POV: Justin
No matter how much I toss and turn, I don't sleep at all that night. The noises above my ceiling never stop, scurrying all over the attic and knocking over boxes. After the fourth thump I tear off my blankets and switch on the lamp.
What the hell was going on in the attic? Nothing was there but it sure felt like it. I have no idea why the dresser was so bizarre. I get that it was old, but for it to suddenly get jammed like that, and so hard-- it makes no sense.
My hand stings again at the memory and I grimace, looking down at the purpling ridges across my fingers. I'd put some cold water on them to take down the swelling but they still throb, so I bury my fist in the soft throw to soothe it. How did that get up there, by the way? I know it was down in the den when I went to bed last night, because it got stuck in the recliner. The rips prove that. And I never went into the attic because I didn't have a light and it was late. So how...how did it end up there?
With a grunt, I slide off my bed and head into the bathroom to bandage my hand and splash some cold water on my face. If I'm not going to sleep I might as well be fully awake. It's not like I'm going to have work tomorrow-- oh god, I was fired this morning. That was this morning.
I really look like crap, I notice, catching a glance of the frazzled, bone-weary man staring at me before opening the cabinet. Opening the bandage, I turn back to mulling over the issues of the night.
The only rational explanation is that someone took the throw up there. Taking that theory a step further, that same someone changed my sheets, drank my chocolate milk, and stomped on my nightlight. But why. And no one was there! I combed over the whole space, it's not like it was a large attic.
There's something else, Justin, my brain prods uninvited, You're going over everything you didn't find but ignoring what you did.
Because looking through even more of Kaylee's old stuff on the one year anniversary I lost her isn't relevant to figuring out who this mystery blanket stealer is.
My hand all bandaged up, I check my phone. There's one new voicemail from a private number. I swipe up and listen:
Hello, Justin, this is Dr. Neferstain. I got your voicemail. I'm sorry to hear about your job and I'm fine to put a hold on our sessions if that's what you want to do. However I am a bit concerned stopping right before the anniversary of the trauma that brought you into therapy. Typically the first year is the hardest and will bring up a lot of painful memories... I just want to make sure you have someone you can reach out to if things get too rough. If necessary we can find a temporary sliding scale for your needs.
Even if you would still like to take a break for financial reasons, please don't hesitate to call me if you're feeling overwhelmed. On a practical note, call me back when you can just to confirm some of the details for paperwork. Take care.
The phone hums into silence and I stare blankly at the transcripted message for several seconds. Maybe I should try to get some more sleep.
Before I can climb up the stairs the doorbell rings. Crap.
I open the front door as slowly as civility allows. "Oh hello, Macie."
"Justin! Are you quite alright? You look dreadful."
"I'm alright ma'am." I tuck my bandaged hand behind the door. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Oh I just wanted to check on you. You never returned my call the other day and I wanted to know if something had happened to you."
"Call?" I stare at her for a solid five seconds.
"About the rent? Over the weekend?"
"Oh yeah! That phonecall!" Why it took me that long to remember something that happened less than 48 hours ago is really disturbing but I won't focus on that.
"Yeah, that one. You didn't forget, right?"
"Nooo, no ma'am, definitely not. This weekend, 65$." I shake my head vigorously, stifling a yawn and the spike of panic sticking through my chest. Now is not the time to tell my landlady that I'm unemployed.
"Okay, good, good. Oh, you said something about the attic giving you trouble, so I thought I should see if you needed--"
"I wanted to ask you about that, Macie. You haven't seen anyone going into or leaving my apartment, have you?"
The Landlady looked at me like I had asked if she snorted crack.
"You live in a duplex, Justin, and your neighbors are a bit more social than you. Why do you ask? Have you been robbed? Is the apartment vandalized? Do you need to file a report?"
"No, no, it's fine. I just was wondering cuz I thought..."
That a throw blanket teleported into the attic and an rickety dresser had it out for you. Sure that will sound reallll believable.
"You know what, ma'am, it's fine. Pest control just needs to come take a look at my attic."
She relaxes visibly at that. "Very well, that's no trouble at all. I'll let maintenance know and send someone by in the next day or two."
"Great!" Now I'll get to the bottom of what's going on with that room. "I think there's a mice problem or something, nothing serious."
"Well that would cost extra because pest control only covers insects, not rodents. I'd have to get someone who does that sort of thing."
"Wait, that won't be necessary Macie. I'll figure something out."
"If you really think you have mice of some sort, just go and set up some glue traps."
"Sure..."
"You sure you're doing well, Justin?"
Slamming my head into the doorframe would probably make her suspicious, so I just give a tight grin. "Yes, ma'am I'm A-OK. Rent's this weekend, it's up sixty-five dollars, and get mousetraps."
Macie smiles and nods briskly. "Very good, I'm glad we got all that settled. Do let me know if you have any issues with the payments or if you need to file any reports with the attic, alright? You have a good day."
"Yeah, goodbye, have a good one."
I close the door and double lock it as soon as she steps away from the entrance. Out of instinct I glance down at my phone, and see the voicemail from my therapist still open.
Slowly, with deliberation, I swipe my finger across the screen, deleting her message.
I'll call her tomorrow, or the day after.
But when the day after comes, I don't call. The heat's been cutting in and out, I've been hearing random footsteps all over the apartment and the chocolate milk has gone missing. The first two things I could maybe attribute to my duplex neighbors but there's no way they took the milk. I asked them and they denied it; apparently they're lactose intolerant. They didn't move any throw blankets either. Before I could even ask if they knew anything about the dresser in the attic they closed the door in my face, so they probably don't have any information.
Two days of fruitless job hunting leave me more stressed and jangled than ever. With rent going up over the weekend, I really can't afford to be unemployed.
I bury my head in my hands.
And I start to google.
how to apply for roomates
I have no idea how to do this. How do you get a roomate if you don't have any friends who live near you?
Or you don't have any friends at all.
I roll my eyes and take another gulp of alcohol to fortify myself.
"It's late, Justin. I forgot you have exams, you don't have to come along."
God, I really need to sleep if I'm getting auditory flashbacks. Focus on doing the research, not the memories.
find a roomate sites
"I'm just going shopping and swinging by McDonald's. It's no biggie but it'd be fun."
where do you get a roomate
"You're so dull sometimes, you know that?" Her tinkling laugh echoes in my ears, "You need to get out more and buy stuff, dork."
My fingers start typing faster, my mouse clicks get more aggressive. All of the sites are confusing jargon or closed threads or for universities nowhere near me.
where do you get a roomate not craigslist
how do you roomate not a student
roomate application sites
"C'mon Justin! You never know which day could be your last!"
"Damn it!" I slam my hands down on the keyboard and shove my chair away from the table. When I reach for the beer can my hand is shaking. Crap.
Kaylee's in the past. I have to move on.
But how are you supposed to do that when it's your fault she's not here? That's just plain selfish.
It's not selfish to try and rebuild my life, is it? I don't have a choice. The world goes on without us.
After a couple minutes I drag my chair back to the computer. I'm scrolling through roommate reddit threads and facebook groups for people looking for joined housing (I'm desperate), when a potential person catches my eye. He's in the same state, a couple hours from my area, just graduated college, keeps to himself, and even has references who can vouch for him being a responsible roommate. Might be a little overkill but he's exactly what I need right now. Maybe I can find him another place once I get a good enough job, like a factory job or an overnight shift at a warehouse or something.
I find his contact info and send him a quick message. "Quick" means that I reread the email out loud three separate times and rewrote it four times. I'm not paranoid, I'm simply making sure everything is clear and concise, and that I don't sound like a creep.
"Okay, that's good," I mutter after twenty minutes have passed, "Let's get this ball rolling."
I go to click send.
And the power cuts out.