I never intended to do anything too outrageous in my life. Honestly, I just wanted to escape my parents' expectations. It's why I left without bothering to tell anyone where I was going. They called me nonstop in those first few weeks after that, trying to get me to come back, to understand what they had meant. Over time, those daily calls started becoming once a month, and eventually they came once in a blue moon. I managed to find myself a small one-bedroom apartment that was barely within my budget, but it was in the middle of the city. Andy, the landlord, was even offering me free Wi-Fi with the rent, so that was one less expense I would have to worry about at the end of the month. Perks of being friends with him I suppose.

The apartment itself was the smallest in the building and, at least from the smell of it, had been inhabited by someone who had at one point stored nothing but moth balls and cat litter in the main living space. And calling it a two-room apartment was really generous. It was more like one largish room, with a slightly-larger-than-a-walk-in closet-sized room on one side. I had managed to find a bed and couch second-hand and paid for them with the part of my savings I hadn't set aside for food this month.

Trying to get those pieces of furniture up the stairs was a different story altogether. The building had an elevator, so with the help of a screwdriver on loan from Andy I was able to fit the bed and mattress into it to take up. No way I was going to be able to do the same for the couch. I roll up my sleeves and look at the staircase, before pulling it up onto the first flight. Thankfully, the 'couch' was more of a loveseat so when I got to a rounded part of the staircase the only thing I had to do was push it to the next set a few steps away. Still, by the time I managed to climb all 6 flights, my arms and legs were both shaking from over-exertion. I pushed the couch far enough inside to not block the door, kicked it shut behind me, and collapsed onto it, sneezing as a dust cloud forms in the air. I didn't really care though. After nearly 22 years of someone constantly looking over my shoulder, privacy was finally mine.

"Knock knock," Andy says, as he opened my door. "I thought I told you to lock the door on the way in?"

"Ya," I say, rubbing my nose as I stifle another sneeze, "and I told you I have an open-door policy for people I consider my friends. Besides, it's not like anyone is going to find their way up here in the first place. I'm a nobody, and that's all that matters."

Andy doesn't say anything to that, just looks around the barren main room. The lady who had lived here before me had been here since the building had opened. It looked like it, and not in a good way. Peeling wallpaper that had turned faded and yellow with age, its musty smell fighting to combat the faint whiff of what might have been cat piss. I wasn't sure to be honest, though when I leaned over to get up from the couch, I could tell it was coming from the old rug she had left behind.

I curl up my nose, "Going to have to get that cleaned… or burned." I reach down to pick it up, but stop at the last minute. If it smelled like that, no way I should be touching it with bare hands. "Burned, definitely burned."

As I'm turning to ask Andy if he has a spare set of rubber gloves, he holds something in front of me. "We might be friends," he says, "but I still need you to sign your lease. You know, that email I sent you will all the flags marking it as super important and please read and understand it?"

I look at him, then at the papers he was holding in front of me, then back at him again. I try to say that I had in fact read the lease, but stop. I rack my brain, what had I been doing? I close my eyes and picture it. "I was at my desk," I hear myself saying out-loud as I do, "and I opened up your email. I read the first line and then…" I trail off. "I… got distracted by an offer for a new commission."

I open my eyes, and Andy is shaking his head at me, trying not to laugh. "You really need to learn to focus on one thing at a time." He pushes the papers into my hands again, then stands there while I skim over the first couple of pages. Taking the pen from his other hand, I start to sign.

"Hold on now," he grabs my arm, "don't you want to read the whole thing? For all you know, I could be locking you into something really bad."

I raise an eyebrow and smile, "Have you written something into this that would screw me over till the end of time?"

"Well… no," he admits as I go back to signing, "but I could have."

"You have been one of my best friends for a while now. You got me my first summer job, introduced me to your friends, and offered me the smallest apartment in your building for less than it's worth," I say, handing the lease back to him. "I trust you Andy."

"Right… well," he looks down at the lease like he wasn't sure what to say against that, smiling after a little bit. He looks around the room, and his eyes settle on the cat-piss rug. He looks up, and we make eye contact. "Give me a second," he leaves the apartment, and I start pulling stuff out of my backpack and looking around for a place to put it.

When he comes back in, I'm huddled in the corner with my laptop, checking my emails to see if I've gotten any more commission requests since I checked this morning before I left home. I probably wouldn't have noticed him coming back in if he hadn't been making a ton of noise. "Here's a little moving-in gift for you," he says, doing his best to not drop the box he was carrying. "It's not much, but you'll need something to work at that isn't the floor."

"Oh," I get up, "you didn't have to get me anything." I walk over to help him with the box and see a pair of heavy-duty work gloves in the back pocket of his jeans. We lean the box over on its side and prop it against the wall.

"Trust me, you're doing me a favor by taking it," Andy pulls the gloves from his pocket and puts them on. He starts to roll the rug up, nose curling up as he does so. "My grandmother gave it to me, saying something about every person starting out needs to have a table of some kind. For eating, working, putting things on. Doesn't matter, everyone needs a table." He picks up the rug and goes to leave. "Oh, one more thing," he stops and turns to me, but stops himself. "Um… never mind, you'll figure it out on your own." He turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. I wait five minutes, but he doesn't come back. I flopped back down onto my couch, vowing to open Andy's box later.

Later turned out to be a few hours later, because between one blink and the next a few hours had passed, and the sun was starting to go down. I groan and sit up, searching around for a stick of gum to try and draw out the taste of death that had developed in my mouth. With that sorted, I finally get up and go to open the box.

It's a coffee table. Still in its separate parts. Probably from an Ikea. I check my phone, 8pm. I should probably just build it in the morning. Try and work on my commissions. Still though, Andy was right. It would be easier to work with a surface that wasn't the floor. I pull all the pieces out and set to work. It was going to be a long night.

The rest of those first weeks went by in a blur, and I didn't really realize how much time had passed till my parent's called me one Saturday afternoon. I almost answered it, just to tell them that I was fine and they didn't have to worry, but I stopped myself. I didn't owe them anything as small as a phone call. I couldn't decline it though, so I watched it ring out, and when my phone went silent I waited to see if they left a voicemail. They didn't. I'm not sure what I would do if they did.

I started taking on more commissions, regardless of the medium. If I had it with my art supplies, I would attempt it. Digital, pastels, gouache, it didn't matter to me. At first it was a lot of requests for more of an… adult… kind of content. Not sure what I was expecting when I added 'no questions asked' to my offers honestly. I wasn't exactly happy that ninety percent of the offers I was getting were lewd, but I needed the money if I didn't want to get a job at Starbucks or something like that. So, I swallowed my pride and kept telling myself 'money is money', and then turning around and praying to any gods that may or may not have existed for forgiveness from my sins.

Things did start to pick up after a little while though, and after another month or two I was able to drop the 'no questions asked' part of my ads and be more choosy about who I wanted as a client. Life fell into a peaceful kind of routine. I was hanging out with Andy and his friends, who eventually became my friends. I was making a name for myself, and my parents were calling me less and less.

All I wanted was to live a quiet, private existence. But then the Host Club moved in downstairs.