Flat 51

I knocked loudly on the large black front door of flat 51, pushing down the nerves that always came with a new flatmate. This would be my 5th go at sharing somebody’s flat in just two years, as I’d gotten kicked out by the other four bastards. Hopefully this one would be better. The advert in the paper had given the address and phone number. I’d called, and the woman on the other end had said to show up at 9:00 A.M. on this date if I wanted the flat. As usual, we’d split the costs, so that’d work well with my cheap bar tending job at the local watering hole.

“Come in!” I heard a faint shout come from somewhere inside, and to my surprise the door was left unlocked and slightly ajar. I pushed it open and closed it all the way behind me. I observed the apartment with a general disinterest, noting the slight lack of organization throughout the open space. Immediately to the left of the door was a spacious full bath, and to the right was a small but functional bedroom. Straight ahead was a nicely kept kitchen and off of that a cozy living room with a large window was strewn with various blankets and articles of clothing.

I made my way into the open door off said living room, when I heard a sudden screech. Someone fell into me from the side, and I instinctively caught the person before they hit the ground.

“You alright, love?” I asked, staring wide-eyed at the beautiful woman in my arms. She laughed, really laughed, and stood straight, smoothing her plaid shirt over her black skinnies. Then she reached up and combed her fingers through her ruffled but still gorgeous chocolate brown hair, pushing her long bangs out of her bright blue eyes.

“Yeah, thanks. I just slipped off my chair,” she said, pointing to a rather unsteady looking desk chair shoved into a small closet on the left. She was… She was American. How strange… We stood there for a moment, awkwardly staring anywhere but each other until she snapped her head up and smiled. “I’m so rude! I’m Emily White!” I took her outstretched hand and shook it, glancing again to the ground where a heap of shoes had been thrown from the top shelf of the closet.

“Um, Harry Styles,” I muttered.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked, squinting at me. “Your voice sounds familiar…”

“Um, yeah, we spoke on the phone yesterday.” How could she forget about this? She was the one who’d set the time and everything.

“We did?” She was genuinely confused. Wow…

“I called about the flat. You said to come at 9 sharp if I wanted it, so here I am,” I replied, growing irritated. She either didn’t catch the annoyance in my tone of voice, or she chose to ignore it. Either way, her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh yeah! Hang on, I thought I said 10…”

“You did, then you changed it to 9.” She should’ve remembered this.

“Oh. Well, sorry for the mess,” she said, abruptly pushing past me and heading to the first bedroom I spotted on the way in. “I can move in here if you want the bigger bedroom. I just really can’t afford this place right now, but there aren’t any better deals in the area, and I also can’t afford to leave my jobs. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” I followed her movements with my eyes, confused as she ran around the space, folding up a blanket, eating an ice lolly, hanging up a jumper.

“You should really lock your front door. Anybody could have walked right in,” I said, catching her attention. Her captivating blue eyes flicked over my shoulder, then back into my own gaze.

“It is shut,” she replied, sucking on the purple ice lolly. Damn, she was perfect.

“That’s because I shut it when I came in. It wasn’t shut before,” I snapped. She shrugged and moved to the living room.

“You can sit if you want. I guess I should interrogate you if you’re going to be my roommate,” she laughed, flopping down on one of the two small couches.

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Um, I don’t know… How old are you?” Great start, rookie.

“22. My birthday is February 1st, 1994, in case you were wondering,” I said sarcastically. Be more specific, kid. Why am I encouraging her? I don’t want her knowing my past. Whatever. She needed to learn in case she got some womanizing alcoholic in here after me.

“Point taken,” she laughed, licking up the length of her ice lolly. Licking up the length… Stop it! I snapped at myself. Flat mate, not sex partner. “Um… Have you done drugs?” she giggled. She was taking this as a joke.

“Yes,” I answered easily. She widened her eyes and frowned. “I don’t do them anymore,” I continued, not wanting to alarm her.

“Oh, ok. Have you had roommates before?”

“Yeah, I’ve been a roommate. Never had my own place, though.” She considered this, then shrugged.

“I guess I should ask for the number of whoever your last roommate was, just to check up on you or whatever.” Great…

“Ok, here. Can I use this?” I asked, pointing to the pen and notepad laying on the coffee table. She nodded and I wrote down a number. Not Rick’s number, my last flat mate, but my old buddy Louis’ number. He always covered for me when I needed him. She thanked me and dialed the number, heading into the other room.

Notes

I'm going to try running 2 stories at once... Let's try this out!