Slow No Wake - By Dakota Madison Page 0,1
surfer boys are always having parties. I live two doors down. I need my beauty sleep.” Hans gave me a toothy-grin. Was that an attempt at flirting? Ugh. I came here to escape men and it was happening already: The Pounce.
I seemed to attract men like starving dogs to a juicy steak. I’m not sure why. I always felt more like the girl-next-door than the beauty queen. Smart and bookish, I seemed to intimidate men (or maybe even bore them?) when they got to know me. But there had to be something about my look or energy that made men pounce when they saw me. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shut it off. In fact, the more of a ‘turn-off’ I tried to be, the more ‘turned-on’ men seemed to get when they met me. If there was just a way to bottle my pounce-worthiness or put it in a book, I’d be a millionaire.
The surfer boys Hans were describing didn’t make my choice of a rental any more appealing. My move to Florida for quiet and serenity on the beach did not include partying with the surfer boys with whom I was now sharing a duplex. I was starting to wonder if moving half way across the country, which had seemed like a grand adventure, was actually going to be a huge mistake.
“Rent is due the first of every month,” Hans said. “No late rent.” I was surprised when he didn’t make another disparaging comment about the surfer boys. Weren’t they late on rent, too?
As Hans made his way down to his own duplex, I took a deep breath and decided to venture into my new living quarters.
Unfortunately, the apartment looked a lot better on the outside than it did on the inside. The living room walls were covered with crayon scribble (maybe a child lived there at some time) and other less identifiable substances. It was highly probably that the rooms had not been repainted since the place was built in the 1980s.
The tile floors were thick with gooey substances of unknown origins, just like the walls.
I cringed even more when I entered the kitchen. The aging appliances were all crusted with what looked like old food. Years of spills looked like they had been completely ignored on the stovetop. I nearly passed out when I opened the refrigerator. It smelled like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.
The bathroom was no better. The bathtub and basin were overrun black with mold and mildew and the contents of the toilet could not even be described in polite company. Let’s just say it’s a good bet that the last occupant of the apartment probably never heard of a toilet brush.
Luckily the two bedrooms were in a little better shape, except for the carpets, which were inches deep with some kind of animal fur. So much Hans’s no pet rule. Or maybe the rule was implemented as a result of the previous occupants.
It was going to take a lot of work to get the place fixed up. Oh, well. I didn’t know anyone in Florida yet and had nothing but time until I started my new job the following week. At least now I had something to do.
I had to return the rental truck the following day, so I knew unpacking would be the first priority. The only problem was putting my stuff in a place that was a filthy disaster.
I decided the best approach would be to completely clean out my bedroom first then move everything in there until I could clean out the rest of the place. The kitchen and living area were in the worst shape, so I didn’t want to put anything those rooms until I got a chance to completely scrub and disinfect them.
As it approached noon, it was starting to get really hot. I grabbed the small suitcase of clothes I had packed and brought them inside to get changed. I realized there were no shades on any of the windows yet, so I headed into the bathroom and was completely disgusted once again. I probably should have started cleaning that room first. I sat on the edge of the bathtub and heaved a sigh. I wondered if it was too late to hand my keys back to Hans and return home to Illinois.
In the range of bad ideas I’ve had, this was starting to look like the king of bad ideas. I had spent most of my savings on moving