Page 19 of Meeting Her Mate
“Like what, weed?”
“Nah, nah, my supplier’s kinda suspicious right now. I do have two bottles of Jack Daniels and some peach schnapps,” she said. “Oh, shit, the manager’s looking at me all freakily. See ya, girl. I’ll meet you at my place. Muah!”
When scientists discovered a perpetual motion machine, I’d tell them that they were too late. There was already a perfectly functional perpetual motion machine that never ran out of juice and was always full of zing and pep, and her name was Maliha. Her over-cheeriness kind of balanced out my usually sulky mood. As much as my heart was breaking, I was glad that I had someone I could turn to, gladder that it was someone like Maliha.
The town was dark, its streetlights dim and distant, barely illuminating the shadowy buildings along the road. The people moved like silhouettes, silent and stealthily. The shopkeepers were pulling down shutters in front of their shops, locking up their places of business, and heading back home.
I rolled my window down and welcomed the fresh, cool, salty air coming from the sea. As much as I tried to get the recent memory of Will’s bombardment on me out of my mind, it further intruded and prevented me from thinking any other thought.
His words stung like poison. The image of his wild eyes glaring into my soul as he uttered that vileness haunted me. Why did he have to do that in front of the entire pack and deprive me of all manner of respect?
A new thought came to me as I confronted these thoughts. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this was the push of finality I needed to finally ditch this town once and for all and leave everything behind. Yeah. This sealed the deal. He had rejected me, after all.
“But you can’t just up and leave with nothing to your name,” I said out loud.
Yep. I was right. I’d need some resources, a little bit of cash, some new clothes, and a game plan before I’d try to escape again. Last time I was being too hasty, too absolute. It was a little too now or never. Maybe this time, I would think with a cooler mind and make a plausible plan.
I’d driven beyond the suburbs, past downtown, and had come to a halt at the beachfront apartment complex where Maliha lived. I parked my car in the parking lot and got out, taking out my quickly packed belongings with me.
Luckily, much of Maliha’s wardrobe would fit me. My present bizarre fashion style was all due to Maliha, who herself dressed like a punk goth, inspired by characters of the showMr. Robot.The same show, she claimed, inspired her to become a hacker. I’d tried to watch a couple of episodes, but the show was too depressing for my taste to truly get into it.
But I liked how the characters dressed as background dancers in an early 2000s Avril Lavigne music video. That style resonated with me, the purple-streaked hair, the long leather boots reaching past my knees, and the fishnet stockings. It was a complete vibe. Although, now that I was in my late twenties, I sometimes kind of felt awkward in that particular getup.
I stared at the monolithic apartment complex and took a deep breath, knowing that the apartment’s elevator was busted and I’d have to climb all the way to the tenth floor through the stairs.
Here’s to your new life,I thought, and began my ascent.
***
After spending a week in Maliha’s crammed apartment that was ninety percent a digital haven and only ten percent inhabitable, I couldn’t take it anymore and got that studio apartment at the end of her hall. Maliha was pretty nice and extremely welcoming, but those long server towers in her living room emitted a level of heat that was simply unbearable for me. It did not help that every wall surface was completely covered with LED monitors connected to RGB desktops, making the whole place look like the inside of a disco ball.
“But we’ve had so much fun!” Maliha protested as I took my belongings and dragged them down the hall.
“Maliha, I love you and all, but only you could live in that sweltering temperature and consider it fun. I appreciate that you let me crash with you for as long as you did, but I gotta think about my survival here, girl. At least that studio apartment’s not two hundred degrees,” I said.
“Well, if you knew what these servers were for, you’d want to live with them all your life,” she said, making a pouty face and dry-knuckling her cheeks. “But hey, I can come visit your apartment. We can have crazy parties there. Slumber parties!”
“Slumber parties sound excellent,” I said. “Now help me move my crap.”
“You never told me why you had to leave your place. Weird choice, though, renting a place way outside of town in that commune. I think it’s about time that you moved into the city,” Maliha said as she lifted the single mattress I’d ordered from Amazon for my new place.
“Let’s just say that I’ve outgrown that place,” I said, not wanting to discuss that matter any further. It had been a quiet, peaceful week that I’d used to my advantage and detoxed myself of all thoughts of Will and what he had done. I did not want to get into it now.
“Well, you’re always welcome to come back to my place anytime, whether it’s a random pop-in or maybe you want to raid my fridge for some cheese,” Maliha said, straining under the weight of the mattress.
We reached the studio apartment after a minute of grunting and panting as we dragged my things. This was the first time I was seeing it from the inside.
Huh. As far as studio apartments went, this one was not bad at all. Ash white walls, faux wooden floor, and a giant window that overlooked the ocean. Not bad at all. But then there was the kitchenette directly facing the toilet. That was a bit troublesome, but considering that this was only a temporary measure until I’d get enough money to move out of Fiddler’s Green for good, I’d make it work.
“It’s not that small,” I said.
“It’s not that big, either,” Maliha said.
“It’s perfect for me,” I said, taking the mattress from Maliha and flinging it across the room. It fell right under the window.
“Whoa. That was a heavy mattress. How did you do that?” Maliha whistled.
“Um. Pilates?”