01

HOUSING

we let our lives mix with our dreams
like two coloured paints
until we didn’t know
which is what,
and we didn’t care

. . .

Every penny I owned went into that flat in London.

Well, except the ones that were spent on the shopping bags, which I held in my hands as I fumbled to unlock the door. I sighed, frustrated with my futile attempts at finally claiming my place away from everyone I never wanted to see again—my parents, ex-friends, and ex-coworkers.

That flat was going to be mine all alone, private, calm, and personalised. I would never have to hear Mum scream shame at me again. I would never hear Dad knock on my door to ask for money, nor would I receive the judgemental looks from our neighbours anymore.

The flat was a little too old, small, probably holding old-fashioned furniture too, but that all didn’t bother me. With my new job, I was going to make enough money to revamp it and possibly move to a better one later too. At the time, I had a two-bedroom flat. One room for me, and another I could rent to aid my finances. Sounded perfect to me.

Despite my previous fluster, a smile spread across my lips as I put the bags down and held the key properly to unlock the door. It clicked open, finally revealing the site of the lovely place that smelled like… city pollution? No issues: I was going to use my favourite scented candles that I had just bought.

As I entered and pushed my shopping bags inside, I noticed the balcony door was wide open, which probably caused the place to smell that way. The thin, white curtain whooshed with the wind. I frowned, not remembering that I or the previous owner left it open when he showed me around the last time. Perhaps he came for the last check later after that visit and forgot it. That open window meant a long round of dust mopping for me.

Again, I would not ruin my happiness for myself. That was my flat that I was going to embrace with all its flaws.

However, I wished it stopped at that. As I made my way further in the small place, towards my supposed bedroom, I heard the shower running. I gasped to myself, thinking whether I was experiencing my first robbery incident already. Since when did burglars shower in their victims’ houses, though? How shameless was that person?

My hands got too sweaty for me to ignore, so I wiped them on my coat absentmindedly. I wasn’t prepared to deal with such situations. I went back on my tracks and stood by the exit door again to be able to escape in case the robber wanted to hurt me. I fished my phone out and flipped through my contacts. Well, for that time, I only had the ex-owner and the agency I applied for on my contact list. I deleted everyone else.

I dialled the ex-owner. The usual phone lady replied to me, saying the line was unused, so that meant the man had already left the country. He had told me he wanted to sell the place before he left for Canada.

I was left to my inevitable fate of a possible robber in my new place. I didn’t want to deal with that, so I did the first thing any sane person would do in my case: I attempted to call the police.

Just as I was about to, I heard the toilet door open. I flinched, and my phone fell to the floor with a thud. From my spot in the living room by the door, I was unable to see who it was yet. Shakily, I kneeled and tried to grab the phone back to call the police quickly and use any second left before he saw me.

I was slow. Too slow.

“Excuse me?” a guy came to the living room and said with a towel hanging low on his waist.

The words died in my throat. All I could feel was my heart pumping painfully fast, and a scream about to erupt from my throat. A brown-haired guy with sharp eyes glared back at me, the rise and fall of his naked chest offered to my wide eyes.

“Ma’am, what are you doing in my flat? How did you get in?” he snarled, his grip tightening around the towel as if I’d launch at him and untie it.

I finally found my voice, “Excuse me? Your flat?”

Burglars were taking it to a new level by barging in, showering, claiming the place, and daring to act as if it was how things were supposed to go. If getting flats was that easy, then why did I move out all the way there and pay all my money for it? I could go to a posh neighbourhood and claim any beautiful house I liked, then.

However, that guy, whoever he was, had the determination that told me that encounter was as serious to him as it was to me. A panic attack was close to hitting me while he stood there and awaited my explanation, half-naked.

“I—” I tried to add a coherent sentence, but no words came out. Instead, I stared back at him in awe. I realised he wasn’t a burglar. He would be too dumb to be one. That cheap flat should be the last target anyone would think of. So, I finally found my confidence to ask something that would make sense, “What do you mean your flat?”

He gave me that look that asked me whether I was dumb or had something wrong in my brain. I responded with a glare, finally getting the courage to step closer and examine his exterior. His hair was still dripping wet, but his chest was already drying up. Faint abs lined his stomach, then a thin hairline disappeared under his white towel. He wore cheap slippers, like those white ones I got in hotels, and that was all about it. The idea that only that towel separated his nudity from my eyes disturbed me. I silently prayed he wouldn’t do anything wrong to me.

He tightened the towel and answered, “This is my flat that you stepped feet in. I don’t even know how you got in! If you don’t apologise to me this instant and leave, I am afraid I’ll have to call security.”

Security? Too much for merely wanting to enjoy my first day in my place. How on earth did he get the keys for the flat too? Was I in the wrong place? I couldn’t be. The key I had opened the door.

On instinct, I looked for my ownership papers in my coat’s pockets. Before showing them to him, I had checked them out myself for another round of assurance. I was not going crazy. That place was mine, and he was the one trespassing.

“Sir, I’m afraid I will be the one to call security on you.” I pointed to my chest. In seconds, I was pushing the ownership contract to his face to prove my point.

He took it from me a little too harshly and read the content. “No fucking way.”

He gave me back the papers and disappeared into the bedroom—my bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, and I flinched again. What was up with that guy walking around my place as if it was his? He saw the contract and seemed to understand it, so I supposed it was enough confirmation for him to realise his mistake. My rage was on, so I went ahead and knocked on the door as if I was an angry mother bailing her child out to get his punishment.

“Open the door, or I’ll call the police!” I yelled, knocking nonstop.

Said stranger reopened the door, causing my automated hands to almost knock on his chest. We stood there in an awkward moment of staring as if memorising each other’s features. Stress lined his forehead, and little wrinkles surrounded his eyes. I would say he was thirty, six years older than me. He looked into my face a little too deeply, and I feared… I feared he knew me with that intense look of his.

Finally leaving my trance, I noticed a paper in his hands. He shoved it to my face. The paper looked like an ownership contract too. How was that possible? Two contracts for two different people but the same place? And we were both given keys?

With blank eyes, he announced, “I think we’ve been robbed.”

. . .

Hare's the first chapter! Feedback is appreciated!

How did you find this story?

Thoughts about Perrie?

Dave?

The robbery?

Genuine question: hooked to keep reading?

Votes, comment and share ❤