Don't Drop Your Mask

My occasionally working heater totally broke, right before the first snow flurry. On top of that, the back door that I had been keeping cracked open because, despite my unwillingness to admit it, I am still in love with Casanova/Batman/Travis: it broke. So no heat and constant cold air flowing into my apartment has made me one cold, sick person.

My headaches had virtually disappeared and my fear of going outside alone was slowly diminishing. Still, I hadn’t been to work in a week. I’d been pretty much dismissing everything.

How does a poor girl like me survive without working? A check from the government. From the police to be exact. For helping to catch the guy that tried to rape me. Apparently, he’s been raping women all over Baltimore for a while now. They found two of them dead, and the rest have been in critical condition.

I’m not stupid. I know I didn’t “help” catch him. I know Travis hunted him down the next day and had someone send the check to me.

Right now I don’t care. Right now I wish I had some soup left. Right now I’m thankful that I’m ahead on my loans and can go a few months without paying them and still be fine with the law. I’m glad I have yogurt that doesn’t go bad until tomorrow. I’m truly happy that I have these many warm blankets. But I do truly wish I had some soup left.

I couldn’t do anything but stare at a wall and shiver.

I had all the lights on, in hopes of warming my apartment up. I called the landlord and told him my heat was broken. He said he’d cut next month’s rent in half, but he couldn’t fix it until after the holidays. He came and checked it out and said it needs a new part.

So I’m shivering.
I’m shaking.
I’m freezing.

I might have pneumonia. Probably not hypothermia.

I moved from staring at the wall to the ceiling. Some days I wish I had x-ray vision so I could see through walls. Again, as much as I hate to admit it, I really miss Travis. Charlie, too.

I sighed. A knock came at the door. I stumbled onto my slippers. Since I’ve been home, I’ve also been trying to stay warm by drinking a little bit of some old spiced rum every now and then.

I opened the door and then tried to slam it back shut, but Charlie… I think Charlie… kept it open.

“Travis or Charlie?” I asked in my pathetic sick voice.

“Charlie,” he said, pushing my door open. “It is bright and cold in here. No wonder you’re sick. I thought you were avoiding work to avoid me.”

“I was,” I said, honestly. “Now leave.”

“We need to talk. First of all, you slept with me probably as payback to my brother. Even though you didn’t know he was my brother.”

I sighed. This is where I cave. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I really shouldn’t hav—“

“Don’t apologize. To be honest, the fact that my brother liked you made you like, ten times more appealing. I mean, I like you as a friend…”

“But that’s it?” I finished.

“Yeah,” he said.

“So, live and let live?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” I said, sighing contently. “I’m glad we’re cool.”

“Not yet, we’re not,” he said. I groaned. “You haven’t left your apartment, by the looks of the whipped cream on crackers over there, you’re out of food, and you’re sick, probably because you’re apartment is sitting at a cool forty degrees right now. Second of all, you’ve broken my brother’s heart, whether he deserves it or not, and now, instead of spending the occasional night at my apartment, he is living there permanently, moping, hoping to make sure you’re still okay. We’re gonna kill two birds with stone here, okay?”