Page 4 of Arden and the Girl Downstairs

“You two could get married,” Ralph interjects from beside me.

“What?” we both say in unison.

“You heard me. Get married. That way, you could add Ella to your insuranceandtell the doctors you are okay with not having kids. Then she can have the surgery. It also means that you, Ella, can look after Arden.” He turns to whisper in my ear so Arden can’t hear, “It also means you can check him into a facility against his wishes.”

Wait, what?

Ella

“I can’t believe Ralph would suggest such a ridiculous thing!” I’m pacing my lounge room, ranting to my housemate, Steve. He’s a wonderful housemate, he doesn’t talk, doesn’t make a mess, only ever leaves the house to go to the mailbox, and he never wakes me up in the mornings.

I continue my pacing. It’s been a week since Ralph suggested Arden and I get married.

“What the hell was he thinking?” I huff before throwing myself down on the couch.

“Arden never even speaks to me unless he’s drunk. I’m not even sure he remembers seeing me every night. Could I really marry someone like him? Yes, I can get a divorce later on, but what happens if he hates me after I get him committed? I still have to live here,” I grumble into the cushion.

Why am I even considering this crazy idea?

It’s obvious Arden needs help. I can tell the person he is when he walks into Grumpy’s every night isn’t the same Arden that Yasmin and Ally talk so highly of.

I still don’t know what tipped him over the edge, but I find it hard to believe his friends don’t notice what he is doing. Surely he can’t be faking his way through the day and then drowning himself in alcohol once the sun goes down.

I see Arden almost every day on campus, with him being in all of my classes. Besides the fact that he ignores me every damn day, he appears fine. From a distance, anyway.

Maybe I see him differently because I see the broken man that wanders into the bar every single night I am there.

I can’t help but think that he might not even realise he’s doing it. “I wonder if he comes in on my nights off?” I ask Steve. Of course, there is no reply.

I glance at the clock to check the time. It’s my sixth night of work in a row, and I’m doing the close again. I don’t mind—I love that Chad is so accommodating with my health and school. He really needs to hire someone else, though. I’m still scheduled for the next two nights because we are short staffed. Sunday nights are quiet, so I grab my kindle off my bedside table and head for the door.

I’m wearing a pair of black jeggings, and a bright pink shirt that says “Shhh, no one cares . . .” The pink matches the colour in the ends of my blonde hair. I’m also sporting my favourite pair of unicorn slippers. Yes, I own more than one pair—there’s no need to judge. They are my comfort. I’m only allowed to wear them into the bar and then once I’m getting ready to close. My Converses are kept at the bar for the in-between period.

I lock my apartment and head to the parking garage. As I make my way to my car, I stare cautiously at the wall that Arden built down here. Should I go and see if he has someone locked up?

Seriously, with all the security he has installed around here, I’m still not completely convinced he isn’t hiding something.

I make a mental note to ask Yasmin next time I see her outside.

I unlock Betty, my blue 2002 Holden Barina—I saved for months to get her when I got my licence. Chad loaned me the small amount I was short. She may be old, but she gets me to work and school, and that’s all I need.

I’m clueless when it comes to cars. I only know the make and model of mine because I bought it. I’m one of those clichés that describes a car by its colour.

The drive to work is only ten minutes, but I try to give myself time to relax and settle in before I start, and it’s nice to chat with Chad and some of the locals for a bit. Grumpy’s has always been my home away from home.

I park out the back and make my way inside. Chad is behind the bar chatting to Doc, our local patron. Like Arden, he is here almost every day, however he leaves pretty early on. I think he is lonely more than anything.

“Hey, Doc. How’s it hanging?” I ask while walking around the bar.

“A little shrivelled and to the left.” Doc’s answer has Chad spitting his drink across the bar. I bust up laughing while dramatically patting Chad on the back.

“That’s a new one,” I wheeze out, smiling as I climb onto my barstool that Chad keeps behind here for me.

“Good, right? How are you going, El?” It warms me that he cares enough to ask. I’ve gotten to know him over the years. His wife passed away suddenly about four years ago. They never had kids, and the way he tells it, no one will ever replace her. It’s romantic and sad all at the same time.

“I’m hanging in there. Nothing new to report here.”

Doc doesn’t respond. He turns his attention back to the game. Chad drops his arm around my shoulders, and I look up and him and smile. Chad has been my rock—I would never have made it this far without him. He took me under his wing and has looked out for me ever since.

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