.:. Two .:.
He was twenty-two, working in an Italian bistro, and an undeniable mess.
But when he met her for the second time, things got even worse.
.:.
"Oh, Chase~!"
Maya fluttered her eyelashes and leaned—in what she hoped was a sexy pose—against the bar. But with ginger pigtails and a flouncy, pink dress, she resembled a twelve-year-old begging for sweets.
"A little birdie told me you were going apartment shopping today!"
"Really?" he mocked as he wiped down one of the tables. Yeesh, he thought. You would think that after years of spaghetti being invented, people could learn to eat it with a little more class. "Was that little birdie a phone call you just listened in on? Or should I start calling you Snow White?"
He wasn't desperate for an apartment, but one a short distance away was going for a reasonable price—cheaper than what he was currently paying, anyway. Where he lives now, he has to catch a bus to work, and with this one, he could walk. How he detested the morning commute. Packed inside of a vehicle like a tin-of-sardines, the mingling of unpleasant odours and leaking headphones. City-folk tended to keep to themselves, picking a point straight ahead and allowing thoughts to swarm. But there would always be one—usually tourists—who would strike up a conversation.
Chase would act as though he hadn't heard them and alight at the next stop, regardless to whether he has to walk half-an-hour to work or not. He knew he would say something he'd regret if he spectated cheery smiles so early in the morning. He has never been a morning person, despite the demand of the profession. Then again, he wasn't known to be much of an afternoon or evening person, either.
"I hate it when you talk to me like that!" Maya placed her hands onto her hips, the resemblance of the child who had been denied of said sweets growing. "I was only wondering if I could go with you!"
He supposed Maya was the closest thing he had to a 'girlfriend'. The official title between them had never been discussed, nor did he make any particular effort to discuss it. The city was a lonely place and even he—who derived no pleasure in other people's company—subsided to the solitary affects every once in a while.
"I'll do you a favour and put your 'wondering' to an end," he spun to face her, expression blank. "No."
"But~ Chasey," she whined and dashed over, wrapping her arms around his torso. He scowled, almost dropping the spray bottle in his hand.
He didn't need this.
"No," he thrust her arms back and placed the cleaning equipment under the counter, hanging up his apron and heading towards the door. "Maya, I swear. If I get back here to find the whole place burned to the ground, you can forget me cooking for you tonight."
His hand rested on the glass of the door as the bell chimed above. Yet Maya's quiet, teary voice halted him in his tracks.
"What are we, Chase? Can't you see I'm hinting that I want to buy an apartment with you? I've loved you for four years, and you barely even look at me!"
He scrunched his eyes closed and raked fingers through his hair. "I don't want to discuss this," he mumbled, the words almost lost in his hands as he stumbled over the pots of geraniums guarding the doorway.
.:.
The first thing Chase heard when he entered the apartment building was a couple arguing. How annoying. Perhaps this was the reason why the apartment was going so cheap; insufferable neighbours.
"Darren, you have some nerve!"
The girl yelled, voice a few octaves lower than white noise. Chase hid around the corner and listened; he wasn't sure why. He wasn't particularly interested in a stupid lovers' quarrel.
"Quit yelling at me like that!" The male countered, voice gruff, the opposite of his squeaky companion. "What did you want me to do, huh? You've waited a month to come and get your stuff!"
"And what, were you ever going to tell me that it is dumped outside in the corridor for anyone to get their hands on? Plus, I can't believe you're selling this place without consulting me! Need I remind you—"
"Molls, quit it, would you? You're making a scene."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Why don't you go and make some more of them with your Little-Karen-Kins…" She paused then gasped, as though he had uttered something inherently offensive. "And don't call me 'Molls' like you have any right!"
He had things to do, and rushing back to the restaurant to check that Maya hadn't ignited the place was one of them. With an expression of nonchalance, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rounded the corner. They wouldn't suspect that he had heard every word.
"Man!" The tall, pony-tailed man waved, like Chase was an old friend and a saviour bundled into one. "You must be Chase, right? I gotta bomb. Molls can show you around."
'Molls' or whatever he said her name was made a noise of frustration, hands curled into fists as Ponytail left. She spun around to face him, surprise dripping from her features.
"Y-You!" she pointed, as though he was some rare animal only found in select few apartment buildings. "W-What are you doing here?"
Dolly. It had been a month since the tears and vodka philosophy session. She looked different. Not in a good way or a bad way, merely in an observational way. Her red, alcohol fused cheeks had faded, while previously puffy eyes had regained clarity.
His eyes skirted to her attire.
God, she was a weirdo.
Her t-shirt printed a quote which she no doubt found of the utmost hilarity. An over-sized denim jacket from decades before hung from her shoulders, pinned with colourful badges. She wore purple leggings under a skirt while leopard patterned socks were pulled over the leggings—why?—and ballet shoes, which were floral-printed.
She was the epitome of a randomize button.
Chase didn't know much about fashion, per se—he stuck to black button-downs and jeans on his days off—but this was mental. Insane. If Maya was here, she would have undoubtedly coined it 'The Perfect Fashion Failure'.
"Oh, you know," he drawled, looking around the corridor without interest. "Sightseeing. This dingy little apartment really is a tourist trap," his eyes flitted back to her and the corners of his lips quirked. She shifted her arms and her t-shirt read: 'My life is a blonde moment'.
"What?" she glanced down, her eyebrows pinched. "Why are you looking at me as though I've just sprouted three heads?" She crossed her arms, concealing the t-shirt once more. "I assure you, I haven't. Or... maybe I just can't see it. I do get odd looks sometimes."
"Three heads would be a normal sighting compared to that rainbow-vomit you decided to call an outfit this morning."
"Oh. It's the clothes, right?" She tossed her head back and laughed, ignoring his comment. Her laugh was squeaky and airy, revealing the gap between her front teeth.
"Well, I bought the t-shirt for my best friend a while back. She's blonde, but she forgot it before she left. What's that saying? If the shoe fits, or something? I think if the t-shirt fits would be better though—"
"It pains me to say," he exhaled and ran a hand over his face. "That I don't speak gibberish."
"What I meant to say is that I don't have... many clothes left. In my hotel, that is. They're all..." she gestured to the corridor that was piled with boxes and odd pieces of furniture. "Here."
Her face twisted sourly as she glared at the boxes as though they had done something to personally offend. In the next moment, she proceeded to smash her head against the wall. Chase bowed an eyebrow. Perhaps this was the explanation for her derangement.
"Stupid. Darren," she monotonously spoke each word with the rhythmic thud of her head. "Stupid. Chesney. Stupid. Boys."
"I'm all for you giving yourself a brain haemorrhage, but I'd rather not waste valuable phone credit on an ambulance call."
"Your sarcasm is draining," she murmured, sighed, and leaned her head against the plaster.
"What, like this nostalgic catch up?" He folded his arms. "Are we done here? I came to look at the apartment, not to engage in witty exchanges."
She straightened and gave him a small, sad smile.
"C'mon then, Chesney," she said as she threw the apartment door open. "Let's commence the grand tour of my failed relationship."
"Oh, joy."
.:.
"And to conclude our tour, this here is the master bedroom," she motioned, bowing and swirling her hands, the way she had been doing each time they entered a new room. She also distorted her voice to mimic one of those irritating, over-the-top television show presenters.
Even though she was painfully plain, her features altered once her personality shone through. It was like the sun; bright and obnoxious.
In that moment, Chase wondered what on earth he had done to deserve to be put in the same room with such a naive, annoying, loud-mouthed chatter-box again. Perhaps it was karma for sprinkling ungodly amounts of chili powder in dishes for rude customers.
"The legend is," she whispered, as though withholding a great secret. "That a two-timing douche-bag committed the treacherous sin of infidelity, right here, on this bed. Unbelievable, don't you think? Who knew such a loathsome creature could exist!"
"Wow," he whistled as he tugged back the curtains and inspected the busy, traffic clogged street outside. He could just about see the restaurant; a red, distorted dot, and most importantly, the absence of flames. "What a selling point. I must ask, will that affect future property value?"
"Possibly," she shrugged and joined him at the window. "But beware. The terrible curse of the apartment only latches onto those of pure morals. Luckily for you, with your pessimism and narrow-mindedness about girl-boy friendships, it labels you immune."
"What a relief," he rolled his eyes and strode into the kitchen once more to check that all of the appliances were up to scratch. What would be the purpose in a cheaper apartment if the kitchen was faulty? None. "Whatever, then. I'll take the damn thing."
"I was hired only for my wonderful narration, not to deal with paperwork and especially not to deal with Darren again. You'll just have to contact him for the paperwork, okay?"
"Ponytail, huh? It'll be a pleasure."
They left the apartment and she shut the door behind them.
"Too bad we couldn't be friends. But that's life, I suppose." She heaved up one of the boxes in the corridor and latched it between her hip and elbow, then extended a hand out to him. "Have a nice life, Chesney."
Chase quirked an eyebrow.
What the hell. He was never going to have to deal with such an irritating person again. It was best to say their goodbyes now. Maybe there really was a good in good-bye.
He shook her hand and said, "Right back at you, Dolly."