Inside, there’s row after row of prepackaged food in clear containers with labels on them from a popular food prep company. Must be nice to pay someone to cook your meals and send them ready-made.
“A. O. F.” I squint. “What does that even mean?”
The items in each row are varied. Lifting the lid on the top O container, I find seafood over rice.
“Yuck.”
The F container isn’t much better.
“Gluten-free and no carbs. No, thank you.”
A is the winner, with steak and grilled veggies. Carrying the container to the microwave, I put it in, pushing the numbers that the label suggests. My stomach is rumbling three minutes later when the dish is done. The steak is already cut, so I’m able to dive right in.
“Ohmygod,” I moan. “This issogood.”
The meat is cooked on the rare side, and even zapping it in the microwave doesn’t take from the tenderness. I shove forkfuls into my mouth, eating as fast as I can. The vegetables are delicious, too, which is funny because I normally hate them. Not because I don’t like them. Mostly because they cost too much. Sadly, junk food is easier to get my hands on.
I finish the food, putting the container and fork in the sink. God, that was good. Glancing out the window, I see that it’s still pouring. Just the thought of going out there makes my shoulder ache. No, I’m just going to wait it out in the house a bit longer. First, I need to pee. Yeah, I know there’s a bathroom on the first floor, but I’m nosy, and this place is massive. I’m not a betting woman, but if I were, I’d bet there are at least five bathrooms in this house. Besides, I’m going to need to borrow a shirt, too. After all, I don’t want to ruin the last piece of clothing I own.
I pass the bathroom outside of the kitchen and walk to a massive living room. There’s an L shaped black leather couch that looks comfy as hell. There are also two black recliners, and all the furniture is facing the biggest TV I’ve ever seen in my life that’s mounted above an enormous fireplace. I imagine this place is super warm and cozy in the cold winter months.
I cross the hardwood floors and find myself in the entryway to the house.
“Fancy,” I murmur.
There are two staircases that lead to the second floor. I wonder why there are two? Do they use one to go up and one to come down on? Grinning, I pick the one on the left, because why not? The stairs don’t have a runner on them, so it’s a bit slippery in my socks. I reach the top. To the left is a library. Floor to ceiling shelves are filled with books.
God, I’m so jealous. I have to read my books at public libraries. I don’t even bother taking them home because I don’thavea home. The thought makes me smile. Too bad there’s not enough time to browse the books. I’m sure the owners wouldn’t miss one or two…
To the right is a hallway. The first doorway I pass is a half bathroom. The second door is locked. Bummer. Opening door number three, I step into a room that must belong to a man. There’s a leather couch and gaming system set up in a small seating area. Empty pizza boxes and beer bottles line the floor. On the bookshelf, there’s a small, hand painted O.
Moving further into the room, I find a massive bed that’s unmade. Past it is a walk-in closet that leads to a bathroom. The closet is filled with Henleys, old t-shirts, sweaters, and jeans.
“Whoever you are, O, you should really be cleaner. And maybe get a t-shirt that doesn’t have a hole in it.”
I make my way back to the bedroom. There’s a photo on the nightstand of a woman. It’s an older photo, and the woman is pretty. She’s wearing a ballgown and her hair is hanging in big curls over her shoulder. She must be important to be displayed like this. The rest of the nightstand is cluttered with things, like maybe O empties his pocket here each night. Change. Receipts. Trash. A few business cards. Nothing important.
I reach to put the photo back on the nightstand and manage to knock it between the bed and the stand. Kneeling, I find it as well as a used condom.
“Gross.”
Once the photo is on the nightstand, I leave the room, closing the door behind me.
“Let’s see who you are,” I say as I open the next door.
Right away, I can tell this person is much more organized. Maybetooorganized. The sitting room is bare, except for a chair, end table, and a book on top. The bookshelf holds a hand painted F, similar to the O in the other room. The walls are white. The rug beneath my feet is white. Everything is white. Moving further in, I wonder if F is the person who decorated the house. The color palette and tone certainly match. This space is almost too much, though. It has a sterile feel to it that kind of creeps me out.
Looking in the closet, I determine two things. One, F is a man. Two, he must have perfection tendencies. Everything is hanging by season, style, and color. Color. I snort. More like whites, greys, and blacks. Opening a drawer to his dresser, I find row after row of perfectly folded black and grey boxer briefs. Good lord.
His bathroom is so clean that I bet he could eat off the floor if he wanted to. Peering in the sink, I smirk. Not a hair in sight. Wonder what he’d do if I drew on the mirror. Something he won’t see until he showers? Unable to stop myself, I use the pad of my finger and write out ‘Why so serious?’. I’m laughing as I leave. I’d pay money to see this man’s reaction when he gets his hidden message.
The last room in the hallway has to belong to A. The first thing I notice in A’s room is the scent of sandalwood and spice. Mmm. Inhaling, I bypass the seating area, where I spot the hand painted A on the shelf, and go into the room. A’s bed is massive and covered in dark red bedding. I like A’s style. The closet is filled with a variety of suits and casual clothes. Again, the thing I notice most is the scent that lingers in the air. When I tug a shirt from the hanger, I get a whiff of the same scent and my core clenches. I put it on before moving to the bathroom. It’s nice, but I find myself making my way back to the bed.
It looks so comfortable, and I’msotired. A clock in the house chimes, scaring the crap out of me. It’s midnight, which means the O, F, or A won’t be back for at least five hours.
“Maybe just a little nap.”
I can tell right away what side of the bed A sleeps on. I should sleep on the other side, so he doesn’t know someone’s been in his bed, but I slide under the blankets where the scent surrounds me. I don’t even care that the lights are on. No, I fall into a peaceful sleep where I feel safe and warm. Two things I haven’t felt in a long time.