Lights Out

Chapter 1

“Another historical romance? What is it this time? Enemies turned lovers?”

“Oh, so you pay attention to what I read now?”

If I had a quarter for every stupid remark Jace made throughout the day, I could afford to live alone. I flip the page of my very enticing historical fiction and try to keep my mind encompassed in the story. If I’m lucky, Jace will be quiet and leave me alone. If I’m not, well–

“Earth to Finley. Are you deaf?” Jace says, his voice fading as he enters his bedroom.

About three months ago I was stopping at the post office before work to send back rented books. An ad posted on the bulletin board inside caught my attention. Someone was looking for a roommate, preferably a student. The rent for the room was only $600 a month. I couldn’t help but take a pen and write down the phone number on the inside of my wrist. Cheap rent was scarcely found in Boston, and I couldn’t convince myself to ignore it.

“Your soccer ball is in the kitchen.” I don’t look up as I address Jace.

That’s how I ended up signing a lease for a small, old fashioned, two-bedroom apartment with Jason Archer. The boy who was very shocked to see a girl standing outside his door with a bunch of boxes claiming to be his new roommate. Apparently, Jace had wanted a boy to move into the apartment but had conveniently forgotten to mention that on his flier. At that point, it was too late. I had signed the lease and I was already at his front door. I always wondered if that was the reason he hated me so much, because I’m a girl and he wanted a boy. I dismissed the idea when I realized no person would hold onto that kind of anger for so long. It’s not my fault he never asked my gender and assumed my name meant I was a guy.

“Whatever.” Jace’s voice sounds from the kitchen, where he no doubt found the soccer ball, I keep tripping over.

I look up at the stranger that is my roommate, he’s attempting to slip his shoes on without using his hands. Typical. The first thing you notice about Jason Archer is his height. He towers over everyone, looking down on the world as if he runs it. Soccer has kept him built and lean, a layer of hard muscle always just the tiniest bit visible under his t-shirts. Today he’s dressed in shorts and a jersey for a team I don’trecognizeor care to learn. His sports bag is swung over his shoulder, hanging just below his waist. It swings around, knocking into the walls and his legs. His hair is a mess, as it always is, hanging in front of his dark brown eyes in pitch-black curls. Jace’s skin is golden, he always looks like he’s glowing somehow. He frowns as he looks around, attempting to locate yet another lost item of his.

“You’re welcome.”

I keep my gaze down and wait for the sound of the door slamming shut (apparently the only way Jace knows how to close a door) before putting my book down on the coffee table.

I look around the apartment I call home. The living room is small with an old cream-colored couch and a wooden coffee table facing a television on top of a long cabinet. The wall behind it is made of white brick that has been nicked and scratched, revealing the gray concrete hiding underneath. It’s always cold and rough to the touch, no matter what the temperature is outside.

Jace’s bedroom is next to the television. I’ve never been inside, or even looked into his room. His door is always closed, and I am in no position to make him hate me even more for sneaking into his room simply because I’m curious to see what lies inside.

My room is built off of the kitchen, it’s small but perfect for me. I’ve always preferred small spaces, it’s easier to make them cozy and feel like home. It’s an old apartment and there’s never enough hot water to go around but I love it. It holds character, a story for every person that has passed through it.

Evenings are my favorite time of day. Jace leaves to the gym or to play soccer and I am alone in the apartment. The apartment is full of windows, allowing me to watch as the sunsets over the city from my bedroom. I like to watch the shadows dance across the floor; the only sounds filling the space being the creaking of the cold hardwood under my bare feet and the muffled city outside these thin walls. These moments are the ones that feel like heaven.

I make my way into the kitchen, starting the kettle and pushing myself up to sit on the counter. I sit and watch as the water begins to bubble and bounce, and steam begins to pour out of the tip. The kitchen is behind the couch, a small island in the middle of it. The counter tops are dark green, the floor lined with white and green tile that matches the counters; it looks like a checkerboard. The lights flicker whenever someone upstairs is walking around.

I make myself a cup of tea, mixing in just the smallest amount of sugar into the golden liquid. As I breathe in the scent of Earl Grey, I can feel all the muscles in my body relax. I walk into my bedroom, being blinded by the setting sun shining through my window for only a moment.

My bed sits to one corner of the room, the off-white sheets smoothed out and decked out with a mass number of pillows and blankets. A white bedside table is overflowing with books and a small lamp. A full-length mirror hangs from my closet in the opposite side of the room, making it all feel a lot larger than it really is. My desk faces the giant window that takes up the majority of the main wall in my room. A small stack of books sitting upon it.

I set my cup of tea down onto the desk and take a seat in the worn-out chair that sits in front of it. Pulling out a literature textbook, I begin to work on assignments for class. The sun lighting up my room and the smell of books, ink, and tea fill my mind as time seems to pass significantly faster while I immerse myself in the lives of others.

…

Hours pass, the apartment becomes dark and somehow quieter than before. After a quick dinner and an even quicker shower, I lie in bed with my lamp on and my book in my lap. It’s eleven and I can feel my eyelids growing heavy with sleep. I try to fight the feeling, to just get through one more chapter but I keep drifting off. I’m suddenly awakened by the front door slamming shut.

“Shh don’t want to wake up the monster,” Jace not-so-quietly whispers. That’s me, the monster.

I hear a girl giggle, probably drunk or stoned or both. I hear them stumble into one of the walls and their giggles fill the apartment again. Jace’s bedroom door opens and then closes just as quickly. Knowing exactly what follows, I pick up my earbuds from my bedside table and slip them into my ears. I crank the volume as high as it can go in a sad attempt to cover the loud moans and gasps of Jace and whoever he brought home with him tonight. These walls are too thin.