by Sam Mariano
Ours.
That’s going to be weird for a while.
I open the door, letting her step inside first. Worn indoor outdoor carpet covers the ground in the hall, and Elise glances down at it, around at the dirty taupe walls. She is thus far unimpressed, and I can’t say I blame her. She’s used to Mateo’s gleaming mansion, and I bring her to this.
“The inside’s nicer,” I offer.
It’s sort of true. I made sure the apartment was virtually spotless. I can’t do anything about the size of it, or the enormous silver pipe exposed in the kitchen, but at least I could make sure it was clean.
Our apartment is the last one at the end of the hall, right here on the bottom floor. I like that it feels more cloistered off by itself, but I don’t know if she will.
Pushing the key into the lock, I glance at the cracked 104 painted on the brown door.
The first thing you can see as I push it open is the ugly seafoam green bathroom. It’s cramped and has shitty water pressure. I close the door behind us, sliding the lock on the knob, the deadbolt, and the chain lock for good measure. Elise watches in a kind of fascinated horror as I secure all of them.
“Is this a safe neighborhood?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’ll be okay,” I tell her.
It’s safe enough, but we probably have different safety standards, so I don’t bother expanding on that.
The “hall” is all but nonexistent. The living room is two steps away, furnished with a secondhand black leather couch and a small, old television on a stand with wheels. Off to the right is our very small kitchen, with a tiny stretch of counter and dark, depressing wood paneling. There’s just enough room for one person to move around between the counter and the side where the stove and refrigerator stand, and just beyond that is the tiniest laundry nook in the world. It’s dark and there’s only a pull-string light, so I decide not to show it to her right now.
Next to the kitchen there is a narrow hall, leading to the single white door—our bedroom. I head down that hall, and she follows behind slowly.
“I put your boxes over here,” I tell her, pointing to them stacked in the corner. “There’s no dresser or anything yet, but there’s a closet and I grabbed some hangers, so you can hang up your clothes tomorrow if you want.”
She nods absently, but her gaze is on the bed. It’s a queen-sized bed with plain white sheets and the ugliest green and white floral blanket imaginable. It’s not even an actual bedspread, just a damn blanket.
“Um, I’ll get new stuff eventually,” I point out, since she’s probably unimpressed. “I mean, this is all new, but… Once I get—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “Before I moved into the mansion, I slept on a twin with one of those short throws that doesn’t cover your whole body. Not super warm in the winter.”
Luckily it’s summer right now, which is why I didn’t bother with a whole bedding set. “I only signed a six-month lease for this place. I just need a little time to establish myself and get a little saved, then I’ll move us someplace nicer. This is very temporary.”
“It’s fine,” she assures me again, but she still doesn’t look at me.
“Obviously I’ll sleep on the couch,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. For the first time since we left the mansion, she nearly smiles. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your apartment.”
“It’s your apartment, too. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be extremely uncomfortable if I’m sleeping in this bed and you’re stuck on the couch,” she states. “It’s fine. There’s enough room for both of us.”
The matter apparently settled, she heads back out to the hall, stepping into the kitchen. She puts the two paper plates down on the counter and begins opening cupboards.
I bought a set of dishes and a 6-pack of blue plastic cups. In the drawer she finds a cheap new set of silverware in a plain white tray, some essential kitchen utensils in the one beside it.
“There’s not much in the fridge,” I tell her, as she reaches for the handle to open it. “I figured we could go grocery shopping tomorrow.”
Faintly smiling, she says, “At least that I’m familiar with.” Reopening the drawer with the silverware, she extracts two forks. Grabbing the plates, she heads back over to me.
I take a plate and fork, watching as she peels the foil off hers. “Cake for dinner?”
She shrugs. “There’s just bottled water in the fridge, so unless you’d prefer to eat air…”
“We could go out and get something to eat,” I tell her. “Plenty of places to eat around here. I saw some kind of hot dog restaurant back there, there’s a pizza place just behind us, I could walk over and grab one in like two minutes.”
Her lips curve up as she digs in. “You can get whatever you’d like. I’m going to eat cake.”
Chapter Two
It’s a long first night.
There’s plenty we probably could do after dinner—explore our corner of the city, unpack our few belongings, address our situation.
Instead we watch Aladdin.
It’s only 9:30 when the movie ends and I don’t know what we’ll do with the rest of the night. Elise sits on the couch in silence with me for a few minutes, then she pushes up and heads to the bedroom.
I don’t know whether or not to follow her, but when she doesn’t return after a few minutes, I head down the hall to see what she’s up to. Leaning against the doorframe, I watch her sit down on the bed, curling a leg beneath her, and lovingly caress a worn, bent literature book, the pages slightly curled, the laminate on the cover peeling off. I recognize it, and even though she didn’t invite me to, I step inside, moving closer to the bed.
Glancing up at me with a mercifully pleasant smile, she asks, “Remember how I used to read to you? And we’d talk about all these stories, and you’d tell me about the women who wrote them.”
I nod. I doubt I’ve forgotten even a minute of that time.
“I loved that,” she says simply, opening the book and flipping through various marked pages. “You always knew so much. It should’ve made me feel hopelessly unintelligent, but it didn’t. You always treated me like I was far more interesting than I actually am.”
“That’s not true,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. “Sit down, I’ll read to you.”
It’s the lightest I’ve felt all day. Climbing on the bed, I make my way toward the head to relax on the pillows, while Elise remains at the foot. She begins reading without telling me which story she’s chosen, but I recognize it by the end of the first (admittedly long) sentence.
Years ago, this was my favorite part of every day. It took Elise one week of faithful visitation to my cell before she had my allegiance. I can’t say why—despite the burns and my general disinterest in people, it wasn’t as if I’d never been around women. I’ve been with my fair share, though rarely for more than a few weeks. Two months, tops. It was never serious. I was never trying to connect, and neither were they.
But then Elise popped up, innocent and kind, thinking I landed in Mateo’s jail cell for killing the man who tried to hurt her. I wasn’t sure what it said about her that she was so comfortable with a man she fully realized was a killer, but I liked it, because it was me. Elise made me feel something—not sexually, not then. She was 16 at the time, after all. But when Mateo finally came back down, I had to know how she came to be there. I had to know if he’d ever let her leave.
He didn’t want to kill me anyway, I know he didn’t. What he wanted, what he had always wanted, was to bring me into his family the only way he knew how—by having me work for him. Realizing he had something I wanted, he offered me a bargain—he’d pardon me for my crimes against him and give me Elise, provided I give him five solid years of dedicated service.
Prior to that, there had been no end date on Elise’s position. Much like Maria, Elise was simply there, and she would remain
there. He never said so, but knowing him as I do, especially now, I assume if I hadn’t come along, she would’ve ended up in his bed as she grew older. I don’t think she would’ve stayed there. Mateo needs more of a challenge than Elise would’ve ever represented to hold his interest, but after Beth was gone, I’m sure Elise would’ve jumped at the chance to comfort the bastard.
Elise had always been pretty, but when I first met her, it was a girlish pretty. As I lived under Mateo’s roof, serving him faithfully in a capacity I always swore I never would, she grew up. Elise hadn’t been to an actual school since arriving at the mansion, so I offered to step in. I was no teacher, certainly, but I was knowledgeable enough to fill in the blanks of her education, to catch her up and introduce her to subjects she may not have delved into as deeply otherwise. Technically I was her tutor, but I lived for those moments. After she was finished cleaning, after I was finished doing whatever Mateo needed from me that day, after I’d washed the blood off my hands, it was the sweet sound of Elise’s voice, the sparkle in her blue eyes, the glow in her cheeks… those were the things that helped blot the stains from my soul.
It’s been a long, long time since I last sat with her like this, letting her read passages from classical literature, or debating the varying levels of atrociousness different historical figures managed to reach in their lifetimes. I knew I’d missed it, but I didn’t realize how much until now. The stress of today, of this week, of everything melts away as I listen to the comforting sound of Elise reading to me.
“’He now took the liberty of kissing away her tears, and catching the sighs as they issued from her lips; telling her if grief was infectious, he was resolved to have his share; protesting he would gladly exchange passions with her, and be content to bear her load of sorrow, if she would as willingly ease the burden of his love.’”
She stops, sighing, and glances at me. “It’s too bad. That could be so romantic.”
“You and your terrible heroes,” I say, shaking my head.
Her nose wrinkles up adorably. “I still think Beauplaisir’s an idiot,” she states.
I smile. “He’s quite unimpressive.”
“Maybe if the book was longer I’d understand the appeal,” she states.
“Beyond money, I don’t think he has any,” I say.
She shakes her head, caressing the page. “It sounds so romantic.”
“A rapey, unfaithful wastrel with money and station?” I ask lightly.
Elise rolls her eyes at me. “No, that passage. It should be about someone better than him.”
“Agreed,” I say, wondering if she sees the irony in this conversation.
Replacing the yellow bookmark, she says, “I know I didn’t even finish the scene, but I’m going to stop here so I can reread it again tomorrow.”
“Fine by me.”
Flashing me a warm smile as she closes the book, she says, “This was nice.”
“Yeah, it was,” I agree.
She stands, placing the book on the floor in the corner. I guess I need to get a nightstand. Elise retrieves some pajamas from the box. I should probably leave so she can change, but I’m too comfortable, so she goes to the bathroom to change.
I have imagined Elise in my bed many times over, but now that we’re here, I can’t imagine it.
Normally I sleep without a shirt on, but that’s when I’m alone. Considering the burn scars all down my left side, I decide to slip into sweatpants and a thin, long-sleeved gray shirt instead. I’m already warm, so I go out to turn the air down a notch. I don’t want to freeze Elise, but damn.
When she steps out of the bathroom in a little pair of sleep shorts with a moon and stars print and a matching navy tank top with “sweet dreams” stretched across her clearly free-roaming breasts, I immediately rethink everything.
Averting my gaze so she doesn’t feel awkward, I stare instead at… well, the wall. That’s normal, right?
Elise’s long blonde hair is pulled up in a perky pony tail and she flashes me a smile as she heads back to the bedroom.
Shit, I’m not ready for this.
She didn’t turn off any of the lights, probably not sure if I was going to bed yet or not. It feels incredibly strange to realize I don’t have to meet Mateo at the gym in the morning, so I’ll be able to sleep in a bit.
Then the real work begins. I scheduled a haircut first thing, figuring I should clean up a bit since I’ll be going to conventional interviews. I haven’t worked a regular job in a little over ten years, but I falsified some recent work experience to get the apartment, so I’m using that on applications, too. Somehow I don’t think my actual work experience will land me any ordinary gigs.
I want to give Elise a normal life.
Once I’ve turned off all the lights, I return to the bedroom. Elise is already curled up on her side of the bed, so I take the side that’s left and settle in. Given she’s been with Mateo since she was 15, I know this is the first time she’s ever shared a bed with a man, and I’m hoping she doesn’t feel too weird about it.
“What do you want me to do tomorrow?” she asks, once I’ve stopped moving around.
Her question catches me off guard. “Whatever you want. I have to go out for a little while in the morning, but I’ll come back around late afternoon and we can go grocery shopping.”
She nods, but still looks a little uncertain. “Well, good night, Adrian.”
“Good night, Elise.”
---
It’s only been two days, and Elise already seems miserable when I leave. Apparently she’s an early riser, or she’s just still in the habit of rising before the sun from working at the mansion, but here, there’s nothing to occupy her time.
The first day I went out, she had her clothes and mine all put away in the closets when I came back from job hunting. The second day, I came home to a dozen of three different kinds of muffins crammed onto the tiny counter and Elise throwing together a salad. She bought dried cranberries out of habit, and neither of us eats them. When she realized her mistake, she added them to her salad, but I caught the strange look on her face when she chewed them, and she pushed them off to the side after that.
The third morning I leave, she sits on the couch despondently, nursing a cup of coffee and staring at the television. It’s not even on.
While I’m out I come across a book store, so I run in and grab a few things I think she might like.
She still reads to me every night. It does seem like she at least looks forward to my coming home, but probably only because she’s bored out of her mind by herself. I told her she could go out during the day, but she doesn’t feel safe going out alone.
Today I come home to Elise mixing a big bowl of pasta salad. She still hasn’t adjusted to only cooking for two, so we end up with much more than we need, even to last the week.
“I brought you something,” I tell her, offering the bag.
Her face lights up and she plants the spoon in the bowl, grabbing the bag and peering inside. “Oh, thank you, Adrian.”
“It seemed like you were getting bored during the day. I figured I’d give you something to do.”
“I’m going to start offering to clean for the neighbors here soon,” she states, nodding.
“You can do more than clean,” I point out.
“But I like it,” she says, looking at me.
I nod, but don’t say anything. It’s not like my disapproval of the good majority of Mateo’s life is a secret, but right now I’m feeling particularly disenchanted with him. Elise was in her formative years when he took her, and now she’s brainwashed into this indentured servant. It’s not like I expected her to unlearn it in less than a week, but it still baffles me how she misses it.
Who misses housework?
“Do you have to leave every day?” she asks.
“Well, I have to find work. I thought I’d have time to line something up before I left, but then Mateo’s world went to hell and I got too busy.”
“Yeah
,” she says, her mouth turning down. “I wonder how Meg’s doing.”
“I’m sure she’s hanging in there.”
“Maria said he killed his first wife.”
I hesitate, not wanting to discuss Mateo. “Yeah,” I say, because it’s simplest.
“Do you think he’ll kill Meg?”
“No. He would’ve already.” I glance at her, wishing she’d look bored enough that I could justify dropping it, but of course now I’m holding her attention. “Mateo’s pretty even-tempered, but the Morelli men as a general rule can get sort of… malicious when they’re enraged. I don’t think he meant to kill Beth. He was a mess afterward. He just got so angry and…” I shrug, indicating that was that.
“So, it wasn’t like they make it sound? Cold- blooded?”
“Do we have to talk about him?”
Shaking her head, she places the books down on the counter and goes back to stirring the already combined pasta salad. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.”
I hate that she apologizes to me—she does that every time she thinks I’m slightly inconvenienced. Sorry when she realized she bought Mateo’s dried cranberries. Sorry when she realized two people didn’t need 36 muffins. Sorry when she stole the blanket in the middle of the night, sorry when she accidentally ran the hot water out because she didn’t realize the tank here was so small, sorry, sorry, sorry.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing to me,” I say, because I can’t help it.
“I’m sor—” She stops herself, flushing.
I bet she wants to apologize for that, too.
Chapter Three
On the ninth day, I get to see Elise’s temper.
I finally get a call-back for a second interview, so I leave in the morning to do that. It goes pretty well, but when I come home in the evening, expecting dinner (not because I’m an ass, but just because there’s always dinner) I find Elise sitting on the couch staring at the blank television again. The last of her new books beside her, apparently finished.
