I Am the Wild (The Night Firm #1)- Karpov Kinrade Page 0,11
"You have until the end of the week, Miss Oliver. If you are not caught up on all your payments—including interest, you will be locked out of your apartment and all of your belongings will be confiscated and sold to pay your balance."
I seethe with rage boiling inside me, but I can't act on it. Not yet. "I'll get you your money by the end of the week," I say, then I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, and when I turn to face him, he licks his lips.
He hands me an envelope with a red "PAST DUE" stamp on it. "There are other ways you could work off what you owe," he says.
It's not the first time he's pulled this shit, and it likely won't be the last. I yank my arm out of his grip, knowing his fingers will leave bruises. "I'll get you your money."
I can feel his eyes watching me as I go, and I force myself not to shiver.
Once in my apartment, I triple lock the door behind me, draw the curtains, and head to my bedroom. It only takes me ten minutes to change into my pajamas, scrub my face, and warm up a blanket in the dryer. While the blanket warms, I dig through my bag of goodies and pull out my current romantic threesome. Ben & Jerry. My rebound guys. Always here for me. Never disappointing. I grab a spoon and fill a glass generously with red wine, then head to the couch.
But the past due envelope snags my attention, and I rip it open in frustration, my eyes burning when I read it through once, then twice.
That bastard is charging an insane amount of interest. I owe twice what I thought, which was already more than I know how to get.
Not only will I lose my home, I'll lose everything in it.
Once I have my blanket, I tuck in for a night of watching horror movies as I try to mentally process what I saw, heard, and now suspect about my job interview, and what I'm going to do about this new deadline.
I would move out, if I could. But I don't have the money for a first, last, and deposit. Hell, I don't have the money for boxes to pack my shit. And after the last year, my credit is shot. The only way I don't become homeless in a week is to find a job that will give me an advance large enough to get caught up on my payments.
I think back to The Night Firm. We never got around to talking salary. Even if I was willing to work for them. Which I'm not.
I try to remember why I'm not, but my thoughts are muddled. It's becoming harder and harder to pull out the details of my exchange. I blame it on the wine, the sugar, the haunting soundtrack of the movie I'm watching. My massive breakdown earlier. Speaking of, I should be feeling much worse right now. I don't understand how I recovered so quickly.
Halfway through the movie and the bottle of wine, I've nearly got myself convinced that my mind was playing tricks on me. I've been under tremendous stress for over a year now. I'm exhausted. I'm probably malnourished. That can do things to the brain. I just need to move on. Tomorrow, I decide, refilling my glass, tomorrow I'll go online, search for more jobs, find more interviews. I'll stick to 9-5 listings only!
With that decided, I give all my attention to the movie, and am mildly disappointed when I try to pour more wine and only a reluctant drop comes out. But I planned for this and bought two bottles.
A bit wobbly, I head back to the kitchen to uncork the other bottle, when I'm interrupted by a knock at my door and a ringing of the doorbell.
This shocks me almost more than anything else that evening.
No one comes to visit here, certainly not in the middle of the night. If it's Roger, that slimy bastard, I'm going to sue his ass for harassment.
In my alcohol-muddled mind, it doesn't take me long to convince myself that's exactly who's behind the door. Roger thinks if I'm desperate enough he can have me. He doesn't seem to get I would literally rather be homeless than let him touch me.
I school my face into one of a fierce warrior, then I march to the door and swing it open, ready for battle.