Page 16 of Romanced By the Rat
Chapter eleven
Ramsay
Ino longer trust my judgment. I’m as clueless as Jeremy. I could have played it smarter when Charlotte ripped off Jeremy’s hat and discovered me. I definitely didn’t make things better, that’s for sure. Now, as I stand outside Charlotte’s apartment—completely alone with a small bouquet of wild flowers clutched in my paw, I’m sure I’ve gone completely mad.
I’m probably the last person—rat—she wants to see, but I can’t stomach the idea of not apologizing. I crossed a line, intruded where I was not welcome, and Charlotte didn’t deserve that. I didn’t think of this as an invasion until I witnessed her adverse reaction. Maybe living as vermin for a time has rotted my brain.
Thankfully, Charlotte’s apartment is right across the street from Ratcliff’s, but still, it took me several hours to get here. Crossing a street, dodging cars, and avoiding being stomped on by gremlins (literally) is a much more challenging task for a rat in the light of day. I had to speak to her in daylight, though. Rats are less welcome in the dark.
I stare up at her front door, after scurrying through the back alleyway of the bookstore and thankfully, catching the door tothe hallway ajar. My luck has run out, though, because no matter how hard I knock, Charlotte will never hear me.
If there’s a weird, demented God up there, I must have his favor at this moment, because right when I’m about to give up, the door swings open. “Wait!” I yell before I’m toppled by Charlotte exiting her apartment. She screams, scanning for the source of the sound. “Jesus Christ, not you!” she says, exasperated once her eyes catch mine.
“Listen, I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but I came by to apologize and give you these.” I hold out the flowers.
“You’re not the last person I want to see.”
My spirit lightens. “Really?”
“You’re the last rat I want to see.” She steps into her apartment, attempting to separate us with her door.
“Wait!” Surprisingly, she heeds my plea. “Can I help you set up your apartment? It’s the least I can do after everything.”
She stops, her head turning into her home behind her. “Fine.” I can hardly believe it. “But I don’t know how you’ll be able to do much. You’re a rat, after all.” She steps out of the way, keeping the door open for me.
I can’t deny that the words sting, but I don’t blame her. She doesn’t know me. To her, I’m the creepy little rodent that stared into the depths of her vagina, and okay, maybe I am that, but I’m also so much more. I greedily accept her invitation, darting in and getting to work.
After only two hours, her place looks brand new. Her couch has two assembled side tables. The boxes in her kitchen are unpacked, and cooking supplies are in their designated drawers. I even managed to hang up some art by crawling across the walls, and put my small bouquet into a teacup with water. I have no plans to stop anytime soon.
“So you’re a man, not just a talking rat?” Charlotte’s eyes haven’t left me since I entered, but this is the first time she’s spoken.
I nod, placing a small picture frame back into a box to give her my full attention. “My name is Ramsay.” I can’t believe this is the first time I’m telling her that. “I was a soldier at Fort Pines. I stupidly volunteered to be a part of a science experiment and woke up as a rat. I escaped. I’m not supposed to be alive.”
“Are you going to be a rat forever?”
I shrug. “I think so. I overheard the scientists say they didn’t have any way to turn me back into a man.”
“Aren’t you worried they’re coming after you?” She’s closer to me now, sitting at the bar stool in front of me.
I shake my head. “They wrote me off as dead. Said I wouldn’t escape the facility, and if I did, I wouldn’t survive in the outside world. I don’t think I was supposed to retain my intelligence or talk.”
She’s quiet, studying me. “So what? Jeremy’s your best friend, and you both take part in luring women into your weird sex fetishes?”
“No!” I almost yell, but quickly soften, realizing this is a logical conclusion. “I barely know Jeremy. I’ve been hiding out at Ratcliff’s and watching people. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
“Mine too.”
I smile. “I figured.”
Something passes between us—a warm glance, something heated—but Charlotte shakes it away. “Okay, tell me how this all happened.”
I tell her as much as I can—how Jeremy and I met, how it evolved, the mechanics of how I helped.
“I still don’t get it,” she says. “Why do you care?”
“Care about what?”
“Jeremy? Me? Did you just need something to waste time on?”
