Together Under Our Roof

The bells rang and the loud clatters of the West Trinity High School halls were raging. Some students rushed to classrooms, pushing others as they ran, others walked or stood in clusters that clogged the narrow halls, chattering to friends. They all took their time to get to class.

A soft thud sounded through the halls, loud enough to be barely heard through the crowds of students. Many of the students turned their heads to see a group of girls surround a small girl who was on her knees gathering papers that had been scattered on the floor.

She was a very tiny person. She had dark brown hair, the murky color of darkness that drooped over her eyes and flowed past her slender, trembling shoulders. Her eyes were a dark green, and her skin was fairly pale. It was a slight pale that made her look angelic yet human in a curious aspect. She wore heavy, thick glasses and pulled her rustled hair back in a loose ponytail that let clumps of stray strands fall over her white button-up uniform shirt and brown baggy cardigan that hung over her Uniform skirt loosely.

The girls who had surrounded her were staring down at her. She had accidentally had the misfortune of skittering pass these girls, and had been pushed aside by one of the girls. Unfortunately, she had fallen and was now being laughed at by many of the girls who were in the group that followed a single girl.

They were following a blonde hair, blue eyed heiress to the locally famous hotel owner. She was flamboyant and loud, clearly aware of her position among her peers. She was the beautiful princess of the town and was showered with compliments from the many people who wanted to get close to her. She took advantage of the many boys who flocked to her and had her choices from the hot nerds to the popular jocks. With a little help from her father’s name, she was able to get whatever she wanted.

“Well, look what we have here Claudia,” a girl said to the heiress who stood over the small girl with an air of superiority. She looked down at the girl, indifferent to the trembling of the girl’s hands as she cautiously picked up the many papers on the floor.

“Who is this again?” Claudia asked the group behind her, she looked down at the girl angrily, tapping her foot as if it helped her recall the girl’s identity.

“That’s Misty Ames, the geek you loved to kick around last year,” one of the girls stated, giggling loudly.

Misty only looked down at her hands, getting a slight hotness that rose to her face. She could not look at the girls, scared that they would do something to her. She reached for the papers, hoping that the group would disperse if she acted as if they did not bother her. It did not work.

“Oh, so you were the one I played with last year. Miss me?” Claudia taunted as she stepped on Misty’s fingers as they reached for a page close to Claudia’s feet. Misty grimaced in pain but refused to look up at the girl’s face. Angered, Claudia put her foot to Misty’s chin and forcibly lifted her small round face. Misty glared up at Claudia, irritated by the humiliation.

With a flick of her foot, Claudia kicked Misty’s face away. She turned around and walked away laughing as her group of followers commented on how great that was. With a flip of her hair, everyone was on her side and turned away from the helpless girl on the ground.

Quietly, Misty got up with her things in her hands and trudged to her next class, tears forming in her eyes. She would not let them fall.

♀♂

As Misty was dragging herself home after school, the chilly fall air nipping at her skin, she sighed deeply as she thought about what the rest of the day would be bringing her. After changing out of her school uniform, she would have to don the horrid hot pink uniform for her shift at the Stop and Sit Diner down the street. She wrapped her jacket tighter against her body and continued home.

When she got to her apartment, she let out another deep sigh. She took out her keys from her bag and stuck the key in the door, turning it slowly before opening the door. When the door opened, a slight wind rushed past her into the hallway. Slowly, the door creaked open, echoing into the small, empty room in which she called her home.

Her living room was empty except for a single couch and coffee table that stood in the middle of the room surrounded by creaky wooden floor boards. The window was closed part way, unable to go down any further than it already has. The wind whistled through the crack, filling the dark room with a chill. The paint on the walls of the apartment was chipped and peeled in large areas.

On the left of the living room was the kitchen and to the right was the bedroom with the private bathroom. The bedroom was much smaller than the living room. Misty had managed a small wooden closet and a futon that were folded neatly in a corner. She was not able to afford a bed and even if she could, she would not be able to fit it into the room without blocking the door. The room was musty and was bone chilling.

When she stepped into the room, Misty noticed that something seemed wrong. A pair of boots was at the front door and there was a deep breathing that came from the living room. Misty steadied her eyes and scanned the living room until she came to the large heap that was planted on the couch. She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Slowly, she crept to the motionless body, cautious. When she got yards from the body, she stood still as the body shifted slightly. Her breathing became short and hard as she inched closer to the body, her arms outstretched in front of her to defend herself if needed.

She froze. The body turned over and let out a loud belch. She let out a sigh of relief as she stomped angrily to the man on her couch. She turned the man on his side and lightly slapped the man. He only continued to snore. Angered, she got up and inhaled deeply.

“Patrick! Wake up you useless drunk monkey!” she exclaimed loudly. The man named Patrick yawned, achingly stretching out his arms above his head as he pushed his heavy self up. He rubbed his eyes and sat up before the yelling girl.

“Oh, hello there little one, how are you?” he looked around, confused, but he kept his gaze directed towards his young friend who was standing before him, arms crossed and an angry look be settling her face. He smiled brightly and motioned for the girl to join him on the couch. She only looked at him.

“Patrick! Do you know where you are right now? Look around, will you?” Misty exclaimed, motioning her arms around her. Patrick only looked at Misty, slightly puzzled but had still remained in a state of calm before answering Misty.

“I assure you I do not know darling,” he said in a matter-of-factly tone. “I had just woken up. Where am I exactly?” he asked gently. Misty looked at the man bewildered, holding back a giggle.

“You are in my apartment. Again,” she emphasized. Patrick only stared at her as if this was not something he should be concerned with. Giving up, Misty smiled and took a seat next to her friend.

Patrick Tyler was a kind man. He was in his late forties and was a heavy drinker. He was a large, round man, who worked odd jobs to spend his money on cheap beers. He was short and stout, his hair barely growing from his bald round head. Of the few strands he had, many stuck up freely into the hair, making him look a bit crazed at an angle. He was a very carefree man and had no problems with life. He saw life as a happy place and had little to complain about.

He was Misty’s neighbor and her friend. He became a sort of paternal figure in her eyes and gained her favor over the year she had lived in the complex. They got along very well and would spend nights gossiping about fellow neighbors until late into the night. Although carefree, Patrick was a very smart man. He could tell many stories about the wars of history and debate various topics. Misty found an interest in his stories and had always looked forward to the stories he told her after she comes home from work.

“You know, you should really stop drinking. It isn’t healthy to find yourself in odd places after passing out,” Misty mediated to the yawning Patrick. He only patted her on the head.

“I would rather wake up in an unknown place than go without drinking. It’s my way of life,” he said simply. “Well, I guess I’ll be off, you must get to work I presume?” he asked as if catching a child sneaking away from someone. Misty pouted, slightly offended by his accusation.

“But I was hoping we could talk about something fun for a minute or so. I won’t be late for work, I promise!” she said, hoping to reassure Patrick.

“We can talk about the Trojan War, but only after you come home from work tonight. You know you need to work and you cannot choose not to go,” Patrick said firmly. He hoisted Misty up from the couch and pushed her into the room, demanding that she gets ready for work.

When she came out of her room, she was not in a good mood. The bright color had agitated her and was not going to be in her favor anytime soon. She glared at Patrick who smiled brightly at her.

“Now isn’t that nice. Your uniform never ceases to amaze me,” he giggled. Misty angrily grabbed her jacket and tossed it over her work clothes. Irritated, she marched out of the door and slammed the door shut.

After a long day and the little run in with Claudia, and the humiliation of the irrationally discolored work uniform she was wearing, she was not in the mood to be running around in skates serving people, but she was looking forward to Patrick’s opinion about the Trojan War.

♀♂

After work, Misty trudged the last few blocks to her apartment, tired after a long day at work. She stopped by the corner store, picking up a few packs of instant noodles for herself and Patrick, who was at home, waiting for her return so that they could talk about the Trojan War.

It was dark, and Misty rushed to her apartment, hoping to get home before it got too late. The night air was chilly and her skin prickled as she walked down the last street to her complex. She pattered up the stairs, creaking up the steps one at a time. She rounded the corners, avoiding the familiar broken floorboards as she made her way down the hall to her door.

When she got to her door, she pulled out her keys from her pocket, inserting them into the keyhole. She turned the knob, opening the door to complete darkness. Inside, she saw nothing, her eyes failing to adjust to the blackness that filled her home. Tired, she tossed aside her shoes and closed the door behind her. She walked to the living room, feeling around for the couch.

As she walked cautiously, her vision started to get clearer, adjusting to the darkness that was her home. As her vision cleared, something also made itself clear. It was a large lump on the couch. Misty strained her eyes, trying to see what she thought she saw clearer. The lump was breathing, inhaling and exhaling.

In disbelief, Misty marched over to the lump. Angry, she kicked the body.

“Wake up you bastard! Didn’t we just go over this a few hours ago? If you want to sleep, then go to your apartment to sleep you old drunk,” she exclaimed, repeatedly kicking the man as he tried to dodge the multiple blows. Bewildered, he stood up to his weak aggressor, staggering as he rose from his slumber. He stood, tall while he took the slight blows, not sure what was going on.

With the next blow coming, he raised his hand and caught hold of the light hand before it hit him. Startled, Misty tried to pull back as she then realized that who she thought was Patrick was too tall to be the old man she knew. Scared, she gasped, ready to scream when a hand flew to her lips. The hands were strong and rough, pushing into her skin as she struggled with the mystery man.

The man pushed Misty backwards, holding her against the cold stone wall, as she tried to punch at the intruder. He held her close, holding back her arms and pushing his body on hers to immobilize her.

Misty tried to look up at her aggressor in the stifling darkness. She mumbled into his hand, trying to make out his features in the shadows. Failing to fully adjust her eyes, Misty was only able to make out his lips, which were only inches from her own. They were fairly plump and looked very soft. His lips were parted, his breathing soft and slight.

Misty’s breathing was heavy, her mind racing as her eyes traced the outline of the lips before her. Her heart raced, frightened by the man before her. She squirmed, trying to wrench her arms free, the man’s body heat overwhelming her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the man’s deep and cautious voice melted into Misty’s body, dangerous yet soothing. Misty could not think straight, and was desperately searching for the man’s eyes, hoping that he would see the horror in her eyes.

His grip on her lower body loosened, and Misty found herself lifting her leg, jabbing it forcefully into his groin, resulting in a horrible groan and his sudden release on Misty. Misty scurried away from the man reluctantly, falling toward the couch as she gasped for air.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? This is my apartment. Shouldn’t I be asking you that same question?” Misty demanded of the stranger who was now on the floor, crouching in pain. She strained her eyes to look for the man as she crept towards the light switch. She circled him, reaching out for the switch frantically.

When the light flickered on, Misty saw the man supporting himself, leaning on the wall while holding his crotch in pain. His pained face was handsome. His square jaw clenched and unclenched as he breathed heavily. His upset eyes were a beautiful grey-brown, covered by his luscious and wavy brown hair, unkempt yet soft looking. His body was muscular, showing through the fitting black t-shirt he wore.

Misty stared. She could not look away as she boggled at the man’s size. He was at least a head taller than her and was very masculine yet slim.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” the man exclaimed.

“What did I do? You were holding me against the wall!” Misty accused defensively. She inched away from the man as he started towards her slowly. He glared at her, anger in his eyes.

“Who are you?” Misty demanded of the man a second time. He moved closer, limping slightly as he glared down at the girl who had hurt him.

“Who are you? This is my home,” he stated angrily.

Misty was dumbfounded. What had this man just said? He had just claimed her home as his. She had thought he was delusional but when she looked into his eyes, she saw that he was serious.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I have lived here for over a year,” she exclaimed confused. He was now only feet away from her, getting closer by the second. When Misty backed up, she tripped and fell backwards.

Large hands caught her, pulling her forward before she fell on her head. The man held her by the hip, saving her from a deadly fall. His eyes had changed, from a look of anger to a worried look. Misty flinched when she looked into the eyes of this man, surprised by the sudden change in him.

They held their eyes together, frozen in each other’s gaze. Misty could feel herself flush under the man’s look. Quickly, she pushed herself out of the man’s grip. Embarrassed, she struggled to look the man in the eyes.

“Um – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –,” he apologized, embarrassed as well. He looked at the ground.

“Um – yeah, so – why are you here and who are you?” she managed in a whisper.

“I’m sorry. My name’s Michael Buckner. I had just paid for this apartment,” he clarified. Misty stared at him, her mouth agape. She was speechless.

They only looked at each other, trying to make sense of the confusion.