Four;

CHAPTER FOUR -

Benjamin

“Do you ever leave this apartment?” Cali says the second I open the door. Her blonde hair is pulled back and her eyebrows are both raised, her brown eyes looking right at me. She’s pretty, I’ll give her that. But she’s fairly annoying.

            “No,” I say shortly, “Not much.”

            “Other than the roof?” she asks and crosses her arms.

            “Yeah,” I sigh and look at her again, then around the corridor, “Do you want to come in?” I ask and she looks at me as if it’s the dumbest question.

            “Duh.”

            “Bloody Americans,” I murmur as she uncrosses her arms, pushes past me and walks into the middle of the living room.

            It’d been three weeks since she moved in and we had met on the roof almost every night since that wretched baby woke both us up. She told me a little about herself, the demon and her flatmate. What I do remember from the night at the pub is she said she is a psychology major, and she seems to fit the type. To her, everything can be broken down into words, books, and logic. Hate to be around when she figures out that it’s not the case.

            “Don’t decorate,” she notes, her eyes gliding around the room.

            “Why bother,” I mutter and she turns her eyes on me.

            “You’re living here,” she says, “It looks like a tomb.” The second she says it, her eyes start to sweep the room again and I can almost see the thoughts racing through her mind at light speed. Her eyes flicker around, her lip pulls into her mouth, and her eyes finally come back to me.

            Because it is, I think as she taps her foot on the ground.

            “How long have you been here?”

            “A little,” I say and she nods, not asking, but there’s the information loading through her brain again. She’s looking around, taking in every ounce of the bloody flat.

            “How do you feel about giving the ‘bloody American,’” she rolls her eyes and makes air quotes, “a tour?”

            “Why?” I say flatly and Cali smiles at me.

            “Because I have no idea where I am.”

            “London,” I reply and she rolls her eyes.

            “Obviously,” she crosses her arms again, “I bought the plane ticket.” 

            “Really?” I murmur, “Sure no one was trying to get rid of you?”

            Most people " let alone women " have enough of me when I start insulting them, or acting bored, but not her. She’ll tilt her head to the side, smirk at me, or arch her eyebrow. Cali’s put up with my s**t for two weeks, and now she just sighs.

            “What is your problem?” The way she says it is soft, but it sounds harsh to me " like she’s pointing a finger at me.

            I shrug and she turns to walk past me, “Have fun in your cave, Benjamin,” she says as she opens the flat’s door, “Come find me if you want to be nice.”

            The door shuts - not slams - behind her and I sit down on the sofa, back to the way things were.

{*}

She’s not on the roof tonight.

{*}

Two days pass and she hasn’t knocked on the door or shown up at the roof. The baby cries at night again, I lie awake and can’t strain my ears hard enough to hear her and her flatmate whisper. I can hear someone moving around, and then I can hear the door as it creeps open. I sit up and run a hand through my hair. I can go see if it’s Cali or I can stay where I am. I look toward the door, contemplating it.

            Would it be so bad if I talked to her?

            I stare at the door, and hear footsteps walking away. Seems like she answered the question for me.

            So I lie back down.

{*}

Cali’s crying. I can tell as the door swings open loudly and crashes into the wall. I glance over from my perch on the edge of the roof to see her stumble onto the roof and let out a deep and short breath. Her blonde hair is blown in front of her face and she’s wiping her face fiercely. After a moment of standing, looking toward the ground, she drops to her knees and her chest erupts in sobs. First the baby, now her. I start to walk over to the door, to go back inside because maybe the baby has shut up.

            The door slowly swings back and is about to slam into her, but I reach my hand out and stop it. She glances up at me as I tower over her, holding the door at an arm’s length away. Her face is tilted to me and her tears are alight because of the moon. The rain has stopped tonight, but it’s clammy and might start up any minute. She breaks the eye contact, looking down at her hands. Her palms stretch on the ground flatly and she lets out a deep breath.

            “Sorry,” she mutters, and gets to her feet, “Wouldn’t want to disturb you.” Her dark eyes narrow and she turns to go through the door I’m holding. I release it and it hits in her in the side.

            Cali stops and her arms thrusts out, the door bounces away from her and hits the wall again, rattling nosily and starting back toward her. I follow it with my eyes as she fumes.

            “You’re an a*****e,” she growls, “Every single man I know is an a*****e. Thank you for helping me make that decision. And you don’t have to hit me with the door.” She reaches out and slaps my shoulder. I stand there, staring at her for a moment as she turns away from me and goes back into the building, slamming the door behind her.

            “Well, then,” I mutter and pull out a f*g. “That’s why I hate women.”

            The door opens again and she slaps my shoulder again, before the light from the stairwell disappears and I’m left with the echoing sound of a closing door.