Strange Girls Read online

  Who would’ve thought that I could find

  A friend trapped on the other side …

  Chapter One

  Sissy

  Another day, another dollar.

  Not in my case.

  More like another day hoarding myself away from the pain and what if’s the world brings our way. I used to dream of having a normal life. I used to ask myself, “Why, why, why, don’t you seek help and get out of this place? Live a little before there is no time left to live.” The voice in my head’s response has always been the same. “Why? So that they can declare you crazy and lock you away? The world needs help so that it doesn’t injure you! You would never hurt the world. It’s not you that there’s anything wrong with.”

  Yeah, that doesn’t sound crazy. Not at all.

  I shake the thought from my mind and ready the kettle on the stove. A nice cup of tea always makes things better and settles the jittery parts of myself when my anxiety gets to be too much. I hum to myself, a tune that my mother used to sing, as I pull my favorite chipped teacup and saucer from the cabinet. It’s an antique, but I think that’s why I like it so much. I feel so fancy when I use it, like I’m someone else enjoying a break from their regal, debonair lifestyle.

  Looking around my tiny one-bedroom apartment, I try to imagine velvet lounges with carved feet and legs, beautiful bookshelves lined with classics and collectibles that no one can afford, and a beautiful marble finish fireplace.

  “Ah, this is all mine.”

  I continue to hum as I prepare my tea. The steam rises to my nose, tickling my senses with the scent. I raise the cup until it sits under my nose and suck in the smell greedily, sighing on the exhale. Adding a drop of honey, I collect my tea and take a seat on my sofa.

  That first sip is always the best. It zings through my taste buds awakening them to that familiar, robust flavor, and yet, seems so new all at the same time. I open my book to where I left off and continue to read. Raising my teacup to my lips, I take a sip just as something slams against the wall on the other side, shaking my chair.

  A surprised shout leaves me as I jerk in my chair toward the wall. Hot tea sloshes over the rim of my cup onto my hand. I scream out again, only this time in pain, and drop the cup. It spills as it falls before shattering all over the floor. My good hand wraps around my burnt hand as I blow on it, but once I see the disaster my favorite teacup has become, I lower to the floor and pick up a jagged piece.

  “No,” I whimper, staring at my only teacup. “No, no. no.”

  A tear pricks my eye. How many people have held it? How many people have loved it as much as I have? And now it’s gone. Destroyed by a world without a care in the—world? I shake my head and wipe the tear away.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t fix you. But maybe I can save you and use you for something else.” I smile, thinking of all the beautiful new things my precious teacup can become.

  I treat and bandage my hand before cleaning up the spill. As I sop up the mess, I pause, staring at the wall that came out of nowhere and hit me.

  Yeah, because walls move all the time. Totally sane and logical thinking there, Sissy, you twit.

  “I need to get out of here.”

  The window beckons me, and I walk over to it. It screeches as I push up the old pane and lean slightly out to get a breath of fresh air. I cough when the smell of fumes greets me instead. My eyes roam around the city block and take in the bustling scene four stories below.

  Bicyclists fly down the street to make deliveries, cabs zoom by trying to get their passengers to their destinations, pedestrians walk around like the crazy fuckers they are. Who walks in the city like that?! A woman crossing the street garners my attention. I hold my breath, and my fingers dig into the sill—chipping not only the flaking paint, but my nail also—as she reaches the middle of the lane. Just as I think she’s made it to safety, a cucumber green cab comes whipping around the corner.

  I suck in my breath as the cab slams on its breaks and stops what looks like centimeters from her.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re fucking going, you fucking moron! You trying to kill people?” The woman’s screams echo to my ears as she slams her hands on the hood of the pickle mobile.

  They flip each other off and yell a few more choice words at one another, but I can’t make them out no matter how hard I try. I watch the cab go about its way and realize that in the ruckus, I made it fully out onto the fire escape.

  I totally freak and grip the rail. My heart takes off so quickly that I lose all chances of breathing anytime in the next few minutes. I’ve completely screwed myself. How did I get out here without thinking? That woman risked her life to be on the street. I wasn’t risking shit. I kept myself safe, up here away from the street. Far, far away from those crazy bastards putting themselves into jeopardy. That’s another thing. Jeopardy is starting, and I’m stuck out here pseudo dying on the fucking fire escape when I could be relaxing and playing trivia with the silver fox Alex Trebek.

  My fingers meld to the railing, and my eyes pinch closed as I stick my ass out to get closer to the wall behind me. If I can … just … reach. Streeeeetch, you can do it, girl. I think I feel the wall behind me, but I’m not sure. I would let go of the railing if I could, but I may fall to my death down the ladder shaft. Nope, not gonna happen. Knowing my luck, I wouldn’t die. I’d be ran over by the jumbo pickle and the crazy lady would stand over top of me and mock me.

  I begin to feel dizzy and lower my head until I can squeeze it between my outstretched arms. The deep breaths I take don’t help, and I begin to sag from the rail holding on for my dear life. I’m sure if anyone can see me they think I’m drunk, having a fit, or just plain silly. The thought that people can see me sets me off even more. I have to get off this balcony.

  I push myself up with my feet, my ass end swinging left to right as I get my balance. I release the fingers of my left hand one by one, the soreness from gripping the rail too long cramping them up, and reach blindly behind me as far as I can until my fingertips brush the rough wall. Next, I slide my foot along the metal balcony floor. My toes hit the wall and I open my eyes and smile—that is until notice that I’m spread eagle on the balcony and I now have to shove myself to the wall, or do a Michael Jackson dance move that I’m sure will pull a muscle in my groin.

  I growl at my predicament and tell Karma that now is not the time to get even with me for when Thelma asked me for sugar and I poured it out of the old mail slot and said, “There you go! Hope your grandkids cupcakes taste good!” She never took the sugar. That pile was there weeks later bringing ants under my door.

  I shove off the railing and throw myself face first at the brown brick wall. I exhale harshly as I hit, and my cheek scrapes the old chipped bricks, but those scrapes could be welcome home kisses for all I care. I’ve fucking made it. I take big gulps of air as I settle my racing heart and hug the wall the best I can.

  The sound of the busy street comes rushing back as all my senses come back online.

  “Don’t toss those boxes around like that, asshole! You’re gonna break her shit!”

  I peek my eye open and glance down over the side of the escape to see three moving guys walking towards the door of my building. Someone is moving in here? It’s been a while since I’ve witnessed anyone moving in or out. My floor has been so quiet lately that I was beginning to think I was the only one on it. Not that that would be a bad thing.

  As the men pass beneath the escape and out of my line of sight, I turn to go back through the window, but I stop and glance back when I see her watching. Short cropped white-blonde hair sits atop her head and a pair of huge glasses sit on her face, along with a grimace to match the attitude she’s emanating. Her furrowed b
rows freeze in a stare one gives someone else when they are doing something unfathomably stupid. My eyes widen, and I slowly scoot from her line of sight and slip back through the window.

  Once inside, I slam the window shut and press myself against the far wall; away from the world, away from chutes and ladders of death, and away from the woman who watched my bizarre high-wire act with disgusted boredom.

  I slide to the floor and hug my legs to my chest as I lean my head against the wall. I’m going to wake-up in my bed and all of this will just be a nightmare.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  SLAM!

  The wall rattles at my back jerking my eyes open. The pieces of the broken teacup greet me on my beaten and scratched up coffee table.

  This is not a dream.

  I am not asleep.

  This is my worst nightmare.

  “I have a new neighbor.”

  Chapter Two

  Artemis

  Great; a crazy neighbor is exactly what I signed the damn lease for.

  I sigh heavily and throw my purse onto the floor near the front door and head for the small kitchen area. It’s gonna take a good stiff drink to bring me down from my shitty day, but I opt for coffee instead. I’m a bit of a coffee fiend and that’s the one thing that always helps me settle, which, in all honesty, is for the betterment of society.

  I reach under the sink and grab my saucepan and fill it with hot water. I sigh again when the faucet sputters at first then gives up and just dies.

  This is fucking ridiculous.

  This place blows and I can’t exactly knock on someone’s door and ask for water of all fucking things. I mean, I could, but I’d rather make my slumlord work for the money he gets out of my bank account every month. I drop the pot into the sink, the angry clattering sound echoing my feelings at the moment, and go back to my purse. I’m pretty sure that’s where I left the phone, though I could be wrong. I never know where the damned thing is, and it’s always on silent, so actually trying to call it from the house phone would be pointless.

  I find it in the small pocket inside. The light is blinking in the top right corner, but I just double tap the screen to life, and swipe away all of the notifications. I don’t care to deal with anyone other than Mark at the moment because he’s the only one that can get me out of the Great Coffee Drought of Apartment 6C.

  I decide to send him a text message because I’ve learned that the bastard doesn’t like to answer his phone. I’ve also learned that the easiest way to get him to crawl out of his creep cave is to sway him with a little something, something, but I never deliver. Last time I was here, he was showing me the apartment, and he tried to get a little handsy, so I grabbed my pocket knife and threatened to chop his balls off. Something tells me that he was all about it. Whatever floats his boat, I guess.

  It will most likely be an hour or so before he even bothers to answer my message, so I go back into the kitchen and hop up onto one of the little bar stools I use as a chair. One of the legs is shakier than a crackhead going through withdrawal, but it is sufficient enough to hold me up.

  Since there is nothing better to do at the moment, I decide to open up Pornhub and see if there are any new videos worth watching. I have my tastes of what I watch on there, and there are honestly only so many times I can watch Batman parody porn just to see the Joker fuck.

  I scroll through the top-rated videos, the new videos, and even the categories, but I find myself going back to Old Faithful. I type in my usual search and click on the video. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even get off to it anymore, but there’s just something deviously naughty about watching him “cheat” on Harley Quinn and always wishing I was one of the sluts he was pounding away on.

  I set the phone down on the countertop and cross my arms as I watch the scene unfold. I roll my eyes at the cheesiness of it, but then remind myself that someone like Mr. J deserves more respect than an eye roll. And off they go! Blowjobs, fingerfucking, alternating chicks, and here I sit; drier than the Sahara Desert. I guess it’s to the point where either I just appreciate the artistry of what they’re doing, or my sex drive has officially run off somewhere too far for me to even find it anymore.

  I really need to get laid.

  The video is just about over when my phone screen lights up, interrupting the money shot.

  Weird.

  “Yeah?” I ask gruffly into the phone.

  “Can it wait ‘til tomorrow?” Mark asks tiredly.

  “No, it fucking can’t. You get your money from me and, just like everyone else, I deserve to have some damn water running in this place,” I spit back.

  “What’s in it for me?” he asks in something I can only describe as a piss poor attempt to be seductive.

  “Rent.”

  “Hm.”

  Silence. He was obviously waiting for something additional, but I wasn’t going to offer him anything. Not today at least; today was a day for coffee and Batman porn.

  “Alright. If I come over, can you at least wear something see-through?”

  “Mark, if you come over right now, not only will I wear something see-through, I may let you touch me too,” I reply through grit teeth. I hate having to play the barter game with him, and hate even more that I have to play a little peep show game with him to get my damn water on, but I really didn’t have anything better to do anyway.

  Not to mention, Mark’s not exactly hard on the eyes, he’s just a fucking creep.

  “On my way, little goddess,” he says quickly before disconnecting the line.

  I really hated when he called me that. Hated it with the fire of a thousand suns, but I’ve heard worse jokes about my name than that.

  My mother was something of a mythology freak and when me and my twin brother were born, she named us after Artemis and Apollo. At least his name happens to be bad ass, I spend most of my time explaining that I’m in no way anything like my namesake, virginity included. However, if I don’t fuck someone soon, I may as well just start claiming to be.

  Hopping off my wobbly barstool, I walk toward my bedroom. Even though I am celibate by force, I am pretty sure that I most likely had something I could show off to him. I pull open the drawers and fish around, tossing things out and to the floor, telling myself that I’ll pick them up later even though I know that they will most likely sit there for a few days.

  This will have to do.

  Holding up the black, lace see-through teddy, I walk toward the bathroom to freshen up. I figure I can spray something nice after a quick rub down with baby wipes to keep the scent of eau de freak at bay. Halfway through my wipe cleansing, I hear the door on the other side of the wall open and close. But what follows next is what makes me perk my ears up and listen carefully.

  Chapter Three

  Sissy

  Her face burned itself into my mind’s eye, leaving behind a vivid image of the unique stranger that stared at me with disgusted contempt. Although I’m usually terrified of new people and the bits of the world they drag into my private reality, I’m completely intrigued by this one.

  She reminds me of Lydia from Beetlejuice.

  “Well, if Lydia was blonde … bleached blonde. No way is her hair naturally that color.” My thoughts wonder to what her pubes look like. “No. Her brows are far too dark.”

  I sit against the wall taking comfort in the sounds of furniture and boxes being moved around next door. Normally, by now, I would’ve scrambled for my prescription pill bottle that I rely on to help me make it from wakefulness to sleep every damn day of my life—especially since I moved here.

  Ever since the break-in two years ago, I haven’t been able to face many people or leave. It doesn’t make much sense to me either, that the one place I should want to run from is the one place I want to hide in. My prison of fear has become my prison of safety. And somewhere in the mess I call my mind, I tossed the key to my shackles and haven’t been able to find it. I haven’t really tried searching for it either. It takes more
courage to begin a journey than it does to complete one. So, fuck it. That’s what meds are for. [TD1]

  I don’t know how long I sit there before I realize the noise has died on the other side of the wall. The moment I notice it, though, my heart decides to skillfully tap dance in my chest like Fred Astaire. I gasp for air and start going through my mental checklist.

  “Focus, Sissy.”

  I need to get a grip before it turns into a full-blown panic attack like earlier. I focus on all my senses, attempting to pull myself back into the moment. As my mind trips over itself, sounds begin filtering through the wall again. I turn to face it, putting my hands and ear against the aged, peeling paper.

  The pipes are rattling. That only means one thing.

  “Mark.”

  I didn’t know whether to be terrified or attracted to that man. There were times when I first moved in years ago that I would find him in my apartment without warning “fixing” things and “accidently” touching me. Now if something breaks, I YouTube it. If I have to call Mark, I hide in my bathroom and stare at him through a small hole in the door.

  I think one time he knew I was using my vibrator while he was on the other side talking to me. There was this deviant glint in his eyes and a certain hardness to his smirk that made me silently come while I dead stared him. No way could I be free enough to let him touch me. And no way in hell would I ever give him the satisfaction of knowing I got off on him fixing my garbage disposal. I don’t trust him.

  But he sure is nice to look at.

  I can’t risk him coming up here. What if he touches her? She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would like that. I don’t even think she likes when people look at her.

  No. Mark is not allowed.

  The pipes make a loud growling, grinding noise that fades into a silent omen of sorts.

  I don’t know why I have the urge to fix her pipes for her, putting my safety at risk to possibly save hers, but I suddenly feel empowered to put one foot in front of the other.