I coughed and the man slowly turned, stepping away. Flicker snapped her head towards me in surprise. The glare I was so familiar with immediately converted her pretty features into a nasty mask.
“What are you doing here?” she spat at me.
I schooled my features into the look of indifference I had perfected since moving in with her. “You’re scaring the other patrons, I suggest you move it somewhere more private,” I smiled sweetly.
“I suggest you mind your own business, Mantis.” Such a delightful nickname, likening me to a praying mantis, and not the one from Kung Fu Panda.
Her male companion’s eyes roamed up and down my figure. I could feel his visual assessment as if he was molesting me. It was vile and repulsive. I held back a gag. He looked about twice our age, with light brown hair greying at the temples, and wearing an expensive tailored suit. Gold, monogrammed cufflinks pinned the French cuffs of a crisp, white shirt, flashing at his wrists. How could she be with a creeper like him? Obviously, because he had money. How cliché, Flicker.
“Introduce me to your friend, Felicity,” he crooned as he walked towards me.
Her expression changed for a brief second, before the mask was back in place. Was it jealousy or discomfort? “Derek Lindstrom, this is Veronica Williams, my tenant.”
Tenant. Nice.
“Very pleased to meet you, Veronica.” The way he wrapped his tongue around my name made me feel dirty. I almost ran to the nearest soap dispenser.
I purposely did not return his sentiment. “It’s Ronnie, actually.” Only the people I love, a.k.a. Granny, get to call me Veronica.
He stopped directly in front of me, blocking Flicker from my view. I braced my legs, ready to kick or run, if need be. He leaned towards me and breathed deeply before speaking again. “Are you a student here, Veronica? I’m sure I would have noticed you around.”
Crossing my arms over my chest to create a barrier between us, I looked at him, eyebrow raised, mouth in a flat line. “It’s a bit inappropriate to be chatting up another woman in front of your girlfriend, isn’t it, Mr. Lindstrom?” I slapped the giant yellow card to his chest.
Flicker gasped. I watched his eyebrows lower and his mouth tighten, before I whirled around and left them to their sordid carry-on. The sooner I got away from people, the sooner I could get on with my day.
Easing my foot onto the brake, I looked up to see if the lights were on in the flat before I pulled into the carpark. Disappointment washed over me. They’re on. She’s home. Crap. The car idled in neutral as my hand gripped the keys, debating whether to turn it off, or chuck it back into drive and go to Granny’s. The headlights shone on the Besser block wall sprayed with graffiti, the message telling me to ‘feck off’. Maybe I should listen to it.
Flick’s shiny, red Audi rested in the park directly opposite mine. BMW’s, Mercedes and Alfa Romeos populated the other spaces. My little, silver Yaris cowered in its spot. A ‘have not’ surrounded by a whole bunch of ‘haves’. I didn’t belong here. Never had. I didn’t want to belong here. I wanted a backyard and a dog, and a parrot that would sit on the back of the couch and watch TV with me. I wanted a safe place of my own.
My fingers finally twisted the keys as I decided to woman up. The block of ice in my stomach knocked my insides around while I trudged up the flights of stairs. The events of that morning had unsettled me. I started to worry that I might see Flick’s new boyfriend in the unit. Even more reason for me to leave. Something was seriously wrong with that man. His energy was as black as midnight on a new moon. Ugh. I sounded like my grandmother.
My hand slid off the door handle, too slick with sweat to be useful. I wiped it off on my pencil skirt and tried again. The television blared through the crack in the door, getting louder as I opened it wider. The door jammed against something at the halfway mark. I slipped through the slim opening, and peered around to see what the obstacle was. A large moving box, full of my stuff, topped by a broken lava lamp oozing its contents over everything. Excellent, and what the fuck?
The slam of the door rivalled the television, as I took out my anger on the nearest object. Where is that bitch? My eyes scanned the living area wildly, as my shoes clicked on the tiles in search of my next target. The coffee table, strewn with empty chip packets and chocolate wrappers, was the second sign that something was wrong. A ceiling fan spun at warp speed, unable to lift the packets because they were stuck to the surface by a sticky yellow substance.
I trotted into the kitchen, finding an empty bottle of tequila, half a bottle of margarita mix, and only one glass beside the dirty blender. She was on a bender, but where was she now?
I left my handbag in the kitchen and filled a glass with water, adding some ice cubes before heading to her lair. Opening the door without knocking, because she never extended me that courtesy, I found a dishevelled looking Flick in her bed, passed out. The rank smell of vomit hit me in the face, stopping me for a second. It was stifling in here. All the windows were shut, no fan, and no air-conditioning. Walking around to see her face poking out above the quilt, I noticed make-up smudges around her eyes and lips. A small pool of vomit had collected
