by Matthew Spataro
“What kind of sauce you want with that?”
“Just ketchup, thanks.”
The cashier nods, tapping at the cash register screen before he walks away. The hum of the fluorescent lighting cuts through the silence. Nathan looks behind him. He runs shaky fingers through short, wet curls, pushing his blonde hair back and flicking a few droplets onto the dirty linoleum. His sweater clings to his body, soaked through.
Nathan turns just as the cashier comes back. The cashier holds out a hand, Nathan dropping the money, in it.
Nathan thanks him again, grabbing the bags and looking down at the nametag, “…Randy.”
“No problem,” Randy shrugs, walking back into the kitchen, disappearing behind chrome shelves once more.
Nathan takes the bag and walks towards the door. He tucks his food into the crook of his arm, using his free hand to open the door.
But he doesn’t, at first; frozen on the other side, staring out at the dark city street, being washed away by the current rainfall.
Nathan looks behind him, at one empty seat after the other. His hold on the bag starts to slack, until he can hear Randy’s sharp whistle and the jingle of keys.
He frowns, and takes a deep breath, before flinging open the door and running.
Nathan shoots across the forming rapids, each footstep followed by a heavy splash. He can feel the water seeping into his sweater, under his shirt and his shorts. His flip-flops are completely soaked, his feet drenched in rainwater.
He doesn’t stop running. Ducking under awnings and branches, racing the ticking red hands to make it across the street.
Just when the fire burns in his lungs, and when Nathan can really start to feel the pull in his muscles, he makes it to the complex.
Nathan shakily puts the key in the lock, slipping in as soon as he can. He shudders, fumbling to put it away. He takes a beat to compose himself, then walks further into the hallway.
Out of Order glares at him from its home on the sign in front of the elevator, but after the fifth time he got used to its dark looks.
He trudges up three flights of stair, with each step his breath getting heavier. Once outside his door, he doesn’t waste any time creaking it open.
Nathan flicks the lights on, tossing his flip-flops off to the side and dragging himself towards the small kitchen area. He places the bag onto counter and feels it: only slightly soggy.
‘It’ll do.’
He pulls out a nearby plate, placing the cooling nuggets and fries on it. He shakes the bag, frowns, and then dumps it. A few napkins fly out, followed by a single ketchup packet. Nothing else.
“Fuck.”
Nathan shakes the bag again: silent. He tears it up and, still, nothing.
He stops, and looks towards his fridge. He opens it, looking around the nearly barren space for anything. He spies the bottle behind a nearly empty milk jug. Nathan pulls it out, seeing the dangerously low amount inside.
“It’ll…” Nathan sighs, “It’ll do.”
He grabs his last can of Coke and shoves the door closed. He pads back to his food and leverages his sauces together into something that could last. If he barely touches it, that is.
He picks up a few fries, cramming them in his mouth, before picking up his food and carrying it across the short distance towards his main room. The couch rattles, springs groaning against his lean body. He wriggles around, trying to get comfortable.
Nathan stops, legs stretched across the couch and his back against the armrest. The still wet fabric of his clothes is pushed further against his skin. He shivers, the chill running up his spine.
He sets his food off to the side, on the cluttered floor, next to his overstuffed book bag and next to a dirty button down, stained with dried blood.
The sweater clings to him tight, forcing Nathan to rip it off him. His phone falls out from one of the sides. He picks it up, tossing his sweater off to the side.
The phone blinks green, alerting him to a few messages. He checks them.
‘Just want to make sure you’re okay, please text me back.’
‘Got the flu? I tried coming in but your folks wouldn’t let me in.’
‘Hey, I heard what happened and you know that my door’s always open.’
‘Where are you.’
He shuts his phone off, dropping it next to his sweater. He picks up his food and continues eating, frowning at the cold mushy taste in his mouth.
He doesn’t take too long to finish, swiping the last streaks of ketchup onto a nugget and swallowing it down. One final swig of his drink later, and he stretches along the couch.
He reaches a hand out, blindly searching for his laptop. He pushes a pair of jeans to the side, grabbing at the edges of the device. Nathan pulls it out, powering it up and clicking the browser open.
‘Jobs Available, Degree Optional’
He spends the next few minutes surfing the web, tabs open with different applications and forms, and one with YouTube music blaring. He taps his foot to the beat, losing himself in the monotony of the search.
He doesn’t hear the knocking until it becomes banging. Nathan flinches at the sound, computer falling off his lap. He looks at the door, frozen, until another round of banging has him scrambling. He mutes the laptop, and rushes to the door.
Silent, not even breathing, he checks the peephole.
Dark hair and brown eyes.
He sags against the wall, using shaky hands to unbolt the door. Nathan opens it slightly, enough to stick his head out.
The guy, midway in his twenties, turns to stare at him. He’s got the better part of a 5 o’clock shadow growing on his cheeks, and a shirt wrecked with oil and rainwater.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough and smoky, “Mind keeping it down?”
Nathan looks down, biting at his lip. “Sorry,” he shrugs, “Guess I didn’t realize.”
The guy looks at Nathan, one brow raised. He tries to peer past him, but Nathan closes the door even more.
“S’okay,” the guy says, “Just don’t do it again… neighbor.”
“I won’t,” Nathan nods, hand playing with the doorknob. “If that’s all…?” He tries closing it, but the man shoots his hand out, catching it on the door, stopping it.
“Hey, kid, are your folks home?”
“I’m not a kid,” Nathan huffs, “I’m eighteen.”
“Sorry, young man,” the guy rolls his eyes, still unmoving, “are your folks home.”
“…They’re out.”
The guy frowns. He pushes the door open just enough to look behind Nathan at the mess of the apartment. He doesn’t go in, but he doesn’t leave either. His eyes look Nathan over, stopping at his wrists.
“Did someone hurt you?”
Nathan pushes against the door even harder.
“Please, can you just-“
“Shit, sorry,” the guy lets go, moving back, “I totally didn’t-I mean…” He scrubs his hand down his face, scratching at his beard. “Shit.”
Nathan watches him with wide eyes, unable to move from between the door and the frame. He has a death grip on them, palms biting into the rough wood.
“Please,” Nathan whispers, “please don’t…”
“What?” the guy asks, “No, no-I won’t… don’t worry kid.”
Nathan tries to breathe, but all he gets out is a wet warble.
“Hey,” the guy moves forward, slowly, “my name’s Daveed. What’s yours?”
“…”
“Right,” Daveed frowns, “Good instincts, kid. Look-my partner and I, Zach-we were just about to have dinner. I got off shift an hour ago, and I just got home… I’m sure there’s enough for three?”
Nathan looks down, tugging at his lips with his teeth. He shifts awkwardly behind the door, knots forming in his stomach.
Daveed stays there for a beat before sighing, straightening up.
“Sorry to disturb-“
“What are you having?”
Daveed blinks at Nathan, brown eyes meeting wide, blue ones.
“Um,” Daveed shrugs, “Burgers, I think? S’what we usually have on Thursday nights.”
Nathan offers him a small smile, “And fries?”
Daveed returns it, “With the best ketchup money can buy.”
Nathan snorts, and looks away. He takes a deep breath and looks back at Daveed.
“Can I change, first?” Nathan asks, “these clothes are still kind of wet.”
“Was gonna do the same thing,” Daveed shrugs again, “Pop on over once you’re done, I’ll let Zach know you’re coming. 3B okay?”
“Okay.”
Nathan watches Daveed walk to his apartment door, and doesn’t close his own until he hears theirs groan shut. He closes the door and leans back against it, slipping down until he falls onto the dark floor.
His chest rises and falls with the ease of his breath.
He feels calm, finally.
