Page 7 of Takedown Artist
“That’s exactly how it works,” he shouts back. I’m absolutely dumbfounded by his thought process, if it can even be called that.
“Stay out of my room, Jasper,” I tell him, trying to sound as if I have any authority.
“Don’t tell me what to fucking do in my own place, or you can get the hell out. I don’t need your shit, Micah. I’m fucking doing you a favor by letting you stay here.”
And with that little gem of wisdom, he slams the bedroom door so hard the walls shake. I’m stunned because what the actual fuck just happened?
Whoosh.
The bedroom door flies open again. Jasper’s red-faced and furious.
“You know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I don’t need this kind of crap in my life. Find somewhere else to live, ‘cause you can’t live here,” he sneers, squinting at me with his watery blue eyes, bushy eyebrows wiggling with the force of his emotions.
“What the fuck, Jasper? You’re just kicking me out in the middle of the night?” I knew he was a dick, but seriously?
“The fuck I can’t. My apartment, remember? Get out or I’m calling the cops.”
Is he kidding me right now? The cops? Jesus, I’m the one whose room got trashed.
His face gets a spiteful look, and it occurs to me he’s not angry; he’s genuinely malicious. How did I miss that? I’m getting the hell out of here. People like Jasper can do some serious damage. It’s time to cut and run.
He looks at me expectantly. Is he waiting for me to beg him not to kick me out?
“I’m going but I’ll be back tomorrow for my furniture,” I tell him, seething inside.
“Whatever. Just get the fuck out.” His face is smug and arrogant.
What a fucking dickbag.
The walls shudder as he flings the door closed.
I grab garbage bags because it’s not as if I was expecting to move today. Of course, Jasper couldn’t leave me to pack inpeace. He keeps opening his door to give me the evil eye like some kind of Marvel villain and asking when I’ll be done.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. It’s not like I didn’t know better. I wish I could kick my own ass. The fact that I have nothing in writing means that I have nothing. And if the cops come, I’m just some trespasser. Who knows what he’d tell them. I’m way too pretty for jail.
An hour later, everything I own, except my furniture, is bagged and lining the apartment hallway. My furniture won’t fit in my tiny ass car and there’s no way I can move it all alone. I’m worried about leaving it here, but there isn’t much of a choice. It took me quite a while to save up for a bedroom set, and I’m beyond pissed that it could get damaged. Sure, it’s only IKEA, but it’s mine. And it’s the first complete matching set of furniture I was able to buy on my own.
I haul it all to the elevator, sweaty and panting by the time I’m done. I work at a gym, for God’s sake. How am I this out of shape?
I get it all outside and into my car where it barely fits. I’m going to have to pile some bags onto the driver’s seat to get any sleep tonight. No way can I afford a hotel. I’ve got exactly $25.00 in cash on me, and my checking account is below the minimum of $50.00. Which means they’ll charge me ten bucks that I can’t afford to pay. At least one bag has my pillows and bedding, so tonight will be bearable.
It’s not the first time I’ve slept in my car, or even the first time I’ve been homeless. No one gives a shit about kids who’ve aged out of the system. Never fool yourself into thinking that the government, or anyone really, cares what happens to foster kids. The entire system would be set up differently if they did.
Where the hell do I go? While I’d normally hit up a Walmart parking lot, the nearest one is about a half hour away, and I can’t afford to waste gas. My budget is even tighter now since Ijust paid that asshole a month’s rent last week. Money I’ll never see again. This is my own fault. I never should have agreed to a verbal lease only. Way to shoot myself in the foot.
The alley behind the gym is the only place I’m sure is safe. Tiernan’s a decent guy, and I’m hoping he won’t mind. I almost call Arlo, but it’s two thirty in the morning. It’s too late, and right now, I’m desperate for some sleep.
The two dumpsters near the gym’s back door have just enough space to fit my car between them. Parallel parking isn’t my best skill, but I’ll make it work. At least no one will care if I bump the dumpster.
It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to get Corkus nestled in there, nice and snug. As I settle in for the night, despite everything, a sense of relief washes over me. I’m safe here, and that’s more than I’ve had in the past.
After cobbling together a makeshift bed in my back seat, I use a couple of towels to block the east-facing windows. It’s almost three a.m. and I’m in desperate need of some solid sleep. It’s surprisingly quiet back here, and sleep takes me quickly.
Chapter 4
Diesel
“What an asshole!” Arlo tells Micah as I enter the breakroom.
