While the landlord was quick to respond to my complaint about the hinge breaking for the third time in a month, they were also more than eager to charge me for the repair bill they swore was not covered under his terms of service.
Great, I’d been so eager to think. Another bill.
I sat in my room with the collection of bills strewn about the floor and tried to keep from looking at the things that had become the bane of my existence. Most were months old—receipts from deferments which were quickly going to have to be renewed—but others were fresh, like last month’s rent payment I’d missed due to a check bouncing and then the new one for the door.
One-hundred, two-hundred, three-hundred, four…
Five-thousand, fifteen-thousand, sixty-thousand, more.
I cupped my face to my hands and rocked myself to the inevitable tune of my destruction, somehow managing not to cry but knowing that it would soon come anyway.
All those years, all that time—all for one lazy little leech to steal it all away from me.
Plagiarism, the head of the English department had declared, results in mandatory expulsion.
And the whole while, Michael Kriemer had just stood by, grinning like a fool when he knew no one was looking.
I rolled out of the bed which was in near disrepair and wandered to the window to look out at the dark side of Austin, trembling at the possibility of having to face life homeless in a state where the weather could be the death of you. Summers were bad enough—heatstroke could kill. But the winters? When it would suddenly drop from thirty to below-zero without warning? Now that was a far cry from mercy. I’d much rather go to jail and be someone’s butt monkey than have to live through that.
My phone chimed.
I frowned.
I crossed the distance to the bed and lifted my phone to find a message from none other than IceFire, this time in perfect English.
Hey, it said. It’s Guy. How’re you?
The temptation to avoid the truth and just ignore the message was immense. There was no reason for me to spill my guts to a man I’d met just last night, much less slept with almost immediately thereafter.
But something… something was there.
I couldn’t explain it. Magnetism might’ve been the best word, but even then, that seemed stupid, considering I’d compared our attraction on the dance floor much like the same thing, or even our irresistible draw and passion when we’d screwed last night. Regardless, I felt a little coil of hope spring out in my chest—something that, though I wasn’t sure really existed, compelled me to be honest.
Horrible, I replied. Not having the best day.
You want to talk?
I couldn’t tell him no.