Home Sweet Hell

Home Sweet Hell

Jones broke down the final cardboard box, grinning at me while she did it.

I knew the massive smile she had plastered on her face was a stark contrast to the scowl I’d been fighting since the bat flew into my hair earlier that morning. We’d just moved into this house, and already, I regretted it. We’d been here for two days.

“Lindsay?”

Bringing myself back from the memory of the damn bat in my hair, I refocused on her face, which was still full of apprehension. “What?”

“You’re giving me the murder look again.” She sat the box cutter on the breakfast bar. “You wanna share with the class, or are you gonna kill me in my sleep?”

I shook my head, fighting a smile. “Not killing you. Just angry that this place—it’s been less than ideal. First, the fleas, then the attic rodent party.”

“I know, I know. It sucks. But hey, once all of the little creatures are out, we’re living here and paying towards owning something! And I don’t have to keep my creepy nudes deal with Phil anymore for our place in the city.” Her smile faltered for a moment, and the woman who I knew to be generally so sure of herself, looked less confident than usual.

I scratched the top of my hand and wondered if a mouse scratch could lead to rabies. We’d moved from the Lower East Side to Brooklyn to buy this damn house. I knew she was right. This place, despite the rocky start, would be a good thing. My shoulders fell, and I shrugged.

“C’mon, celebrate with me?” She smiled again and closed the distance between us, rubbing my arms.

“Fine. You’re right. This place…isn’t so bad.” We would make it our own in time. I allowed her fingers intwining with mine to shift my thoughts from the shitty house to her soft skin. My hands found her hips.

“And it’s ours!” She said this against my lips between kisses. 

I laughed quietly. “Yeah, that is nice.”

“Sorry we had to settle for Brooklyn. I know you weren’t a fan of leaving the grand island.” She rested her head on my shoulder. Her breath warmed my collar bone.

I sighed. “Just for work, I guess. It’s not like we were going out drinking anymore.”

“Yeah.” She yawned. “I will miss China All the Time, though. Their food is amazing.”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”

“You want to go wander around a little to get to know our new area better? Or is there more to unpack upstairs?” She lifted her head from my shoulder and threw it back with a laugh. “Oh my god! Did you hear that? We have an upstairs!”

She clapped. She looked like at me with wide, wild eyes, full of excitement.

“It’s pretty cool.” Her excitement was still as infectious as it always had been. “I’d like to shower and change before we go out, but it’d be smart to go check things out. Find a grocery store we can walk to, all that.”

“Can I shower with you?” She wiggled her eyebrows and winked.

With a dramatic sigh, I said, “I guess.”

Taking my hand, she dragged me upstairs. She paused at the top of the stairs. She looked a little lost, and my heart felt full as I watched her get her bearings. I covered my mouth to hide a small smile.

“Do you know where the towels are?” She opened the hall closet and wonder danced across her face. “Of course, they’re in the linen closet.”

She handed me two towels before continuing on our way. The bathroom was considerably larger than the one in our old, tiny apartment. There was counter space around the sink, and the toilet wasn’t wedged between the shower and sink as if it had been forgotten until the end. Everything had so much room to breathe.

Once in front of the shower, we were faced with the challenge of actually turning it on. It looked similar and yet very different to our old one. We stared at it, and I wished so badly houses came with user manuals.

“Do we push, pull, or what?” She let go of my hand and touched the knobs lightly.

Setting the towels down, I decided the only way to figure it out was to try something. I turned the knob; water gushed out of the faucet, splashing into the tub and sailing down the drain. We took pause again before I reached out and tried a few different pushes and pulls. Then I saw the stopper on top of the faucet and pulled up on the metal nub. It pulled up too easily. Water instantly poured above my head, but the metal stopper mechanism—the metal stick—it was in my hand, fully disconnected from the faucet head. Broken!

My hair and tank top soaked through as I stood staring at another problem with this new home. The stopper was wet in my grip. My mouth hung open, shower water trickled down my cheek and on to my lips.

Jones let out a giant cackle of futility.

I screamed in frustration. The sound echoed around us. Another weird faulty thing to deal with. What were the odds? Fleas, bats, mice, and now a problem with our shower-faucet-metal stick thing?

Jones was doubled over laughing now.

“I hate this place.” I shouted again and then threw the metal stick into the tub.

“Come on, it’s pretty funny!” She choked this out between fits of laughter.

“First day, fleas we had to treat, then this morning a bat flew at me while I struggled to not step on a pile of mice! Now this?” I stepped back, away from the gushing water. I was yelling, but by the end, my shouts were broken up by my own fit of cackling.

The shower water splashed against the tub and the heat was slowly fogging the mirror. My clothes dripped on to the tile flooring. We stood there, laughing.