Perfect Kind Of Trouble

22 Daren

I hold up a hand. “Before you freak out, just remember you’re the one who insisted we stay at my place.”

She shakes her head as she looks around. “Did someone rob you or something?”

I scoff. “I wish it were that simple.”

“So what’s the story then?”

“You want the story?” I nod. “Once upon a time, my mom left and my dad became a raging alcoholic. Then three years ago, he lost his job and, instead of looking for a new one, he decided to drink and gamble away all his money. He managed to burn through his life savings, lose the house, and rack up three DUIs all in a matter of nineteen months. I got two jobs and tried to keep all the bills afloat, but last year, when his drunk driving nearly killed Connor and the poor guy had to have two major surgeries just to walk again, the hospital bills started piling up. So now most of the money I make goes toward Connor’s medical debt, the house I grew up in is in foreclosure, and my reckless father is serving two years in county jail.”

She rubs the back of her neck. “So you live here?”

I inhale through my nose. “Technically, no one lives here. The bank repossessed the house two months ago and put it into foreclosure. But since the market for large homes moves so slowly, it hasn’t been listed for sale yet so it’s just been sitting here abandoned. And because I can’t afford to take care of both myself and the medical bills, I’ve been sleeping here.”

She furrows her brow. “I don’t get it. Why are you paying medical bills for the guy your dad hit? Isn’t insurance supposed to do that?”

“Yeah, but neither my dad nor Connor had insurance. But Connor has a family and a good job and a mortgage…” I shake my head. “I just didn’t think it was fair to make a good sober man pay for my dad’s irresponsible behavior.”

Anger boils inside me as I think about my father’s response when he first found out he’d nearly killed Connor. He was still hammered as he waved it off: Well too bad. Connor will just have to find a way to pay his own damn bills.

I wanted to disown him, right then and there.

Kayla looks around again and breathes out a laugh. “Well at least this place is nicer than the Quickie Stop.”

I snort. “Everything is nicer than the Quickie Stop.”

She nods. “Good point. So… where do we sleep?”

“Upstairs. Come on.” Grabbing her suitcase, I lead her through the dark kitchen into the equally dark living room.

“Did the bank turn the electricity off?” she asks as we stop at the bottom of the staircase.

“No. But I try not to turn on the lights at nighttime. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that a homeless guy is living in an abandoned house.” The moment they leave my mouth, I immediately regret my words.

I just told her that I’m homeless. Homeless.

I don’t need Kayla’s approval, but I certainly don’t want her disdain. And telling her I’m homeless isn’t going to help.

Who am I kidding? I do want her approval. I shake my head. Story of my life. Always chasing after the approval of women. First my mom. Then Marcella. And finally Charity.

And I lost each one. My mom didn’t want me, and Marcella was forced to leave me. And Charity… well, Charity was my first love and I blame myself for the events leading up to her death. I’m no good at hanging on to women, as desperate as I am to do just that, so the fact that I care about the look in Kayla’s eyes right now scares the shit out of me.

I let out a nervous laugh. “God, sorry. I won’t blame you if you completely freak out right now.”

She slowly shakes her head. “I’m not going to freak out.”

I eye her skeptically. “Why not?”

She cocks her head and quietly says, “Because I’m homeless too.”