Page 5 of Destined for the Devil
"Yes. The whole building. Where are you going to go?" I asked again, more forcefully this time. Lost for words, she clutched the cup, her knuckles turning white.
"I—I'll stay at a friend's house then, I guess. I lost…I lost everything?!” she asked me in disbelief again. Fuck, her big doe eyes looked up at me with such innocence and trust. She didn't know that I was fully responsible for her circumstances.
"Yes. Everything. I'm sorry." I didn't know what to say, to be honest. I'm sorry we all fucked up, and I almost killed you and also burned down your entire life?
Large tears pooled in her eyes, but she tried to hide her moment of weakness and placed her palm on her forehead.
Oh God, I didn't do well with crying women. I hoped she would pull it together. After a minute of silence, she still stood there, trying to breathe through the stress.
"Like I said. Stay here for as long as you need to and the—"
"No, no, I can't do that. I'm going to leavenow; I just don't…I just don't have anything to wear,” she interrupted me weakly, and this time descended into real tears.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
4
Not My Type
Isla
Iopenedmyeyesto see the room drenched in an orange hue, the late afternoon sun blasting through the window. My whole body ached, the painkillers not strong enough to dull the agony.
My mind was in a dark place, and memories of last night rushed back to me as soon as I was conscious. It washot,my lungs and throat were burning, and I couldn’t see anything in front of me. The smoke was thick and acrid, overtaking every inch of oxygen, every inch of my apartment.
There was no time to think, no time to make any decisions. I barely made it to the window, grabbing onto the first thing I stumbled upon to smash it.
Fuck. I just hoped that something was left of my apartment. I barely had anything, and that apartment…I was so lucky to land it. So grateful to have a place in L.A.
It took me a good five minutes to get out of bed. The acrobatics were probably hilarious as I struggled to rise without sitting up. But what was more fun…was trying to pee. I had to go so badly, but not only could I not sit, I could barely bend my legs without almost passing out from the pain. It would have been amusing if it wasn't all so sad.
I caught my reflection in the immaculately clean bathroom mirror and gasped. Holyshit!I was a fucking train wreck! The rat’s nest that was my hair wasn’t as jarring as my favorite white silk nightie, now all stained gray and black. My eyes roamed my reflection, but then I noticed someclothes neatly folded beside the sink, a toothbrush, and a note.
Press the start button on the coffee machine to make yourself a cup. There’s food and water in the fridge, help yourself.
Where. The. Fuck. Was. I?
Before I headed in search of coffee and water, I inspected the back of my legs, and tears poured down in earnest this time when I realized I would forever have deep scars there. I had such nice legs, but now it looked like Edward Scissorhands tried to fucking finger me. It was an abomination. Blood crusted on my skin, and the stitched-up cuts were red and swollen. Silently crying, I changed into the humongous t-shirt and followed the instructions to the kitchen.
This apartment was something else. Genuinely uneasy at the thought of who owned it and where I was, I walked out into a spacious and luxurious living room filled with expensive furniture and modern art. There was a fireplace on one wall, and a huge L-shaped couch faced the other wall—all windows. The view of the city quite literally took my breath away.
On the opposite end was a kitchen fully finished in white marble and a dining table big enough for, I don’t know, twenty people? Who lived here? He said his name was Roman, but that didn't tell me anything.
My fingers clutched at the smooth walls as I limped forward, wincing with every movement. God, it all hurt so much, but I was dying for water.
The kitchen looked brand new and extremely clean—not a speck of dust or a scratch on anything. Did this person actually live here? The fridge too—pristine and organized. I mentally compared it to mine back in New York, which definitely contained some expired condiments, a fewbeer bottles haphazardly thrown in the bottom drawer, and maybe an egg carton and leftovers.
No. This was a well-organized and spotless fridge that had drinks on one side, alcohol on the other, prepackaged meals perfectly stacked, and fruits and vegetables neatly laid out in their respective drawers.
No stinky cheese? Olives? Chili sauce? Clearly, this Roman guy didn't know how to enjoy his food. I tried to stop judging and closed the fridge door, making my way to the swanky coffee maker. Wow, okay, dude, a moka pot does the same thing as your pimped-out button barista. I loved a good moka pot; everything else tasted like hot garbage.
Yep, this fancy-ass coffee tasted like shit. I looked for milk but didn't locate it in the fridge.Come on.No milk either?! Who was this weirdo?
And how the hell did he find me last night?
Ugh. I’d just moved in; I didn't even get to fully unpack. Oh God, what if I lost everything?! Moving across the country alone was hard enough, and now this? I didn't have any real friends here, just some acquaintances, and now I had nowhere to live. Fuck. This was very unlucky.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go anywhere. I had no one to go to in L.A.—
