Page 41 of Toy No More

Marci sends me an air kiss as she walks out of the door. I stand by the washing machine for a moment, the smile slowly fading from my lips.

Itwouldbe nice, wouldn’t it?

That thought makes me pause. Takes me away into some quiet place where I mull over it, imagining things that would never be. I don’t go too deep before I’m pulled out by a sharp knocking on the main door. With furrowed brows, I straighten my back.

“I’ll get it!” I shout before even leaving the bathroom. Marci is waiting for me with a questioning expression once I walk out, halfway through filling the kettle. Smoothing my wild curls and making sure I look presentable in the long mirror by the door, I step toward it while swiftly going through the possibilities in my head before opening.

Marci’s right—no one ever comes here. Skyler’s school or carer would call or email first. The landlord barely contacts us. When he does, it’s always with the least actual human contact possible. Apollo has my number, and I doubt he’d be around here again after last night.

I open the door to see Mrs. Mayfield standing there, arms crossed over her chest with that crooked, minimally polite, mostly annoyed expression perpetually on her sour, wrinkled face.

Doing my best to suppress my dissatisfied reaction, I give her a civil smile while I grip the frame, already knowing this will be unpleasant.

“Morning, Mrs. Mayfield,” I say, desperately trying to get my teeth to not grate against each other. Unfortunately, that’s the effect she has on me. Everything inside me pulses with tension every time I see her, almost like when I’m out on a dangerous job. Of course, this frail old woman barely half my height isn’t threatening, at least not physically.

“Morning,” she replies drily.

“Is there anything you need?” I ask.

Control the passive aggressive tone, Kobe. Otherwise, this will be much longer than it needs to be. Which is already way too fucking long.

She narrows those wide-set eyes at me like an angry little purse dog about to lunge. I know she’s going to complain before the words even come out of her mouth. “There is, young man,” she says, sounding offended. Her chest is all puffed out. I barely resist an eye roll. “Your brother has put up quite the fuss last night. Again. He startled me out of my sleep!”

The ends of my fingers go white as I press them against the doorframe.

I want to turn back to Marci, who’s definitely listening hidden behind the kitchen wall, but I figure the old woman wouldn’t lie, as annoying as she is. Unfortunately, it’s pretty realistic to imagine Skyler got frustrated because I went out yesterday instead of staying in. I still feel bad about it. I guess now I have to deal with the consequences of my actions.

“I know you can’tpossiblyunderstand, but it is quite frightening to live alone, next to such disturbing sounds of rage and violence! I am not paying my rent to be afraid in my own home,” she rambles on in that goddamn superior tone, that over-styled curling gray hair jiggling around her face as she does.

Clenching my teeth, I remind myself to breathe.

Violence? It’s nothing like she makes it out to be and she knows it. All of my good mood is oficially gone, ruined by this insufferable witch.

“He isn’t violent. Skyler would never hurt you or anyone else. I’ve told you before. He just struggles to control his emotions sometimes, like most of us do. If he woke you up, I apologize.” The words leave my lips with a struggle.

I can’t stop feeling angry when I look at her, forever forced to remember what she said when we first moved in here years ago. When she wondered out loud if that boy with adeformed facewas my brother before even introducing herself to us, and then asked me so nonchalantly if he was retarded…

Mrs. Mayfield makes a sour expression again. “Well, he did.”

This is all that much more frustrating since he hasn’t had a bad blowout in a while. “If you could just give him some grace. We all get overwhelmed. It’s called being a human, right? I myself am feeling pretty frustrated right now.”

Couldn’t hold that one in.

“Are you threatening me?” she blurts with furrowed brows, creating deep lines in the middle of her forehead.

“Of course not,” I reply swiftly, raising my hands in a peaceful gesture, while using my best, most innocent tone of voice.

Burning me with her judgmental gaze, Mrs. Mayfield shifts on her feet, moving back a little like she actually thinks I will do anything to her. Grunting softly, she narrows her lips. I don’t know what she expected from this visit. I’ve never backed away before. Not the other times she came here to complain. Last time must have been a couple of months ago.

“We’re quiet enough otherwise, aren’t we? No one else has complained. I don’t bring strangers here, I don’t throw parties… And I gotta go to work soon,” I say, seeing an opportunity to end this harrowing encounter. “Again, sorry about Skyler waking you up. I’m happy to talk to him and ask him to apologize to you personally. It’s important for him to learn the consequences of his actions.”

Mrs. Mayfield seems a little taken aback. To my surprise, no smart ass insults veiled as concern fly out at me.

Instead, she swallows and nods, moving more to the side, closer to her apartment entrance, before glancing up at me again. “G-good. He doesn’t need to do that, just…tell that boy to get a grip on his emotions. He’s old enough. Have a good day,” she mutters, not even attempting to make those words sound genuine, before slithering back into her door and locking it behind her with a click.

I stand there for a few more moments, tampering the frustration bubbling inside me.

Deep down, I know she doesn’t want him to come to apologize because she doesn’t like looking at Skyler. Because he doesn’t look quite like everybody else. That knowledge—that there are people like that out there—makes me burn with rage for him. The ignorance and unfairness of it.

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