Chapter Four

I'm uncomfortable around furniture movers. Specifically because they are random grown men touching all my stuff. I don't have anything against men, I just hate myself around them. I've never felt happy with myself around men, probably because that's how I was raised. To my parents, I was never pretty enough to find a husband unless I wore makeup, grew out my hair, made sure my hair was curled. My father would always tell me I needed to eat less, work out more, tone my body so I can one day find a husband who will like to see me naked.

One time when I was thirteen, my father told me I'd be lucky to find a man that wouldn't divorce me after taking my clothes off.

In retrospect, men as a whole have never done anything wrong to me, but still, I hate myself around them, so therefore I avoid them entirely.

I'll never feel good enough around a man unless he's gay. Gay men are fine, because, even though I don't want any man attracted to me, I feel like some sort of freak if I don't uphold my parents standards around one. Gay men couldn't be attracted to me, so they are safe.

This is also why I don't accept male clients in the salon. I'm a coward, I'm a chokehold of sexism that I never wanted but can't bring myself to morally address.

"Is this it?" Maddie looks around my bedroom and then at me.

"I don't own a lot of things."

"No shit."

I don't want to tell her that all of this was overwhelming to me. Even owning the few essentials I do feels like I'm taking so much of her space that I feel like I can't move.

I don't tell her that I threw away or donated most of my stuff yesterday because I was ashamed of it all.

I wish I had kept a few of my books, though.

The drive here was horrendous. On top of that I had to drive to donate all my items which was a lot.

It took the movers less than an hour to get all my stuff in the apartment. When they left, I realized I really don't have a lot. I could be completely unpacked by this evening.

Maddie mentioned she has work tonight, so she was going to go to sleep for a bit. A light feeling of relief washed over me as I watched her enter her bedroom and lock the door tightly behind her. The lock she has is strange to me, and I can assume she has more based on the little clicks I hear when she shuts the door.

I think about how safe she must feel with all those locks, and the idea is comforting. I've never had a lock on any of my bedroom doors before. I wish I had had one like that when I was a kid.

Still, part of me wonders why. What's her story? Why is she so adamant on keeping people out. I'm half her size, I know she knows she can take me in a fight. I don't think it's me she's scared of. So who is it?

That thought is not comforting.

I return to my bedroom, and begin to unpack. It takes me no time at all to get everything out of the boxes, and neatly placed.

My heart is broken, and I miss my books, but it was my decision to get rid of them, so I only have myself to blame.

I lay on my own bed. The ceiling is different than the one at my old apartment. There aren't any weird stains or cracks, it just clean white ceiling and it's unsettling. My old apartment wasn't the nicest, but I grew used to it's abnormalities. Now I have to get used to normalcy and it's strange.

I don't know how long I lay staring at the ceiling, overthinking ever little thing I had done today. The sun is now setting and my room is lit up in a golden glow and it's nice. A bit of sunlight stretches across my bed and the only non-clothed part of my body is my hands. I feel the heat of the sunlight on them and slowly hide my hands behind my back as I'm laying.

The sun scares me. My skin has always been pretty white, my heritage being Scottish on my father's side and Irish on my mom's I'm white. Anyone with skin as light as mine knows the risk of having the sun on your body for even short amounts of time. Skin cancer, sunburns, aged skin, freckles -so many goddamn freckles, I can't stand them. I can't tan, so I stay far from the sun. I don't even like it on me for seconds.

My mother used to tell me to cover up when I was outside, so much so that I've developed a certain phobia of being in the sun for any longer than a minute without some sort of hat, or, yes, umbrella which I have used before. Using an umbrella to protect myself from the sun is the one time I know I look stupid and don't actually care.

It must have been a few hours since Maddie had went to sleep because I can hear her now getting ready for work. I stare at the closed door of my bedroom knowing she's out there just feet away. I don't feel comfortable going out and meeting her so I hide on my bed, my body contorted to avoid the sun spots as I wait an entire hour before I hear her exit the apartment.

I feel myself exhale when I know she's gone, not that I had any plans to leave my bedroom. Just knowing that I'm alone is relieving.

I quickly change my clothes, and hop right back into bed.

Hopefully our contradicting schedules will work out to our benefit. I leave for work in the morning, right before she gets off, and by the time I get home in the evenings, she should be gone. We never have to see each other. It's perfect.

I spend the night attempting to sleep, but I only managed a few hours. By the time the clock hits four a.m, I'm wide awake, and ready for another terrible day.

Getting used to the kitchen is something I've been dreading, but I know it has to be done. Maddie has explained I get the left side of the fridge, she gets the right. Her side is full of junk food, processed chemicals disguised as something edible. I stare at the insane amount of calories the food she eats is and I'm jealous. I wish I can comfortably eat it without worrying about whether or not I'm going to gain weight, get sick, or develop an allergic reaction. It's irrational, but it makes sense to me.

I make my usual two-hundred grams of plain chicken, along with a bowl of spinach, and because I don't have apples, that's it.

I stare at the food in front of me and feel sick. I'm not even hungry, and I'm so tired of the same foods everyday.  I should change it up, I feel week and lightheaded, and I should change what I'm consuming but there has been too much change in my life recently and I don't want to add more.

My mind feels fragile, and sensitive and I hate how pathetic it is.

I focus on my coffee, and barely eat my food. I throw it away after half an hour of staring at it. The smell was making me nauseous.

I walk around the apartment, everywhere but Maddie's room, just to get used to the place. I inspected the closets, and the patio outside facing the tiny lake.

It was cold out, the sun hasn't risen yet, and my body is shaking against the night wind, but I let myself feel it for as long as I can bare it. Fifteen minutes, half an hour, I stay outside, almost as if punishing myself until I'm so cold my body grows numb.

At six o'clock, I have to get ready for the day, and so I go back in.

I struggle to lock the back door to the patio my hands shaking so much I can't clench it properly.

"You alright?"

I nearly jump. I look over to see Maddie staring at me like she doesn't understand what she's looking at.

I checked the time on my phone once more, it was only 6:01. She shouldn't be here right now, she mentioned she doesn't get off work until 7:00 a.m.

"You scared me."

"Why were you outside it's like thirteen degrees out?" Her eyes narrowed in alarm, "Did you see someone?"

I blink at her. The look of concern on her face was unsettling. Why would she think that I saw someone, who exactly should I be on the lookout for? "No, I didn't."

There was no relief on her face as I said that, instead, she looks even more confused, but thankfully, she doesn't push it. "Okay. Good."

I see her glance at my shaking hands, and I quickly hide them behind my back. I felt guilty, which is stupid because I'm an adult and if I want to stand outside in the cold then I should be able to.

But still, I feel guilty around her. 

"I thought you get off work at seven."

I watch her walk into the kitchen, "Yeah, the morning nurse who takes my shift owed me a favor, so she came in an hour early. Is that a problem?" 

"No, of course not." I clear my throat. "I just wanted to get out of your way before you got back."

She leans against the kitchen counter, and crosses her arms over her chest. I stare at her, the way her short hair fell slightly in her face as she moved her head. The scrubs she was wearing only accentuated the muscles in her arms. She was incredibly toned. I admired her dedication to her work and her body. Knowing how much she works, I wondered at what point in the day did she find time to go to the gym?

"Why would you feel the need to 'get out of my way'? Did we not already go through this? This apartment is your home just as much as it is mine. You pay rent too now."

I feel like such a fucking child. Being scolded for something I don't even know what I did. This is humiliating, and it shouldn't be. 

"Right. You're right." I don't care if she's right. It's not about what is right or what is wrong, it's about how I assess the situation. If I disagree, despite knowing the truth, my brain will not let me forget about it. I have to do what feels right in my mind, because my mind does not think rationally. It maneuvers in any way that is against me. So long as I'm unhappy, and beaten down, only then can my brain relax. 

Her voice oddly softens, and I want to shoot myself. "Don't feel like you have to hide yourself from me."

I imagine drowning myself in the lake outside. I imagine walking in front of a moving truck and smiling as it hits me. I imagine myself bashing my head against the wall, over and over, until I seize to function.

"Of course not." I point to my room, "I should be getting ready though." I quickly move to my bedroom before she can say anything else. 

I dress myself in less than twenty minutes and I'm out of the apartment by 6:30.

The cold wind beats up against my body and I don't care. The harder it is for me to get to work, the more relieved I am. I don't care if my body grows stiff from the low temperature, anything is better than Maddie staring at me, pretending to actually be concerned.