Twisted Devotion

4

When I reach my building, I bypass the front door with its key-card entry. Instead I head into the alley beside my loft apartment and climb the fire escape. These are the kind that slant at a steep angle, more like skinny stairs than a ladder.

Sure enough, a matted bundle of blonde-brown fur wriggles on the second-floor landing.

"Hey, Lupo," I murmur, keeping my voice soft and my movements slow.

He backs up until he's at the corner of the bars, his small body trembling with anxiety. We've done this dance for weeks now, but he still doesn't trust me to get close.

I think he belonged to whoever used to live here. Either that or he just likes to climb. The first time I caught a glimpse of shaggy fur, I opened the window and he raced down the stairs.

After that I started leaving scraps in a bowl outside the window. Only when I come up through the stairs do we even get this close.

Sometimes I imagine snatching him up into my arm and bundling him inside. I could brush the knots out of his fur and feed him from my hand.

Then I worry that startling him will set us back. Will he still trust me if I keep him trapped inside? So for the time being I'm content to coax him gently, to show him I won't hurt him, night after night.

Whispering sweet nothings, I push the window up from the outside and pull out the food I left there this morning.
Slowly, slowly I scoot the bowl to his side of the landing.

"Aren't you a pretty one," I croon as he sniffs at the food, then begins to eat. "Aren't you sweet."

I remain like that, crouched on the metal grate, watching as he downs the whole meal. Only then do I step in through the window. As soon as I'm inside, no longer blocking the stairway, Lupo rattles the steps on his way down.

"Good night," I whisper into the damp night air.

The only response is the tinny sound of a trash can knocked aside. With a sigh, I pull the bowl in and shut the window. On impulse I turn back and push the window open again. My sister would freak if she knew I was doing this, but Lupo might come back while I'm sleeping. He might be curious enough to peek his nose inside if he knows it's safe.

I drop the empty bowl in the sink and grab an orange from the counter for a late-night snack. Settling into the drawing table that I use for both my art and my schoolwork, I toss the peel into the trash can and set the split pieces on the pencil ledge.

The loft is really a single room with thin hardwood slats set diagonally on the floor and a high, peaked ceiling. A small kitchen frames one corner, the door to a small bathroom in the other. The open window splits the space between a twin bed and nightstand and a lounge my sister found at an estate sale. The drawing table and small wardrobe for my clothes round out the rest of the space.

It's an ordinary apartment in this part of City, except for the paint. I've covered almost every surface I can find. My landlord agreed that I could paint the walls as long as I paint them back before I move out. He probably thought I meant a soft beige or maybe a trendy sky blue.

Instead there's a patchwork quilt on one side and a mountain vista on the other. The starry night surrounding the window and a gothic Rapunzel on the other side. Not even the furniture escapes my brush. The squat wooden legs of the chaise are fashioned into chess pieces. Thorny vines wrap around the tall spindly legs of the drawing table.

Heavy sketch paper sits on top of the table, waiting for me to draw. Except I don't want to see Taehyung's face again, not like earlier.

I'm haunted by his ghost, but he isn't around me. He's inside me.