ONE

 

Ida

Present Day

 

Hopping on one foot as I attempt to slide my high heel on, I silently curse myself for oversleeping once again. As much as I hate my day job, losing it because I’m late once more isn’t a smart move. Not when my bank account anaemic and this month’s rent is due in two days.

“Ah, shit!” I shriek when my right foot catches on something and I topple forward before I can stop myself.

My phone drops from its precarious position trapped between my ear and my shoulder. The loud crack it makes when it hits the tiled floor doesn’t bode well for its survival. My stumble over my housemates Gucci handbag may have interrupted my mental castigation, but it’s now replaced it with a bigger problem. Bending over, I pick up my phone. A couple of perfunctory jabs at the shattered screen confirms my suspicions. It’s broken and there is no salvaging it.

I glare at the expensive accessory where it sits, like a shiny beacon of sabotage, in the middle of our living room floor. It’s a stark reminder that my gratitude at having a decent place to live is tempered by the fact that my housemate’s slobby ways and her clear lack of regard for those of us who have to work to support ourselves drives me insane. 

“Marta!” I stand and scream. “How many times do I have to tell you to clean up after yourself?”

By the time I’ve managed to find my shoes and wedge my feet into them, my housemate—who also doubles as my only friend in this city—has made her way out of her room and into the living room. She’s naked, except for the satin sheet she clutches to the front of her long, curvy frame, and the tall, dark, and handsome man who is wrapped around her back.

“What?” Marta whispers her question. She stares at me with annoyance on her classically beautiful face. The smell of stale alcohol permeates the living room, surrounding them like a noxious reminder that everyone else in this city has a life but me. While I was busy working my ass off at my second job last night, they were out having fun like a pair of normal twenty-somethings.

Well, as normal as a pair of twenty-somethings with uninhibited access to Daddy’s platinum Visa can be.

I ignore Marta’s question, instead staring down her conquest when he lets out a deliberate cough to draw my attention to the fact that he’s naked while he clings to her, apparently unembarrassed, like a second skin. Fixing my hands on my hips, I glare at him unblinkingly until he shows the good grace to grab the throw rug from the couch closest to him and wrap it around himself. He sits on the arm of the couch and eyes me warily.

“Seriously, Ida? Stop being such a prude. It’s a dick, not an IED. They won’t hurt you unless you ask them to.” Marta lets the sheet drop before she stalks away from me. Taking the half empty champagne bottle that she left on the coffee table, she tilts her head back and drains the rest of the sparkling fluid. When she’s done, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then plonks herself onto the couch next to her latest one-night stand.

She points the remote at the TV and turns it on. The screen bursts to life, loud music filling the room. Hot flames of rage catch fire in my veins and I literally see red. I grab her handbag and throw it onto her lap. A smirk of satisfaction twists my lips when she shrieks and leaps to her feet.

“You left this on the floor. Again.” I close the distance between us and toss my phone at her. She catches it with a lazy grace that I’ll never possess, turning it over in her hand while she inspects it. “I dropped it when I tripped over your freaking bag. It’s broken. I’m late. And, I’m probably out of a job too.”

The man sitting next to her decides that right now is the perfect time for him to speak.

“She’s exquisite,” he drawls. “Who is she?” The insolent gaze that he runs over me, starting from my high heels, lingering on my chest, and stopping at the black hair that frames my face, is enough to make me roll my eyes. It’s the typical, cocksure, rich prick behaviour that this town is known for. It didn’t impress me when I first moved to the city and it certainly doesn’t impress now, two years later.

“Nobody you need to worry yourself about,” I quip, moment of ocular judgement over. My mother always told me that my eyes would stay rolled back in my head if I didn’t stop using them to display my contempt for almost everyone I meet. Unfortunately, I haven’t found a more efficient way of dismissing the people who make my skin crawl, so it’s become a bit of a trademark of mine.

So much so, that it makes Marta giggle when I follow my dismissive eye roll with a sneer in the direction of her man friend.

“Don’t poke at Ida, David. My roommate is a bit of a bitch. She’ll flay you alive with her acid tongue and then laugh while you try not to cry over it.” Her accurate assessment makes me smile. I’m still trying to decide if I’m angry at her or not, when she rifles through her bag and holds out a wad of cash to me. “Here. This should cover your half of the bills for this month. Consider it an apology for breaking your phone and making you lose that terrible job you loved so much.”

Sarcasm is our primary mode of communication. I should be used to her straightforward nature. But it’s times like this that remind me how big the divide is between where I find myself and where she comes from.

Not that our differences would be so apparent if I’d swallow my pride and admit that our backgrounds aren’t as dissimilar as I like to pretend.

 “I don’t need your charity,” I snap, blinking back tears of anger. Hurt makes my retort sharper than it should be. “What I need is a housemate who knows how to clean up after herself like an adult.”

Spinning on my heel, I dismiss her with my back while I gather my things and head for the front door for the second time this morning. Late as I am, it’ll be a miracle that I’m not actually sacked when I get to work.

“What you need is to get laid,” Marta yells after me. “A nice long trip to O town can take the bitch out of any woman.”

The door swings shut behind me, silencing the laughter they’re sharing at my expense. I stop for a moment and lean back against the smooth wood. Blinking hard, I force away the sting of emotion that has my tears threatening to spill over and silently curse the universe.

It shouldn’t be so hard to prove yourself in this world.

All I want is the chance to show that I can make something of myself without my family’s help.

Is that too much to ask?