Page 25 of No Place Like You

Well, this can’t be good.I stand from my soft, cushy spot on Janet’s sofa and walk to her kitchen for privacy.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Umm…” she answers, a wavering in her voice that sounds like she’s going to start crying if I ask her if she’s okay again. “My apartment was robbed,” she explains softly. “My whole place is a mess, and they took my MacBook. And this necklace my grandma gave me when I graduated is missing. And—” She starts crying, and the end of her sentence is cut off with a desperate sob. Her cries continue to ring through the phone, and I can’t even explain the irrational rage coursing through me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

Fuck!Fuck, fuck,fuck. I’ve never heard her cry, and it’s absolutely gut-wrenching.

I sprint back to the living room and reach for my keys and wallet sitting on the coffee table littered with magazines and half-empty mugs of tea.

“I’ll be right there.”

When I reach the sidewalk at the bottom of Lucy’s apartment building, I immediately spot her. The edge of her thumb is nudged between her teeth, and I can tell she’s shivering even from the distance between us. She’s talking to a police officer, who’s taking notes on a small note pad, occasionally nodding while talking to Lucy in a calm, gentle voice.

“Well,” I hear the officer say as I quietly reach Lucy’s side, “it’s not likely we’ll find the suspect, but it’s good to have it reported. I would file an insurance claim as soon as possible, and we’ll keep our eyes and ears open for any leads.”

It’s then Lucy spots me, just as the officer turns to get into his car. Her eyes immediately start to water at the same time her chin trembles. I pull her into me, letting her fall against my chest, and her shivering skyrockets while my hands run up and down her back. I didn’t realize how panicked and worried I was until I hold her.

“You’re okay,” I whisper. I breathe out a deep sigh into her hair, letting the stress ease off of me, and I impulsively press my lips to her temple.Thank God she’s okay.

“I’m so sorry I had to call you,” she blubbers into my shoulder. “I didn’t know who else…”

I pull away from her, keeping my hands braced on her shoulders. When a lone tear trickles down her cheek, I wipe it with my thumb. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she says, the shivering now flowing through the shakiness of her voice. “The officer said my door was busted open. But now I don’t even know if I forgot to lock it. And I didn’t put away my things. I just left them out, and they—” Her voice is cut off by a sudden sob.

“Let’s go up and get your things. Or what’s left of them, anyway.”

She looks at me, wiping her cheeks. A scowl of confusion creates a small frown to form on her lips. “Get my things?”

I’m about to do something impulsive, a little rash but circumspect considering what happened to her today. Because how am I supposed to let her stay here by herself tonight? What if the people who robbed her come back? Or that guy I ran into the last time I was here comes knocking at her door for sugar or some shit? That’s a completely logical and rational reason she shouldn’t stay here. It hasnothingto do with a small inkling of jealousy. (Way to convince yourself, Dex.)

It doesn’t matter. Jealous or not, she can’t stay here tonight. Period. Her apartment is a literal crime scene, for crying out loud.

“Stay at my place tonight,” I say softly, being careful not to come off as too pushy. “And we’ll figure something out for you once you’re calmer.”

She lets out a loud sniff and quickly wipes another runaway tear. Instead of answering me, she turns and leads the way to her apartment. When we reach her door on the second floor, my heart drops at the scene left behind. Everything’s been ransacked, and her clothes are strewn on the floor, loose tracks of dirt-covered shoe prints staining them. What little furniture furnished the smallest apartment I’ve ever seen is knocked over, looking like someone tossed it into the studio apartment rather than organized to maximize space. I see broken glass everywhere, a twin-sized mattress lying haphazardly off a bed frame, and a small toaster oven sitting on top of it.

“Lucy,” I whisper. She’s been living in this shit hole for over a month? Even with it being trashed, I can tell it’s been hell living here before the robbery. I peer over at her as she slowly unzips a suitcase that’s somehow magically come out of this ordeal unscathed. She looks almost embarrassed, refusing to meet my eyes while focusing on picking up her clothes off the floor instead. I continue my observation, scanning over what I assume is a “kitchen,” making note of a small hot plate and sink the size of a textbook. “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask, realizing that there’s no other door in this space besides the one we walked through.

She gives me that sheepish, almost embarrassed look again. Instead of answering me, she points to the door left slightly open. Toward the hallway.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Like an outhouse?”

She smirks and rolls her eyes, the first hint of a smile finally peeking through her hellish day. “It’s a communal bathroom,” she explains.

I cup the back of my neck. “How come you didn’t tell me you were living like this?”

“Like how?”

“Like a…” I hesitate, not wanting to come off as judgmental. “Likethis.” I wave my hands around me.

“It’s fine, Dex.” Her lips twist to one side, and she chews on the inside of her lip. Her face drops like she might start crying all over again, and I feel like such a jackass.

“Sorry, Luce.” I take a step toward the wardrobe closet that’s surprisingly still in one piece but left open and empty. “You have pretty good storage. And I’m sure you got a steal on the rent. That’s hard to do in the city.”

She nods, looking away from me and focusing her attention on packing her things.

“Look, I didn’t mean that. I just know it can’t be easy living in such a cramped apartment without even a proper bathroom, even if it’s temporary.”

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