Page 24 of My Ruthless Neighbor

As for the furniture, I have a second-hand sofa. A wooden table I use as a dinner table as well as a workstation whenever I had to work on my mermaid costumes. And a single bed.

There’s nothing special about this place. But I have spent three long years here. It was a big deal considering how much I moved. I always preferred a change in scenery. Like a nomad. But I never left L.A. Because of my best friend.

In these past years, I grew attached to this apartment.

I painted these walls with vibrant colors. I remember painting them with Raleigh.

One wall has a huge rainbow painted while the opposite one has an art of his Harley.

I smile sadly as I lift a photo frame. It’s a picture of me and Raleigh. Posing with slices of pizza in one hand and a beer can in the other.

It was taken right after we finished painting. Raleigh managed to look adorable with the yellow and green paint all over his face and coveralls. I on the other hand am a mess in the picture. My long hair is pulled in a messy bun on top of my head. My pale neck is smeared with red paint.

I remember I was wearing a white tank top. But in the picture, the top is no longer white. It is filled with splashes of colors and I am grinning from ear to ear.

With a resigned sigh, I pack the photo frame with newspaper and drop it in one of the cardboard boxes.

I still have a couple of hours left. Instead of looking for a new place or panicking over being homeless, I settle for going to the mall.

It is my way of dealing with problems. When I feel like crying or when my heart feels heavy like right now, I immediately look for ways to distract myself. I visit places like parks or wander around the city and people watch to avoid crying.

So that’s what I am going to do. I am going to go to the mall. I am going to pretend my life isn’t about to change. Because if I don’t do this. If I don’t pretend, I’ll be forced to face the reality. I don’t want to do it. Because the reality is ugly. Reality is dark. It’s menacing.

Pretending everything is okay helps me. It helps to avoid the hollowness that settles in my chest.

My palms turn clammy. Leaning against my living room wall, I close my eyes. Just for a second. To gather my strength. When I open them, I gaze at the mirror hanging across from me. My features aren’t dull anymore. The sorrow is neatly tucked under my smile. Better.

I take a quick shower to chase away the jet lag. I pull on the orange floral flare pants and white crop top, before shrugging on the hot pink topper coat.

I never apply any makeup except when I have the mermaid gig. So I don’t bother to unpack my cosmetics. I give myself a once-over in the mirror. I’ll have to unmount the mirror from the wall soon.

How would I move my stuff out of the apartment when I don’t even have money to rent a storage space?

The thought hits me like a train. I stand motionless for a moment. Melancholy descends over me.

I shake my head a couple times before staring at my reflection again.

“Not enough colors.” I blurt then stride to my boxes. Once when I get what I am looking for, I return to my spot in front of the mirror.

Reaching up, I put on the retro red sunglasses with shaky fingers.

“Perfect,” I mumble, then snatch my multi-colored backpack and leave.

My stomach growls loudly as I exit the building. Rubbing my stomach, I begin walking but stop when it growls again. This time it hurts too. It has been hours since I ate anything.

If I even look at my wallet, I will end up in McDonald’s. I can’t do that. I might have something in my backpack. I lean against the brick wall of the building and begin digging.

My lips lift when my fingers graze against something. I take it out. A pack of digestive biscuits. Oh, thank God.

I tear the packet and fish one out. Licking my lips, I bring it to my mouth when a small whimper draws my attention down.

My heart wrenches when I find a small golden retriever right next to my leg. His fur is covered in filth and his eyes look tired.

When I sink to my knees, the puppy startles and takes a hasty step back.

“Hey, buddy. It’s okay.” I raise my palm. “It’s okay,” I say gently.

From its small frame, it seems to be around two months old. It doesn’t have a collar too.

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