Chapter 3: The Worst Roommate

|| Arabella ||

I was sitting on the park bench all alone in the dark with my luggage on either side, with no idea where to stay tonight.

Yes, I was now officially homeless.

My aunt didn’t even let me enter her house anymore. Apparently, she thinks I would never leave if she didn’t kick me out like that. I mean, what was with that? Today was literally the first time she told me to leave. But all of that was cleared when I heard my cousins laugh from inside. It was just a twisted joke to them. They were making fun of my misery.

So I just mumbled a small thanks to them and took my things and decided to never look back.

I wandered for a while until I reached a park, and now I have been sitting at this bench for a few hours now. I saw people walking their dogs, playing with their children, and couples romancing. It was pleasant to watch.

Before I realized night had already fallen and the park was empty.

“I need money,” I murmured to myself as my stomach growled. If only I had that, I could rent a little apartment and stay there. I couldn’t use my hair’s money, in case I need it for some other emergency. Not that a hundred bucks were any good. But now as it stood, I didn’t think I could even continue going to school. I couldn’t have that luxury while still working.

Oh, wait, didn’t I used to have a part-time job?

But I haven’t been at work for the last five months. I have been so deep in my grief, I completely forgot about it. Maybe I should call my manager and ask if I could start working again. I took out my phone and called the restaurant manager where I used to work.

“Hello, who’s this?” The sharp voice rang from the other side.

“Hello, it’s Arabella, Ms. Tomlin.” I tried to keep the nervous tremble from my voice. This was my last hope.

“Arabella who?”

“Arabella Laurel. I used to work in your restaurant—”

“Haven’t you already been fired?”

“Sorry, what?”

Ms. Tomlin cleared her throat and repeated, “You have already been fired for not showing up at work.”

No, no, this couldn’t be happening.

“But I informed you that my mother died.”

“Yes, but you never contacted afterward, so we hired another part-timer three months ago.”

“But—”

“We are done here. Don’t bother me again.” With that, the line went bad.

I dropped my phone on the grass below and buried my face in my knees. I started crying. This was so hopeless.

My mom always used to say that there was good in bad. Where was the good here? Where should I look to find something positive? Nothing was good. Everything was horrible.

“I hate it. I want to be with you, Mom,” I sobbed like a little child.

I felt a hand on top of my head and stopped crying. I raised my head to meet a pair of dark gray eyes of a man, his expression clouded with sympathy. “What’s wrong, little one?” he asked warmly.

“I-I am so p-pathetic.” My voice trembled as I spoke.

The man patted my head and sat on the bench beside me. He seemed to be in his mid-forties, and he looked decent in his gray polo shirt and jeans. “Why? What’s wrong?” he asked.

I started telling him everything because I needed someone to speak to.

“... I-I do-don’t have a place to st-stay. I-I don’t h-have an-any mo-money. I now p-probably have to d-drop out of school,” I hiccuped the whole time as I briefed him on my situation.

He was silent the whole time, just silently listening to me, before he finally spoke up, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

After a few more sobs, I pulled myself and asked, “W-what are you doing here at this time, mister?”

The man smiled and said, “I was just looking around for inspiration for my new painting when I saw you. You see, I’m an artist.”

“Oh, that’s cool. What’s your name?” I asked politely, rubbing my face to look more presentable.

“Ian Reeves.”

I blinked a few times as the name registered in my head. “Wait, are you the Ian Reeves who has received many art awards?”

He nodded.

“Oh, my God. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir!” I stood up and abruptly extended my hand. “How rude of me to not even recognize such a great artist!”

He chuckled and motioned me to sit back down beside him. “It’s alright. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’. Just call me Ian.” I sat back down. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Arabella Laurel.”

“Laurel?” He arched an eyebrow. “What was your mother’s name again?”

“Harper Laurel,” I said, confused.

The color drained out of his face. “And you said your mother passed away five months ago?” I nodded. “Oh, my God.” He buried his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in concern.

“Your mom… Harper was a dear friend of mine.”

My mom was friends with such a famous artist and never told me. Wow.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I didn’t know what else to say as he started telling me how my mom and he used to be great friends in middle school and high school. But then, they broke contact after my dad died eleven years ago and my mom got too busy with work and me.

Ian wiped a tear that dropped and said, “So you said you didn’t have a place to stay?” I nodded awkwardly. “I have a room where you can stay.”

“Oh, no, I probably can’t accept such a generous off—”

“Please, your mom has done a lot for me. Let me return that favor. I’ll even pay for your food and all other essentials.”

“But I would just be a burden to you—”

“Not at all. You’re like a daughter to me. I would love to take care of you. If it makes you feel any better, you can repay me after you grow up and get a job,” he explained.

I thought about it for a moment. I didn’t know the man very well but he was Mom’s friend and he seemed really nice. Besides, he appeared right when I needed someone. It was probably Mom’s way of looking out for me from heaven.

Thanks, Mom.

“I’ll accept your offer, then. But please do tell me if there’s anything else I can do for you,” I told him with a small smile.

Ian scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, you see, you would have to share the apartment with two roommates.”

“Oh, that’s completely fine. I’m really great at making friends!” I chirped. Having roommates would be way better than living alone.

“They are both boys,” he informed.

“Oh.” Now that might be a little weird.

“But I assure you that they are both very respectful towards women and won’t harm you. They are both good kids. One of them is my son and another is my nephew.”

“I don’t think it will be an issue, then.” Even if they happen to be bad, I had no choice. Beggars don’t get to be choosers. But I was sure I could roll with them.

“That’s great then!” he exclaimed happily and got up. “C’mon, let’s take you to your new home. You must be hungry too.”

I nodded and started following him out of the park with my luggage. It was a short walk of ten minutes from there. We reached a tall, expensive-looking building and got in the elevator.

“Um, why don’t you live with your son?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Well, I moved out a year ago due to the commotion my son and nephew create all the time. I need peace for creating my art pieces,” Ian told me.

“What commotion?” The elevator door opened up and we got out.

“They fight with each other an awful lot.” Ian shuffled through his pocket to take out the keys and opened the door for me.

I entered the apartment and was taken aback by how nice and homely it looked. I couldn’t believe I was going to be living here, considering I was homeless a few minutes ago. “Wow, it’s great.”

However, I couldn’t ignore the mess around the living when I entered. Clothes, socks, books, papers, a half-eaten packet of potato chips, and cookie crumbs were lying around.

“I’m sorry about the mess. My boys aren’t the most hygienic,” Ian said.

Okay, so they were messy. I could handle that. How worse could they be personality-wised? I couldn’t be ending up with the worst possible roommate on earth for me. Nope. Not at all.

“That’s fine. I’ll clean it all up. I love cleaning and organizing.” I was about to approach the coffee table to pick up the bag of potato chips when I felt like I stepped on something. The thing screeched and I screamed before jumping on top of the big coffee-colored leather couch and knocking over two vases on the table beside the couch. “Oh, my God! What is that?” I exclaimed in horror.

I placed my hands over my heart in fear and found an orange tabby cat glaring at me with his sharp blue eyes.

“Oh, it’s Clover. It’s a pet,” Ian let out, motioning at the hissing cat.

I sighed in relief as it was just a cat. I thought I stepped on a dog’s tail. I was scared shitless of dogs. Phew.

I looked down at the pieces of the broken vases and said, “I’m so sorry about—” I stopped talking at the sound of one of the bedroom doors opening and footsteps coming.

“Wyatt, what the hell did you break again?” A voice hollered and my heart skipped a beat at its familiarity. Please, no. I was hallucinating. It wasn’t him.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Your new roommate just knocked two vases and stepped on Clover’s tail by mistake,” Ian informed.

“What new roommate—” The new voice stopped midway as his gaze seemed to have fallen on me.

Gulping the lump in my throat, I turned my head towards his direction, meeting an angry mixed shocked face.

“What the hell are you doing here, Annabelle?” Theo shrieked.

Yep. I somehow landed up with the worst roommate I could have asked for. Best fucking luck ever.