Page 12 of Guitars and Cages

“Uh-uh,” he said solemnly.

Well, that was a good thing, anyway; I was beginning to not be as fond of her as I’d once been.

“So, is the Super at the door demanding rent?” I asked, figuring that was a bit of a long shot since I’d paid the rent at the start of the week.

“Nope,” he said, and I could feel him climb up and sit on the edge of the bed.

“Has the zombie apocalypse started?”

“Uhh no, but wouldn’t that be awesome?”

I chuckled into the pillow. Awesome wasn’t quite the word I’d use, but hell, if several people I knew managed to get themselves turned into walking corpses at the very least I could shoot them in the head and actually get away with it.

“Have aliens landed on the roof?” I asked him, and now he was laughing.

“Don’t they only land in cornfields?” he replied, and I groaned and let out a long-suffering sigh.

“So let me get this straight. There’s no mass hysteria, no flames, no one at the door, and no zombies on the streets, and yet you’re waking me up a whole hour before I told you it was okay?”

“Well, yeah, but you gotta get up or you’re gonna be in trouble,” Rory said in a quiet voice that sort of scared me. It certainly got the pillow from over my face, and I opened my eyes, blinking at the soaking-wet form of him sitting on my bed. Why was he soaking wet and fully dressed and getting water all over the place? And did I really want to know?

“What did you do?” I groaned.I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna know, a voice inside my head practically screamed as I could hear what sounded like running water hitting the floor in the other room. I threw the sheet aside and bolted toward the sound—too fast, because as soon as I hit the next room I went skidding across the damned linoleum floor and crashing into the kitchen cupboards. Water was pouring down from the overflowing sink, and on the floor lay the handle that might have turned it off if it was still attachable, which I quickly discovered it wasn’t. Five minutes, much cursing, and some skinned knuckles later, I laid the wrench aside and looked at the absolute disaster that had been a somewhat clean kitchen the last time I’d laid eyes on it.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing myself not to lose my temper because it felt like my blood pressure was going through the roof. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I took a breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself of the time my brothers and I had soaked Silly Putty in alcohol and damned near blown up our mother’s kitchen. Paybacks, it seemed, had no discernible time limit. Just when I felt I was calm enough to say something to Rory there was a knock on the door, and I stalked over and took off the chain before yanking it open.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” the Super snarled, trying to look past me into the apartment. “There’s water leaking down into the apartment below.”

This would normally be where I pointed out that were it not for the cheap building materials that made up the floors and ceilings, and the thirty-year-old fixtures on the sinks, there wouldn’t be an issue. It was tempting, but seeing as how the Super had already gotten complaints from neighbors about Rory feeding pigeons on the fire escape, leading to them crapping on the people below, I wasn’t going to press my luck. He was pissed about my having an extra person in here anyway.

There’d been that issue with the garbage chute, too, which the kid had unknowingly caused by trying to stuff all the bags down at the same time, but hell, it wasn’t like the kid was used to living in a place like this.

“Err, sink overfilled,” I said, biting back the less-than-polite comments that came to mind. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Yeah, right. Look, I’m telling you right now, if I get one more complaint about this apartment, you and that kid are out on your ear, ya hear me?” he spat angrily, garlic and rancid beef wafting from his breath.

Tic-Tacs, dude, or Certs, Listerine… seriously, that breath could be bottled for chemical warfare and sent overseas to replace tear gas.I fought back the urge to gag and plastered on my best fake smile.

“Not a problem; sorry you had to come up here,” I told him, slowly shutting the door, trying to get it between me and the next heated breath of biotoxins.

“Yeah, you will be sorry if I have to come back,” he snarled as he stomped back the way he came.

I shut the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath and trying to rid my nostrils of the memory of his scent. Bad breath and BO remained, and I swiped a hand through the wet strands of my hair and muttered curses as I headed in search of a mop. I actually had one, thanks to Kimber. I wondered what she’d think of what I was about to do and decided a heartbeat later that I didn’t care; the kid needed to learn, and dammit-all I was tired of cleaning up his messes. I already was going to need to purchase and install new fixtures; the very least he could do was clean up the mess while I showered and went in search of the necessary supplies.

He was peeking out from the doorway of the other room when I trudged back with the mop and bucket and thrust them into his hands.

“You know how to use that?” I asked him, gesturing to the mop.

“No,” he responded, and to his credit he did look a bit ashamed of the trouble he’d caused. Didn’t mean I was letting him off the hook, though.

“Learn,” I told him, and stalked past, slamming the door of the bathroom hard enough to rattle the walls.

“No!” he yelled, and I could hear the mop handle hit the floor.

I yanked open the door, hissing as I hit my foot with it.

“What?” I snarled.

“I don’t wanna mop the floor!” he told me, arms crossed, face set in an angry scowl.

---