Sleeping With a Liar

The city of Dublin always seemed to be dreary. Outside the walls of the many houses and apartments in the city, the air was damp with rain, although it hadn’t rained in two days. Tourists ran from building to building, fearful of the raindrops that would never come. Locals walked casually, occasionally chuckling to themselves as foreigners shoved past them.

Around the city lay many small family owned shops and diners, as well as the pubs. This early in the morning only half the city was alive; the other half slept until noon and partied all night long.

Inside her apartment, Jordan O’Hara curled up in a ball, covered by three layers of stuffed animals and blankets, still shivering. A light breeze blew in through the open windows along the wall, rustling pages of several books that lay open on her desk. The room was completely full of books. From floor to sixteen foot ceiling, there were large bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books. In the corner at the foot of the bed there was a small desk, stacked high with papers, and somewhere underneath there was a buried MacBook.

On the wall furthest from the window was the petite kitchen. The small area had little counter space, and much of it was occupied with boxes of cereal and cutting boards. The cabinets were painted a shade of mint green around the glass doors, though the paint had long since started chipping off. The room lacked a proper living room area; Jordan’s bed was the closest thing to a couch, and the desk in the corner was the closest thing to dining room table.
Across the room in the kitchen, Jordan could hear the landline ringing. She had long since turned off her cell phone; the ringing every ten minutes had only made her pounding hangover feel worse. Her eyes were slightly reddened, only barely open as she glared at the telephone across the room. Squinting against the brightly light of the Dublin morning, she stumbled through the mess of clothes scattered across her apartment floor to the telephone.

“‘Lo?” she answered, letting out a large yawn.

“I’ve been calling for the past hour!” her agent nearly yelled.

The woman really could be nice, but Jordan seemed to bring out the worst in her. The eighteen-year-old author didn’t have a care for a schedule, and would rather sit in her apartment on a Saturday morning then appear on a radio show. It drove her absolutely insane.

“I’ve been sleeping, and your screaming really isn’t helping my hangover,” Jordan grumbled, her Irish accent thick from living there her whole life. She was used to often having to repeat herself now; Americans were shit at hearing.

“At least you left the apartment,” Jordan had a feeling that wasn’t meant for her to hear, “You’ve got an interview for a radio show in an hour. At least make an attempt to look decent. I’ll pick you up in forty five?”

Jordan grumbled a short ‘yes’, before slamming the phone back onto its hook. Forty-five minutes. She needed a shower.

The only separate room in her apartment was the tiny bathroom, containing a sink, shower, and toilet. There was barely enough room to move in the room, but living alone, Jordan didn’t need much room. Climbing into the shower, Jordan started the water, letting the cold numb her body. Her headache was slowly subsiding, and was now just a dull ache.

After finishing her shower, Jordan climbed out, dried off, and grabbed her clothes. Sitting down on her bed, she struggled to pull on the grey skinny jeans, zippers and patches all over. Just managing to get ready in time for her agent to arrive, she sat down with a waffle, munching on the treat as she stared out the window. There wasn’t much going on outside, just the typical morning commuters, sipping coffee and trying to get into the office on time. The tourists were just getting out and about now, on their way to the various diners that served breakfast every day.

“Jordan open up, let’s go!” her agent yelled, knocking loudly on the door.

Jordan rubbed her head, still feeling the headache, and opened her apartment door.

“I swear you never clean,” the woman frowned, looking around the room.

“I swear you never shut up Diane,” Jordan smirked.

“Why don’t you just buy a new apartment, you’ve got enough money?!” Diane sighed; frustrated by the young girl she was in charge of.

“I like this one,” Jordan insisted, following Diane out of her apartment building.

“Why?!” Diane groaned.

“I have my reasons,” Jordan spoke carefully, not wanting to reveal why.

When she bad bought the apartment six months ago, that had been the last time she had spoken with him, and the last time she had seen him, aside from his pictures in magazines and on television. He had helped her pick it out, knowing exactly what she liked.

As they pulled up to the radio station, Jordan was pulled out of her thoughts and drug inside. She’d really rather have been anywhere but there. The interviews were always boring, the same questions, the same answers. They all asked the same questions; what was she writing now, was there any hidden details that she could reveal from past novels she’d written, how did she get published at such a young age. Jordan answered as best she could, but oftentimes there was a hidden meaning to certain scenes she wrote that she didn’t ever want to tell anyone about.
After she finished, Jordan stood around munching on a doughnut, watching people moving all about. There was a band coming in to perform an acoustic set after she was finished, and she had been invited to stick around and watch. Diane had practically forced her to stay, knowing that as soon as Jordan got the chance she would have ran far away. Jordan’s hate for interviews wasn’t exactly unknown to the public. For being only eighteen years old, Jordan already had quite the bad reputation when it came to her conversational skills.

Outside, she could hear the screaming fans of the band that was going to be performing. As the screams suddenly increased in volume, she could tell the band had arrived. Jordan popped her headphone into her right ear, head bobbing along to the music filling her head. Not noticing someone trying to get her attention, Jordan simply went on listening to music.

“HEY!” someone screamed, finally catching Jordan’s attention.

She pulled the ear bud from her ear, “Yes?” she asked, looking up at the group in front of her.

“Deaf much?” one of the boy standing in front of her joked.

“She’s deaf in her left ear,” a familiar voice came from behind the group.

As the other four turned around to look at him, Jordan instantly recognized the blonde mop standing in front of her. She hadn’t seen him in six months to the day, but he was standing in front of her, and still remembered she was deaf in her left ear.