Roomates Not Forgotten (Amy)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Roommates Not Forgotten is a short story series I decided to explore one day. It's based around one single man who has had many different experiences rooming with many different people over the years. This one is Amy, the first installment. Enjoy.

Submitted: May 19, 2008

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Submitted: May 19, 2008

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ROOMMATES NOT FORGOTTEN: "Amy"

At the tender age of twenty I met a girl named Amy who said she was looking for a place to rent. A place away from Hector her current boyfriend by day, drug dealer by night. Occasionally indulging in his products myself and seeing a benefit to her future occupancy, I told her I had a room to spare. It wasn't much, a simple room really with a window that overlooked the park. After seeing it she said it would be perfect and moved in the same day. The first three weeks seemed tedious to say the least. We spent our days and nights watching movies and late night talk shows quietly.

Yet still she seemed even more distant, as if she didn't care for my friendship or conversation. Until one night she came home later than usual, badly beaten and bloodily bruised. Undoubtedly because of Hector, for on the weekends he would drink heavily and gamble away his honest earnings. Oftentimes this would lead to him calling Amy and asking her to bring him more money. Then after losing even that, he'd take out his anger on her in extremely violent ways. After calming herself down she told me of what had happened. This time he had gotten so drunk that he actually put a knife to her throat. The very knife that she had gotten him years before as a gift, that even had his name engraved on the blade. But then suddenly while telling me this, she changed.

Looking back on it now, it's almost like I watched a part of her die. Without saying another word she stood up and walked upstairs to her room. Thinking nothing more of the situation I went back to watching my movie. Ironically enough it was Julius Caesar, which at the time I thought was funny. When it was finished I walked upstairs and knocked on her door. Though she did not beckon me to enter, I took it upon myself to make sure she was alright. It appeared she was, sitting in front of her mirror putting on make-up. "I'll be out late tonight" is all she said, before walking past me and out the door.

After a few hours of pointless television I fell asleep on the couch. Waking only when I heard the door shut at 4:00am. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Amy coming in from wherever she had gone, so I rolled over to go back to sleep. But then, she sat next to me, and I could feel her dripping the rainwater from her coat onto my legs. Sitting up I saw that she was yet again covered in blood, except this time more of it from head to toe. In one hand she held her keys, and in the other a bloody knife that read "Hector". She was smiling at something that Conan O'brien had said to Max Weinberg, and without taking her eyes off of the screen she said, "I killed him".

We sat in silence for almost twenty minutes without saying anything to one another until she got up to head upstairs. I asked her if she'd like me to run some water in the bathtub for her, and with no emotion in her voice or eyes she said, "I'll shower in the morning". I did not sleep at all that night, hoping that I could speak to her whenever she came back down. Eventually I became too tired and passed out, but when I woke up I found an envelope with her rent money and apartment key. And I never saw Amy again.


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