Audition - Skye Warren, Amelia Wilde Page 0,5
stairs. Cold whispers through my gloves. On the third floor the scent of charred meat makes me cough. I can’t actually blame my neighbor. Decades ago some enterprising landlord split up the apartment into two parts. I’m lucky enough to have the tiny kitchen. The elderly man next door makes do with a microwave inside and a bucket grill outside the window. Burgers, hot dogs, bacon. All of it cooks a foot away from my apartment. I duck through the bent casing and land lightly in the middle of my space. One hundred and twenty feet that belong to me. I pull the bag over my head and toss it onto the bed—and shriek when the bed catches it. A shadow separates from the dark blanket. “Nice place you got here,” says a familiar taunting voice. “I made myself at home. I’m sure you don’t mind.”
“Of course I mind.” My heart pounds loud enough to drown out my words. “This is my apartment. What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Josh stands and circles me, forcing me to turn and face him. “The same way you did. The same way any rapist or murderer can get in if he wants to. Why the actual fuck do you leave the window open?”
“Because I’m directly over the ovens. If I leave them closed, the place basically cooks all day.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to ask why you rented this shit box.”
“I can afford it,” I say, my voice sharp. I’m not in the habit of explaining myself. I worked hard to make sure no man could demand answers of me, but Josh has me spooked. How the hell did he beat me here from the theater? He’s still wearing his tux, which looks even crisper in the backdrop of my crappy apartment. “Not that it’s any of your business. Besides, there’s nothing here to steal.”
Dark green eyes flicker. “There’s you. You’re the most valuable thing in the apartment. The most valuable thing in the whole fucking city.”
My cheeks warm. How strange to get a compliment from the man who insults me at every turn. Then again, maybe he didn’t mean it as a compliment.
He spoke with tight-lipped anger. With derision.
I turn away so he can’t see my expression. There’s nowhere to go. One hundred and twenty feet have shrunk to the size of my body. A worn bookshelf serves as my closet. A countertop and small oven line the other side of the room. Stockings and leotards hang from the cabinet knobs, drying after I washed them in the sink. My panties hang from a row of hooks. Humiliation squeezes my chest. Hot tears burn my eyes. I refuse to cry in front of him. There’s a washateria in the building next door, but it’s easier to wash my clothes by hand in the sink. So what if I live in a crappy apartment? He has no right to judge me. He has no right to be here.
“I did wonder about the bathroom,” he says, and I jump. He’s not on the bed any longer. He’s standing behind me. So quiet. So agile. I work with professional athletes every day, but I know when they move. He’s some other creature—made of shadows and fury. “Do you climb onto the counter and piss into the sink? Do you lean your pretty little ass outside the window and shit onto the alley?”
Embarrassment mixed with a complete lack of power. It’s like I’m back in elementary school. Boys would pick on me. They’d yank my braids and toss my lunch in the dirt. It’s because they like you, my mother said. I didn’t want them to like me. Still don’t.
Well, I’m not in elementary school anymore. “Leave or I’ll call the cops.”
A tsking sound. “I don’t think your landlord would like that.”
No, he would probably kick me out. “I despise you.”
“Was it the pissing comment? I think it would be hot, if it helps.”
“There’s a bathroom in the hallway.” It’s not exactly a hallway. The bathroom had been part of the apartment when it took the whole floor. Now it’s shared between the tenants. For the most part we manage to avoid eye contact. For the most part I pretend I don’t see a grown man wearing only a long T-shirt shuffle in to use the toilet while I shower. “Most nights I shower at the company, anyway.”
Josh moves past me. I manage to squirm out of the way, but