Shaw let out her nth sigh of the day. No amount of alcohol could wipe her mind of the absurdities she'd had to field all day. At this point, a long run and a few shots would serve to put her right to sleep. And at least the day would be over. But she would need years to block out these horrors.
She looked down at her list, feeling dejected. Each interview had one name to mark how it had gone, no more. And no, it wasn't their given name.
Pussy
Flirt
Cheater
White Chick
She'd intended to write 'Texas Kid' for her, but she couldn't stop thinking about how the other woman had described her. So she had 'white chick' instead.
Sports Puppy
Therafuck
Creepy Twins
Old Guy
Junkie
Princess
Penis Head
She'd taken another break after that one. How she was supposed to forget that sight? If she sat down with another interviewee right then, all she would see would be a talking penis. That was certainly all she'd seen talking to the poor guy for whom something must have gone horribly wrong at birth. She couldn't help but wonder if his brain had formed right with his skull that shape. Probably not.
But the second break didn't do much to make her feel better. Two rounds of interviews took a toll, especially since she was more than two-thirds of the way through her list, and knew without a doubt she could never live with any of these people. She had yet to find anyone who worked graveyard; at least then, they'd rarely see each other, and personality defects would be easier to tolerate.
At this rate, she'd be homeless in a month, no question. Maybe she needed to join John in the military after all. Her nails scraped against the paper at the idea. That wasn't what she wanted. What she'd worked so hard for. All of this shit was so she could get a fucking medical degree. To lose her shot when she was so close, almost halfway through med school...
Her eyes fell to her list again. Later, she'd probably laugh remembering these encounters. The nicknames alone inspired some chuckling. What stories they'd be to tell John when she saw him again. But for now, they just made her cringe.
Caffeine Einstein
Tramp Stamp
Gangster Poser
Mid Life Crisis (lip piercing?!)
She sighed again, one hand rubbing at the back of her neck. Yes, a piercing. A few, in fact, but she was willing to ignore the ones in his ear. Maybe he'd been in a boy band when he was younger. Whatever. The lip piercing, however, was nothing more than a desperate attempt to be twenty again. And this guy was at least thirty-five. If she was generous.
Was this it? Her options were idiots, privileged baby adults, partiers, single men looking for a booty call, and middle-aged losers who regretted their life choices and were trying to start over? Sad state of the world, if anyone asked her.
And yet, they thought she was broken. The people she'd interviewed today, everyone did. Because she didn't flirt like a normal girl, because she didn't smile like people were supposed to, because she didn't have friends. She didn't do dumb shit like get blackout drunk, get tattooed with something she'd regret later, or experiment with drugs and cigarettes. She wasn't cool enough, or even normal enough. Small talk confused her, emotions annoyed her, and people bored her. And so she was broken. But these people, these normal, I'll-make-myself-fit-in people could come here and waste her time, and she wasn't allowed to tell them that they were too dumb or too pansy-assed. She wasn't supposed to compare them to happy puppies or bad royalty. Even if they were exactly that. She was rude if she pointed out that they drank too much caffeine or needed a job or should move back in with their wife and be a responsible adult.
At least she was herself. People could choose not to like it, but she wasn't fake. She was proud of that. No amount of fitting in could ever be worth even a day of acting like one of these people. And Shaw didn't care if they liked her. Approval meant about as much as their disgust or frustration did. That is to say, it didn't register on the scale. People who got offended by other people only wanted to be liked, and she didn't.
But now it was going to cost her a place to live. This was most definitely John's fault.
A cleared throat got her attention. She hadn't even noticed the brunette sit down across from her. She was that weary. The woman hadn't ever left. When Shaw returned after her second break, she was in the same place, with the same book. If she'd cared to wonder, it might have seemed odd. More and more, she seemed out of place here. But whatever her reasons were for lingering, it was her day to waste. Shaw didn't care. And she hadn't tried to speak to Shaw again, so whatever.
Only now, she was sitting across from Shaw, in the chair meant for her potential roommates. Not that she wanted to talk to another one of those. She was smiling faintly, legs crossed, her hands in her lap. Like she was waiting for something.
"Can I help you?"
Her smile widened as if something amused her. "You're not going to ask me my name?"
"I don't give a fuck."
If Shaw was looking to turn her away, that failed. In fact, she seemed to be smiling wider. Was this funny? If she said anything about the fucktards that Shaw had been having to deal with all day, she might be the one on the receiving end of the punch Shaw had been holding back for now hours.
"I'm Root."
Shaw sighed theatrically and let her head fall back. "I didn't ask, but great. You can go now."
Needless to say, she didn't move. Root continued smiling at her. Shaw scowled back. "Is there a reason you're taking up that chair? Cause I'm waiting on someone."
"I know. I've seen the parade of...characters you've been through today."
"Creepy," Shaw snapped.
"If I was here to play voyeur, yes, it would be." Root nodded once. "But I wasn't. I just happened to be a witness."
Shaw clenched her teeth. "Still doesn't tell me why you're wasting my time."
"On the contrary, I hope to do the opposite."
"What?"
"Well... You need a roommate. And after sitting here listening to these interviews all day, I have a pretty good idea what sort of person you're looking for."
Shaw slammed her book shut, annoyed at Root's cocky little smirk. Truthfully, everything annoyed her at this point, so it might have been less to do with her and more to do with Shaw, but still. She was doing the very thing Shaw had spent half the day hoping she wouldn't. "Oh yeah? Okay, voyeur-Root. Wow me."
Root's eyes suggested she was happy to read into that invitation. But all she said was, "You're in a bind. You need help with the rent because someone bailed on you, but you really don't want a roommate. So you made a list." She began ticking off on her fingers. "A non-smoker who doesn't party too much and never hosts. Late nights are okay, but don't come and go at all hours. No kids and preferably, no significant others. Jealousy," she whispered, like she was imparting a secret. "Which is one good reason not to live with a man. Other than the concern that he might hit on you, and you do not need that complication. That said, trysts are better held outside the home; you don't want to see some half-naked woman making coffee in your kitchen first thing in the morning. A student would be ideal, as you are one yourself. Med school?"
Shaw glared.
"Thought so. But they have to work, too, in order to pay rent, which is always disturbingly high in college towns. You'd like it if someone who is gone a lot. You detest small talk, in fact, would rather not have to speak to your future roommate much at all. How am I doing so far?"
"Easy guesses. What does this have to do with you?"
"I'm happy to inform you I can fulfill the role."
Shaw snorted. "Right. You just happen to need a place to live. And happen to meet at least some of my criteria."
"No. I don't need a place to live. But you need the room rented, and I...feel like sticking around. I'm starting to like Chicago." She shrugged casually. "Luckily, I do meet the criteria. I'm also not a remote hog, I don't do loud music or have lots of friends over, I make more than enough to pay the rent you're asking, and I'll happily contribute to all of the other expenses."
"Lucky you," Shaw growled. "Why the fuck are you offering?"
"I just want to help."
Shaw didn't believe her for a second. "And you just happen to be the perfect applicant." Her skepticism showed, but then, she'd never been very good at hiding her true feelings.
Root chuckled. "Oh no. That's not possible. For one, no one is perfect, and second, you don't like people very much. Certainly not enough to find 'perfect'. Sadly, I am one of the human race, so I can't fix that." She leaned forward. "But if you'd like a list of flaws...I am a shower hog. If you want hot water, you'll have to use the shower first. I make good money, but I work from home, so I'll be around a lot." She made a face. "Sorry. But I do solemnly swear to stay out of your way. Ah, let's see, I can cook well enough, if you want the occasional meal that doesn't come from a fast food place or the microwave, but I have this bad habit of setting off the fire alarms." She shrugged. "Don't know why that keeps happening, cause I rarely burn anything, but it's everywhere I've ever lived. Also-"
"Enough," Shaw snapped, holding up one hand. "I get it, you're Mary Poppins with a sarcastic streak." Root laughed. "I still don't see a reason to let you live with me."
"Why don't you ask me the questions I missed, and we see how those go?" She leaned back in her chair and spread her hands out. "Or ask me anything else."
She didn't want to entertain this idea, but Root didn't appear eager to leave. She clearly wasn't one to be intimidated either. Shaw respected that, even as the inconvenience that it was. So perhaps, if she played along, she could end this game she'd been roped into. So she cleared her throat and pointed out, "You didn't answer the kids question."
Root smiled. "Definitely not. And no significant other."
Working for nonchalant, Shaw started scribbling idly in her notebook. "Bring men home a lot?"
"No," Shaw could sense her smirking, "but I might bring home the occasional woman." Shaw finally looked up at her, found she was indeed smirking. "I prefer her place, though. Leaving is always easier than kicking someone out, and I'm not a snuggler."
She couldn't help her own smirk appearing. "Guess it won't be weird if I bring someone back, then." Not that she liked to use her own place either.
Root's eyes twinkled. "Not at all. Although, I suppose, in a way, that's also a flaw."
"How so?" Shaw's brow furrowed, trying to decipher where she was going with that.
"Well, you don't want a male roommate for the concern that he might hit on you at some point. So living with a woman would be ideal...until you realize she's a lesbian."
"Oh? And do you plan to hit on me?"
Root leaned forward again. "Only if you want me to."
Shaw rolled her eyes. "Any other potentially problematic habits? Late nights, bad taste in music, reality TV addiction, messy living...?"
Root shrugged. "Everyone's idea of annoying is different, but to those specifically: Yes, but I'll keep to myself if I'm up late. I never listen to music without headphones. I rarely watch TV, certainly not reality crap. I clean up after myself, fire alarms and all. My work keeps me busy; I might need to travel, and so sometimes am away for days at a time."
"Sounds good," Shaw admitted. "But as you said, you never know with someone. Which is why the rental clause includes a sixty-day period in which I can kick you out if I so choose. With no warning."
Root's lips twitched. "So don't test you, got it."
"What do you do for work?"
"Consulting."
"Consulting on what?"
"Computer software. Viral protection, firewall security. I freelance as a tester, basically; my job is to make sure corporations have good security against hackers."
"So you're a hacker yourself. Just the legal kind."
"The term itself is misleading. What one chooses to do with their skills is up to them."
If she was offended, Shaw couldn't tell. But she wasn't good with subtle cues, so that meant little. "You don't look like a hacker."
Now she was offended, but Shaw also suspected she was used to it. "And what does a hacker look like? A nerdy, acne-riddled sap who can't get a date?"
Shaw just shrugged. She intended to respond verbally, but for some reason, no words came to her.
"Stereotypes are misleading. And it works for me; I slip under the radar much of the time. Not that it matters; I'm good at what I do, regardless."
Shaw stood abruptly. She was suddenly very done and wasn't going to wait for Root to bore of this first. "I'll contact you if I choose you." She had another two interviews scheduled, but she found herself storming out of the bookstore anyway.
Choose her? Why in the hell would she do that? Something about her set Shaw on edge. She wasn't like anyone else she'd interviewed; she wasn't overly annoying, though incredibly cocky. Shaw did appreciate a healthy dose of confidence. She wasn't blatantly stupid, insanely happy, a deadbeat or a loser. She wasn't even rude enough to warrant Shaw dumping her from the chair.
But still. There was something. Maybe was the audacity in sitting in that chair in the first place. Maybe she smirked too much. Whatever it was, it niggled at Shaw, like a bug trying to work under her skin. Still, she was the best candidate Shaw had seen all day, which was both sad and disturbing.
She stomped into the house and dumped her backpack on the couch. All she cared about now was sleep. She tossed food into the oven while she got a shower, hoping to wipe away all the smells that came with being in a public place for hours. It was only once her belly was full and a couple of beers had dulled the edges of her thoughts that she could sleep.
And one of the many perks of her unique lack of emotions? She never dreamed.
Two days later, she was still thinking about Root. Partly because she stood out as Shaw's only option at this point, but also because she was, well, memorable. With some time to reflect on it, Shaw kind of actually liked her a little. She'd mocked the cute little Texan priss, managed to listen to every unpleasant and sometimes creepy interview Shaw had had to go through without becoming at all turned off by her demeanor or reactions to those people. Which was really quite remarkable. Even John would've reprimanded her for the ways she'd handled some of those. But Root seemed to find the whole thing amusing. Shaw liked that she wasn't intimidated, and didn't feel the need to tell her to be nicer.
Maybe living with her wouldn't be so bad. Might even be interesting.
There was one problem with it. If she did give in to her curiosity, she didn't actually have a way to tell Root that. She hadn't been one of her interviewees that day; Shaw had no contact information. And she hadn't wanted it when she left. How was she supposed to meet up with her without a phone number?
She supposed she should probably do another round of interviews. A few thousand brain cells melted at the mere suggestion of it, but that didn't change the fact that she needed someone in John's place, stat. Her ad would need refreshing. Perhaps she should put the most important parts of her list of qualifications in the new one. She hadn't done that the first time, sticking only to her preferred age range, the needed income, and that she was ideally looking for a student or a night shift worker.
She could hear John's voice now. He would look down on her with that stoic expression she was so good at and say, "You're going to scare off most of the candidates before you can even interview them. You realize that, right?"
"At least there will be fewer idiots to deal with," she snarked aloud. Despite the idiocy of talking to her very realistic imagination, she chose to add, "You realize you put me in this position, right?"
Neither real-life John nor the imaginary one would have a response to that. Because yes, he did, and they both knew it. She didn't necessarily blame him. If the military gave him what he needed, so be it. She just hated that it had to affect her. How could she stand to live with anyone who wasn't John?
Shaw grabbed her textbooks to take her mind off it. She couldn't magically conjure up rent money, but she could keep her grades up until homelessness took her. School started again in a week, and she was going to be prepared. Reading material that came ahead of her required coursework was one of her favorite pastimes.
As she flipped through the book in her lap, something small fluttered out into her lap. She picked it up in confusion. She didn't use bookmarks. But this wasn't a bookmark. It was a small slip of paper, just large enough to fit a phone number. Shaw's eyes widened. She checked the front of the book. Yep. It was one of the ones she'd had with her in the bookstore that day. She looked at the paper again. There was no doubt in her mind it was Root's number. It had to be. When had she slipped that in there? And how did she do it without Shaw noticing?
She was torn between impressed and invaded. Awfully presumptuous of her. She wanted to be annoyed, despite having just been wondering how she was supposed to get ahold of said annoyance. Shaw's eyes darted to her computer, asleep right now, but taunting her anyway with the needed revisions to her roommate ad. She flicked the number between her fingers. Be annoyed at Root's audacity...or do more interviews? Which was statistically more likely to end in an assault charge over a solution to her problem.
She sighed. Obviously, it was a no-brainer. Even her impulsivity realized that. So she shoved her annoyance aside and picked up her phone. She started to dial the number, but changed her mind. If she heard that smug voice on the other end of the phone, she would go right back to being annoyed. And that was not conducive to getting through this next part. So instead, she texted. And all she gave was her address.
The response was prompt.
I can be there in ten, if that works for you...
She sent back a one word response. She was pretty sure that it only annoyed her more that Root seemed to be waiting for that text. It showed the same presumptive, smug attitude that led to her leaving Shaw her phone number in the first place. Even if Shaw did also kind of admire her confidence.
Studying was pointless. There was no way for her to concentrate with T-minus nine minutes before seeing Root again. Strangely, though, a part of her was kind of looking forward to it. Despite her annoyance over her behavior. Not that she would be any more friendly to her than to anyone else. There would be no warm fuzzies going on just because Root hadn't been like the others.
Root was right on time. Shaw waited for a beat after the doorbell rang, still in the same spot she'd been in for the last ten minutes. Then she rose to answer it, steeling herself.
Root was dressed similarly to the other day; casual, but sexy, relaxed and self-assured. She smiled at Shaw. "Do I get a tour now?"
Shaw scowled and flung the door open, ushering her inside. Root sauntered in, undaunted by her attitude. "Kitchen," she gestured. "Living room." Her hand flung out to the other side. "My bedroom." She pointed ahead of them, to the door on the right. "Spare." She pointed to the opposing door. "Closet." It was to the left of Root's room, close enough she could reach it from her doorway. "Bathroom." She pointed to the door in between the rooms. "Tour."
Root nodded once. "Nice. Pets?"
"No, you?"
"No. Was hoping you had a dog."
"Why?"
"I love dogs." She smiled. "Always wanted one when I was a kid." She shrugged. "Oh well."
"I'm too busy for a dog," Shaw mumbled. But she'd kind of always wanted one, too.
"When can I move in?"
Shaw's scowl deepened. "Slow down, cowboy." She plopped a small stack of stapled papers into Root's hand. "Contract."
Root just smirked. "Okay. How's tonight?"
"Dude. Are you deficient?" She flicked the papers with her fingers. "Read first."
Root's expression never changed. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, coming out with a thick envelope. She handed it to Shaw. "First and last. Security deposit. Take turns buying groceries?"
Shaw stared at the envelope in her hand. Was she serious? What the fuck was wrong with this woman?
Finally, she said, "Note the clause that says I can kick you out whenever I want."
Root held her hand out. "Pen?"
Shaw sighed, rolling her eyes. But she got one anyway and handed it to Root, who scribbled her signature at the bottom of the last page.
"Great, I'll be back in an hour."
"An hour?"
"I travel light." Root smiled and waved as she walked backward to the door. "Thanks, roomie."
Shaw was still staring at the door well after she was gone. What the hell had just happened? She felt like she'd opened the door to find a tornado there. And after it swept her up and tossed her around a bit, it dropped her where she'd started and then left like it had never even been there. Shaw swayed in place, trying to sort it all out.
She looked down at the envelope again. Well, she'd definitely been here. As fast as that had gone, it had happened. Her finger toyed with the edge of the envelope before she shrugged and began counting it. May as well be sure.
She counted twice. It was all there, plus the security deposit she hadn't asked for. Although, she wouldn't put it past her to have given her counterfeit bills. Something about Root just seemed...well, what might sound far-fetched with anyone else just didn't with her.
For once in her life, she wished she had someone to talk to. She'd never been a sharer, not even with John, but it would be nice to get his level-headed perspective on things. Maybe he would know what to make of Root. Or what to do with her.
Or he might just laugh at Shaw's predicament. It wasn't like her to be taken aback by anyone, let alone thrown off so completely. No, maybe not, after all. He would enjoy this far too much.
The doorbell rang again in an hour. Still prompt. Shaw sighed. At least she hadn't just waltzed right in. She was totally the type. She'd have had a hard time of it, though, since Shaw had locked the door behind her.
Fuck, she'd have to give her a key. Shit.
The doorbell rang again. She was taking too long, second-guessing this decision. Shaw opened the door to find Root standing there with only two bags; the laptop bag from the other day, and one medium-sized, rolling suitcase.
"That's it?"
Root just smiled and came inside. She deposited her things in her room, looking around. There wasn't much to see. It was a bed, a small closet, and single bedside table, all of eight by eight feet. The walls were white, and the blinds, too. If Root was disappointed, Shaw couldn't tell from where she was sitting.
She turned and came toward the kitchen. "Do you-"
Shaw tossed the key at her face without warning, cutting off whatever she was saying. When Root calmly caught the offending object before it could make contact, glancing down to see what it was, Shaw was shocked into silence. Fuck, she had reflexes. She did it so effortlessly, looking up at Shaw with a raised eyebrow. Shaw meant to follow that key with something sassy, but words deserted her.
"Thanks." Root pocketed the key. "I was going to ask, do you have any water?"
Shaw tilted her head toward the sink. "Tap is drinkable. And cheaper."
Root shrugged, like she didn't care either way. Shaw let her find the cups on her own. She wasn't compelled to direct her to everything. Or anything, it seemed.
"No food. You're buying groceries."
Root turned, raising both eyebrows now. "What if that was all I had?" She nodded to the envelope on the table.
Shaw just stared at her knowingly.
One side of her mouth quirked. "Fine. Make me a list." She took a sip of her water.
"Fine. Trade-off every two weeks. Drink my beer and I slit your throat in your sleep. Eat whatever else you want. Rent's due on the fourth, so don't ever push it past the second. Forget to lock up when you leave and I'll change the locks."
"Sure thing, Sameen." Root winked and took her glass back to the bedroom.
Shaw stared at her closed door, wondering what the itch at the back of her mind was. Why did this woman unsettle her so much?
Her feet dropped to the floor with a thud. She hadn't told Root her first name. She rarely told anyone her first name. How the fuck did she find that out?
Shaw wanted to smack herself upside the head. Hacker. Duh. Root probably knew a good deal more about her than her first name. Fuck. And she'd just let her move into her fucking house. Shit.
