and moving out after. I sighed quietly, seemingly quite content with my view as of now. “Its’ fine, I got it.” He turned his head real quick to look at me, a small self-satisfied smirk crept its way to his lips. Busted. “That’s all you brought?” I raised a brow, awkwardly turning my head in an attempt to divert my wandering eyes as I gestured at the luggage he had placed near the door.   “Yeah, I prefer travelling light.” He dried his hands with a towel and walked over to where I stood. “Travelling? Are you perhaps not from here?” I asked curiously as I led my new roommate to his room down the hallway. “I just moved from San Francisco, got transferred to here in DC recently for work related stuff, it’s my third day here being in this city.” He said as he placed his two luggages on the floor when I flicked the switch of the guest room. “Not too shabby.” He looked around, rubbing his palms together either for warmth or looking real pleased.  I take pride in my decoration skills alright. The large painting was probably my favourite one yet in this room, it’s an oil painting of Niagara falls where the painting of the water seemed to be falling endlessly over the subterranean channels. “My room is right above those stairs you saw earlier, if you need anything.” “Thank you, I’m all good now, also that’s the shower right?” he asked as he stood by the door, pointing towards the end of the hallway. “Yeah, but I’m afraid you’ve got to use mine for now.” Trying to forget about the part where I had asked him to share a shower with me but in reality, it sounded like I was asking to shower together.  “Got it, I’ll figure the rest of the layout myself.” “Well, goodnight.” I said, taking one last look at the painting before turning around to leave.  “Goodnight Rosie.” *** I used to get up at six in the morning when I was still working, hustling, earning my keep. Somehow, I still maintained that habit of waking up early and then going for an early morning jog or using my treadmill at home if the weather was cold out. Slamming the ‘stop’ button of the treadmill, I slowed my pace, heaving oxygen into my lungs hungrily as I placed both my hands on the holder for support until the running belt came to a halt. Now that I was all cooled down, I smelled something good that was coming from within the kitchen. I pulled out my wireless earbuds as I got down from the treadmill with legs still feeling slightly wobbly and walked into the kitchen. There, my roommate was flipping eggs on a non-stick frying pan (what? I pride myself in using kitchen utensils of quality) with one hand and the other held a book looking completely immersed in it. He had reading glasses on and he looked absolutely, am I allowed to say gorgeous to describe a stranger that I just met? “Good morning.” I breathed as I dabbed my face with a towel. “Good morning Rosie, I hope you don’t mind, I used the last of your ingredients I found in the fridge for breakfast since I didn’t bring any.” “It’s fine, I was going to do a little grocery shopping later.” What. A. Lie. “Sure, I’ll come with. Would you be okay if we shared out our grocery buys? It’s easier that way.” Still looking a little dazed at the sight of him in pajamas , I all but nodded, taking a seat. “That sounds good.” “Come sit, I’ve made eggs and butter on toast, and of course, coffee.” He shut his book and placed it down on the table. I took a glance at the book he was reading earlier, ‘Another Day in the Frontal Lobe” A Brain Surgeon exposes his life on the inside’. I didn’t get a glimpse of the author because he was dishing out eggs onto the empty plate in front of me. “Is this good?” I asked, flipping the book around, studying the summary of it, wondering as to why he was reading a book about Neurosurgery. This was complicated stuff, the terms and facts that sprawled in the contents of the page that he bookmarked with a dog ear. “I just started reading this one actually, but yes, so far, it is good stuff. Do you like reading too?” “Oh, plenty. Being an attorney previously meant reading AND memorizing many, many books.” “What are you reading now?” “The Talented Mr. Ripley.” I said airily.  “That psychological thriller book that messes with your head? I’ve read that one. I suppose if Ripley’s friend Dickie didn’t allow Marge’s insinuation about Ripley getting to him, if they were good enough friends, I suppose things would not have turned out to be as messed up as it seemed.” I smiled involuntarily, “But then again, how would you feel if you had someone as close to you imitating you, sharing in the personal life you’re leading and wanting very much to be exactly like you?” I asked.  “Admiration and obsession can be two very different things if one isn’t clear of their own intentions.” He agreed “Very well said, but that self-realization eventually cost Dickie to meet death sooner than expected.” “Well, say if he was smart enough, Rosie, the story would be taking a very different turn, wouldn’t it?” Jacob asked and I nodded in agreement. He then chuckled, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but I find women who read and are able to argue about her thoughts and opinions about a book are rather sexy.” He shrugged, dishing out the eggs and toast on a clean plate for me.  I opened my mouth and closed it after realizing he had just called me sexy. “Well then, there you go, we might actually have something in common already.” I said unabashedly. Confidence seemed to flow when I was speaking to him, although I can’t quite put a finger on it as to why it is so. “It seems so.” 
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