❝The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you.
You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.❞
—Bob Marley
▬▬▬▬▬▬
✋SALMA✋
HOURS BEFORE THE CRASH
When I drove up to my new home at the crack of dawn, I was given the option to take one of the bedrooms upstairs or claim the basement level. It wasn't like the basement in the house I grew up in. There wasn't brick exposure on the walls, it wasn't one large space, but rather a full level with sectioned off portions, and despite the occasional sound of the washing machine in use upstairs, it was rather quiet.
The curving stairway led into a small living room. A flat screen was propped on the wall, right before two recliners and a metal coffee table. At the bottom of the stairs, that was where the restroom was. Once inside, a mirror sliding door led into a small pocket of storage room. Pipes lined the walls. Extra bedsheets and a spare bed were the only things left. The shelves were mostly empty beyond that.
There were two ways to get to the bedroom, through the small passage way in the bathroom, or by walking past the sitting area and mini, compact kitchen. Two white doors closed off the bedroom. Inside the room, there were similar mirror door toward the back, went back to the storage room that took me right to the bathroom. Since I was the first from the new batch of roommates to make my pick, I was essentially granted my own apartment. I couldn't stop smiling, looking at how much space I was getting.
"There's no air condition down here." Scott told me. "There is a heater I have in the attic that you're more welcome to use once the winter comes along. And there's a fan in bedroom, but it doesn't go too fast."
"I'm fine with that." I dropped my suitcase on to the bed, unzipping it. "Thank you so much for accepting my application. I...I can't thank you enough honestly."
I leaped forward and gave him a hug.
"No, thank you for applying. I hope you get on well with the rest of the roomies." He grinned, pulling back from the hug. "I'm sure you've got lots of things to do and sleep to catch up on. I'll leave you to it."
✋✋✋
I introduced myself to Ziyan in the morning, catching him on the stairs. We hit it off rather quickly, comparing tattoos. He wasn't as inked up as Jaxon. Ziyan had small designs along his left arm and one on his leg of a snake wrapping its green scaly body on his limb. On the back of the snake, the word: ANXIETY was written in all caps, making me crack a smile when I read it.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he had asked, rubbing his thumb across the word right where my midriff top ended. A wave of heat shuttered into me at the contact.
I peered down, checking to spot on my skin he had just touched and the tattoo he was asking about. The black ink was partly hidden by my shirt, but I tugged it up to give him a better look.
"Hollowed." He read out loud.
The first letter was colored in, but the remainder of the word was only an outlining of the word, looking empty besides the filled in letters.
"Oh, that old thing," I muttered, dreading the feeling running through me like a river. I kind of regretted the tattoo. "It's stupid. You don't want to know."
"I've got a tattoo of a piece of toast. You're not talking to a deep thinker. I've got stupid tattoos, too. That, though," he pointed at my arm, "doesn't look like a stupid, pointless tattoo. There's a reason behind it. What is it?"
"You can't laugh."
"You're setting me up for failure." The corner of his mouth tilted. "I can't make such a promise. But I will promise to give you my honest opinion. I won't be too mean."
"Okay, fine," I sighed, "I got this when I turned eighteen, however, I got the idea when I was fourteen. I thought it was such a great idea that I knew I had to get it the day I became a legal adult. When I first got it, all of the letters were empty. None of them were filled in. And each time I do something significant in my life, I fill up one of the letters–making it bold. I plan to keep doing it until each letter is filled in."
"What in your life would be classified as significant?"
"Little milestones in my lifetime. Going to college for a business degree, opening up my own store, having kids, learning how to drive, getting married. Things like that." I said wishfully, staring at the ceiling of the kitchen. I dropped my gaze, settling it on Ziyan, who wasn't laughing to my surprise. "Once I've given all I can to the world and filled in each letter, I'll have nothing else to offer it."
"Which would make you hollowed," he concluded.
"Yes." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Because at that point, I would have given and gotten all I've wanted from the world, making me hollowed. I wouldn't have much left in me."
"You decided at fourteen that you'd be done with life after getting married?" he raised his brows. "Did you plan on dying at a young age? That's not many goals. If I were you, I'd pick a bigger word than hollowed. That's only eight goals for a lifetime. I'm out here trying to be the next Bill Gates and you're satisfied with being an average joe. Dream bigger, Salma."
"I told you it was a stupid tattoo."
"I didn't say it was stupid. I like the concept. I don't know anyone who has a tattoo like that. It's unique and creative." He admitted, walking his coffee mug to the counter, getting himself more coffee. I watched in absolutely silence while he added lots of creamer and way too much sugar.
"Are you drinking coffee or sugar milk?"
He smugly shot me a look over his shoulder. "I'm not a coffee drinker. I like tea. You guys don't have the tea I like."
"You mean like chai?"
"You see a South Asian guy and you instantly think I mean chai? As if I can't drink any other kind of tea?" he forced a fake gasp. "I like plain black tea the most, if you'd like to know. No spices and no milk. Shocking, right?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't m—"
"I was teasing you. Clearly," he chuckled and took his first sip of the overly sweetened cup of coffee. He cringed, "Ugh, it's still too bitter."
"I think Brenda went to the store. You should text her and ask if she can grab you some tea."
He coughed on his coffee. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Why is that? You already got in a fight with a roommate?" I guessed.
"No, there wasn't a fight."
"Then I don't get the problem."
"I'm the reason she ran off to the store." He went on to tell me the scene I missed this morning. I held back every impulse to laugh in his face. The way he painted the entire moment seemed like something out of a tv show. With being on the lower level, it was hard to hear what went on at the top floor.
"I'm not sure what I should do." He eased himself on to the counters, swinging his legs with his hands folded on his lap. "I don't know if I should go to her or—"
"No, don't. You said she wouldn't even open the door after running back into her bedroom. You need her to come to you. Just leave a note in her room, saying what you can about the situation. You don't want to start issues this early on. We all just got into the house. We're still getting to know each other. Better to squash it as fast as possible."
He bobbed his head with his lips glued to the rim of his cup. "True. I should. It was my fault anyway. I forgot to lock it. But I don't know where to start with a note."
"That I can't help you with. I'm not good with apologizes. But you should ask Scott. He's her closest friend. He'll know what to say and he's an English major." I suggested, but then a sensible thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. "Actually, you shouldn't. If she caught word that he wrote the letter for you I think that could make things worse. It would be best if you did it yourself."
He got off the countertop. "I'm horrible with my words."
"You're not writing a love letter. I'm not telling you to profess your infatuation to the girl. It's a simple apology. You can't screw that up. Don't make it too brief or too long."
"That doesn't help me at all, Salma." He tossed out the rest of his coffee, rinsing it out and hanging it up on the cup rack next to the sink. "Can you at least read it over with me, so I don't sound like a complete idiot?"
I had a mountain of stat homework waiting for me in the basement. I fell behind in my math class due to my time being poured into a huge project for my Biology 104 class. Disregarding all of that, I accepted to Ziyan's request to assist him with his note.
✋✋✋
That afternoon, we went through half a stack of Post-It notes, rewriting his sentences over and over again. Mostly because his hand writing was so terrible and he needed to write his words clearer. When he was content enough, he thanked me for reading all of the rejects, crumbled up all over his floor.
I got off of my feet when the sound of the front door opening grabbed at my attention. "I think that's her," I said, going for the door, but when I checked the foyer, I saw Scott helping a girl lug in luggage. She had to be the latest addition, Delilah Park. She would be rooming next door to Ziyan, taking the last available room in the house.
"Is it her?" he asked.
"No," I retorted, reentered his room. "The last roommate just made it here. That's great though. It means you have enough time to clean up this mess."
He crashed back into his chair. "Thank you. I'm sorry for dragging you into my own drama."
"It's ok. I'm happy to help whenever I can. I didn't have anything scheduled for today." I shrugged. "I do have to get to my school work, though."
"Of course. Don't let me hold you up any longer."
I waved goodbye, closing the door. I went down the steps, grinning at our new roommate. She was in the middle of a conversation with Scott. Moving to the side of the stairs, I waited for a chance to introduce myself, but she spoke to me the moment I walked past her.
"Hey," she chimed.
"Hi," I beamed, extending my hand to her and shaking it. "I'm Salma."
"I'm Delilah."
✋✋✋
I had no clue it was possible, but I got along far better with Delilah than I had with Ziyan in the morning. Through our talks, we learned that we gravitated to same bands and books. I showed her my collection of CDs and vinyl in the basement and she brought me up to her room, showcasing her wide selection of urban fantasy, murder mysteries, and romantic thrillers.
"You know," she began to say, shuffling through the boxes of music, "it's easier to download music. You should really enter the twenty-first century like the rest of us. It's pretty great."
I laughed. "I have songs on my iPhone, too, but there's just a different feeling of music when you listen to it on a vinyl that is incomparable. Look." I jumped off the edge of my bed and gaited to her, sprawled on the floor with her legs angled upward. "Pick a record and I'll spin it."
She took a second, skimming the names of titles and finally plucked one out of the pile. "Here. Play this one."
I flipped it around the white album, wincing once I realized it was The Cardigans: First Band On The Moon record. I thought I tossed it out weeks ago, days after Ryan broke my heart into two. I didn't buy this album. On our first date, he had taken me to one of the few stores in downtown Dallas that still sold vinyl's. I had grabbed it mostly because the band was one of my mother's favorites. I caught her whistling the melody of Lovefool throughout my childhood, while braiding my hair or cooking dinner.
The night he bought the record for me, we danced to the same exact song, giggling whenever he messed up and stepped on my feet, but loving every second of it either way. We were happy then. But now, all I could picture was burning this record. Burning it until it was nothing but a mountain of ash.
After breaking up with Ryan, everything that he gave me transformed in my eyes, appearing as though it was dipped in toxic waste—unappealing and totally undesirable. I wanted to forget him in all aspects. Even with physical objects, memories of him sprung up, pulling me into a moment of my life I preferred to never return to again and erased from my mind. Including that stupid, stupid song Lovefool. He had ruined things I loved before. I couldn't revisit the shows we watched together or play the songs I showed him without feeling some twinge of deep pain in my chest. No yet at least. Not at this point in my healing process.
"No, not that one." I rushed it back into her hands. "I don't play that anymore."
"Why?"
I grabbed it back from her and slid the record out of the packaging. "Someone who hurt me bought this for me. I don't like thinking about it, but if I hear one of the songs on there, I know I'll lose it."
She stood up, attempting to gently remove it out of my hands, but my hold on it was too tight. I relaxed, allowing her to remove it out of my death grip. "I'm not saying this to be nosy, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen. I know we hardly know each other at this time, but I know how much I wished for someone to simply listen to me during my sad times. Talking about it with my best friend Clive helped me get through it."
A single tear tumbled down my cheek. I quickly swiped it away. "Maybe some other day. Thank you for the offer, though. I don't want to toss my bullshit on to you."
"Oh, trust me, my life is full of bullshit. That's a story for another day, too. But I think you've gotta be really drunk before I tell you. You wouldn't be able to take it in any other way."
"Wow, now I'm intrigued. You can't leave me with just that."
"I'm a girl with many mysteries. You'll have to settle with that for now," she smirked. "You know what I can tell you though?"
She changed the topic to herself, talking about what she went through to get to this house. My heart went out for her, imagining the type of hell she endured as she described the torment she experienced in the sorority house. I suggested calling authorities, but she shrugged it off, uninterested. What shocked me, above all, was the encounters we both shared about Jaxon Miller. I wasn't stunned that he flirted with another girl, but rather who he picked. He was reckless to interact with someone he knew I'd eventually meet. A portion of me knew that he didn't mind so much that I'd find out. Jaxon came off as a player. Anyone with two eyes and a brain could see that.
"Speaking of the devil himself," I snorted, gazing at my phone. A new message appeared, coming from the guy we both were talking about.
"It's like he knew we were talking about him." She scanned the walls as if she was looking for cameras. "What is he saying?"
"He's telling me about an upcoming race tonight. He wants me to come."
"Race?"
"He illegally street races for money. I don't know if he told you that."
"He didn't, but I can definitely see. He drives like a super shopper on black Friday morning."
"I would've compared his driving skills to a maniac with an addiction to meth, but that works, too," I said, and we both laughed.
Seconds later, Delilah's phone buzzed as well. The emojis he used, the one with a wink, was exactly the same and so was the message. The only different was the time stamp. There was nothing original about his text. He copied and pasted it. I couldn't believe his boldness, knowing that both of us would be roommates soon. He had to know we would tell each other.
"I wonder how many other people he sent the same thing to," I mused, eying her phone.
"With fuckboys like him, probably a good dozen," Delilah supplied, clicking her phone to lock the screen. "I've been avoiding dicks like that my whole life. I get that he's cousins with Scott, but I really hope he doesn't swing by here much."
"He will." I groaned, digging my phone into my back pocket. "You can never shake off creeps like him. They're like leeches."
"I wish he'd stay away from me."
"Me too," I nodded, and in that instant, a seed was planted in my mind, sprouting out into a full idea. "I think I know what we can do to assure he does keep his distance."
✋✋✋
AFTER THE CRASH:
Delilah and I didn't stay very long on the tracks. It ended, faster than the last one I attended, because of the serious damage Jaxon and his car was in. I was too engulfed in my beer bottle, drinking until my face started to feel numb against the cool fall wind. Delilah saw it unfold and she grabbed at my arm when his Ford tumbled over, sliding out of the lanes and off the road. We both fled the scene the moments we heard the sirens approaching. Neither of us were able to pull the stunt we wanted to, which we planned to do at the end of the race.
Delilah called Scott on our drive home, alerting him of the bad news.
It wasn't until the next day that I was informed about my own bad news. I was getting a new roommate.
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i'm so excited to post the next chapter x)