London Fog | school hiatus

Ch. 2

The house was wonderful. It was bigger than any flat or apartment I’d looked at online, with two and a half bathrooms and three bedrooms. The kitchen counters were dark granite and red walls. I had always wanted a red kitchen. The entire downstairs had beautiful laminate flooring, and since I had bought the house furnished, there were area rugs with plush colors in every room. The bar from the kitchen looked into the dining area, which flowed nicely into a living room. Up the stairs were the bedrooms. The half bath was down stairs, so I assumed each bedroom had a full bathroom. A little exploring proved me right. I chose the smaller of the two bedrooms, wanting my roommate to be comfortable. The landing upstairs stretched into a fork, with the spare bedroom in the middle, mine on the right and the largest bedroom on the left. The bedroom I had picked out was a light blue that made me feel like a bird lost in the air, suffocating on the beautiful color. So blue. The room was also carpeted with white, fuzzy carpet. I felt really good under my socked feet. I explored my bathroom, trying to figure out the shower before I needed one. It had a window, albeit a small one, right above the toilet. The walls in the bathroom were white, pristine. The entire room looked so beautifully modern and minimalistic.

I was in the middle of unpacking my toiletries when I heard a knock on the door. I rushed down the stairs, eager to meet the person I was going to live with. I glanced out the peephole, beholding my roommate. She was short, like, actually short, not just shorter than I am. Like, 5’3”. She was also exceptionally beautiful. Don’t get me wrong, I am one-hundred percent straight, but wow. Talk about genetically perfect. Tan, clear skin, hazel eyes, shiny brown hair that was shorter than mine, but could still be classified as long. Cute clothes, too. I flung the door, open, greeting her with a small hello.

She pulled me into a hug upon seeing me. It was okay, though I usually hate people touching me and/or invading my personal space in any way. She flitted back away from me, sticking out a hand. “I’m Jennette,” she informed me in a voice that was as pretty as she was. English accents made everything better. “And you are?” she asked, waiting for my name.

“I’m Vic,” I smiled.

“No, you’re not Vic. Vic’s a guy.”

“Oh, crap. I guess I should have put Victoria in the ad...” I trailed. Instantly, her smile widened.

“It’s okay. Can you help me with my things?”

I agreed and walked out to the cab she had taken here. I took two of her suitcases (Louis Vuitton, holy crap.) up to her room and placed them on the bed. I was going to go haul more, but she stopped me, saying that was it for now. I didn’t know what she meant by ‘for now,’ but I didn’t mind either.

“So, you’re a writer? Have I read your book?” she asked.

“Um, well, have you read ‘Manic?’” I countered.

She nodded and then proceeded to tell me how much she loved my characters and how great the book was. “Well,” she said, “I’m going to go shower. Talk to you when I get done.”

I nodded, following her up the stairs and then going into my room and resuming unpacking. A while later, I heard the water turn off in Jennette’s room and soon she walked into the hallway, lightly tapping on my door frame.

“Hey, Jennette, what’s up?” I asked, aware of a sly smile on her lips.

“Call me Jen,” she requested. “So, do you get out much?”

“Um.” I thought about saying yes, but looking back at the last four years of my life, I said, “No, actually.”

She nodded. “Hmm. There’s a party tonight, if you want to go, you know, meet some people. Possibly find a man.”