*Kaila's POV*

There are things I can't stand: being late and asking for help. When these things happen I panic. When I panic, I drink. When I drink I end up back in Alcoholics Anonymous. And when I'm in AA, there are meetings to panic about being late for and people whose help I need. It's a damn never ending cycle.

Unfortunately for me, my anxiety over tardiness significantly outweighs my dislike of asking for help, leading me to this moment, standing in front of Apartment 7C with my fist hovering over the door. I don't even know the guy. I literally just watched him move in a couple weeks ago, noticing his large build, untidy hair, and not much else. He seemed the loner type, considering that whenever we crossed paths in the hallway and I gave him an awkward smile, he seldom nodded and never spoke. He just doesn't come across as the people type. Though in all fairness, my smiles aren't exactly a ray of sunshine either.

I would not be here if it weren't for my stupid alarm clock, and the fact that it never goes off when I need it to. Yes, it's old, yes, it has seen better days, but it literally has one job. Tell the time, and get me up when I need to be up. Seriously. One job.

So of course, I've missed the bus. And there is no way in hell that I will trust a cab to get me to my meeting on time, leaving me no other option than to ask the strange man who lives across the hall. If I were tall, thin, and blonde I'm sure I would be an easy yes, impossible to deny. But as I stand in front of his door with unruly hair, a squat body, and scuffed winter boots, I can't help but feel my chances slipping away. I'm probably going to miss the meeting unless I cry and guilt trip him, which is where I'm at in my life. I am a 26 year old Columbia grad student with massive debt, a cramped apartment, and a drinking problem. At this point, I have no shame.

Running my hands over my face I exhale quickly and promptly knock on the door. I can hear shuffling from inside, followed by the latch coming undone. The door opens, and I step back, taking in the form now standing in front of me. He's always taller than I remember, though just as intimidating and attractive. His brown hair brushes his shoulders and guarded blue eyes stare down at me. Light stubble covers his pronounced jaw line, and his black long sleeve fits snugly along his broad chest and shoulders. I'm not the type to be at a loss for words, but whenever I'm in his presence (though it's often brief) I find myself tongue-tied.

"Hey," he says, looking me over, eyes lingering on my beat up boots. "Uh…can I help you?"

I force a smile, willing the words to come. "Yeah, actually. I know this is probably super inconvenient, but I've missed my bus and I have an appointment in like, 15 minutes, and I don't trust a cab to get me there. Could you…do you think you could give me a ride?"

He looks surprised, running a hand through his long hair. "Uh…yeah. Sure. I can do that. Where to?"

I let out a self-deprecating chuckle. This is embarrassing, but I've reached the no shame place, remember? "My Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, actually." My right foot kicks lightly against the ground in discomfort, though I force myself to remain staring into his eyes. I can feel my chin lift slightly, daring him to say something at my confession. "I can give you the address, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I'm in recovery right now, and I just started so I really uh…I could really use some help."

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Of course. Yeah. Just let me um…let me grab my stuff. One sec."

He steps back into his apartment, returning less than a minute later with a black winter jacket and car keys, pulling another glove over his right hand. Was there already a glove on his left? I can't remember. I give him a little smile, and we walk down the stairs to the lobby of the apartment.

We remain silent as we buckle into his unexpectedly nice Audi, and I give him the address to plug into the GPS. The minute we take off, I grip the handle on the ceiling. It's not that he's a bad driver; I'm just not over the "incident" yet, the incident which caused me to seek solace from a bottle in the first place.

If my new neighbor notices my odd behavior he's kind enough not to mention it, focusing intently on the lanes and lights ahead of him. I stare ahead pointedly as well, willing every car to stop when they're supposed to, to follow the laws of the road. I occasionally close my eyes for a millisecond at a time, hating how the simple act of driving is something that now brings me complete terror.

"I'm Kaila," I say after about five minutes of silence. Talking helps relieve the tension knotting in my chest. "Kaila Liebgott. I was going to bring you over a welcome dish when you moved in, but I, uh, forgot that I can't cook."

The tiniest smile appears on his lips, and he takes his eyes off the road to glance at me, giving me a slight heart attack. Keep your eyes on the road dammit.

"Maybe I lucked out then," he responds.

I chuckle. "Believe me, you did."

Silence returns, but to push down my rising anxiety I speak again. "What's your name?"

"Oh," he says. "Sorry. I'm James Barnes. Nice to formally meet you."

I nod. "You too. Is this your first time living in New York?"

His jaw clenches for a second, and I wonder what I did wrong, before he answers, "I've lived here before. It was a long time ago though. When I was a kid. I've just recently returned."

"Cool," I say. "I've lived here my whole life. Grew up in Brooklyn."

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "What do you know. Me too."

"Maybe we were neighbors," I say jokingly.

He winces slightly, so subtly I almost miss his discomfort. "I don't think so."

And silence resumes.

When we arrive outside of the AA building, I let out a sigh of relief, glad to be free of the car and tense silence with James. As I walk towards the building door after thanking him for the lift, he rolls his window down, letting out a "hey" to get my attention.

I turn. "Yeah?"

"Do you need a ride home?"

I stuff my hands in my jacket pocket, looking at the ground and then back up at him. I don't want to be a pain, but another free ride would be amazing. I hate vehicles as it is, and the last thing I want to do is pay for something that could lead to my grisly death.

James must see the struggle on my face, because he quickly ends my misery. "I'll just pick you up here, alright? What time should I be back?"

"In an hour. If it works for you. Seriously, you've done so much already, I don't want to take advantage…"

He waves a hand in dismissal. "It's fine. I'll be back for 11:00. Have a good meeting."

"Thanks," I say, giving him one last smile before turning back to the black handled door. I shiver slightly at the brisk December air, blowing into my hands once I step into the comforting heated lobby. Checking in at the front desk, I glance over my shoulder, watching James' car pull out onto the crowded street, internally praying that he makes it home safe and sound.