Sorry for being a week late! Annoyingly I got another Thanksgiving story coming up. Enjoy!
***
Mia tried not to think of Paul, which was hard as she lifted the suitcase that used to belong to him. He ended it, so she felt entitled to steal his suitcase. She dragged it, and a trash bag of her remaining clothes down the streets of Chicago. The comfortable hotel room facing the Sears Tower was a distant memory, a painful mix of incessant wind and ice rain made it clear that she needed to get to O'Hare quickly.
There, ten minutes away from the airport was a motel that she hoped still had an empty room. And the room rate was still under sixty dollars per night. There were no other options for her, Mia knew no one else apart from Paul. He had made that clear that when he told her to leave. She couldn't believe the words he used, making her relocate from Tennessee and then saying he wasn't that into their relationship.
She turned her head. Was she supposed to turn left on Franklin. Or right? Mia tried to not reach for her phone. The last she checked; it had thirty percent battery left. Besides, she was pretty sure that she had no data left.
Mia closed her eyes, trying to remember what the guy at the front desk said, but all she could remember was playing hide and seek near the Mississippi. How she wished she could see it one more time. Mia could have stayed in Tennessee, living comfortably, instead she followed Paul and ended up in this mess.
It became too much. Mia crossed the bridge and her eyes drifted down to the rough water. How cold would it feel? Tears slowly ran down her face. Mia knew that if she somehow got herself to that motel, it would just delay the inevitable. She still had to work -- and for a what? Fifteen dollars an hour freelancing. There was no point. Something needed to happen to get rid of this desperation that had taken over her.
Would anyone miss her? Not Paul, not her friends back in Tennessee and definitely not her mother. Maybe it would be better this way. No pain. No more struggling. Her feet slowly stopped and Mia looked back at the bridge. Would it be instant? She could continue to the airport -- or walk back.
But before she could make her decision, a Mercedes SUV drove pass her, hitting a large puddle. In seconds she was covered in icy-cold rainwater. The sudden shock made Mia release her grip and she dropped the trash bag. Piles of her clothing hit the sludge of melted snow and dirt. Mia herself was drenched; every layer soaked.
"FUUUUUUCCKKKK!" she screamed. "YOU BASTARD!"
Tears flowed out of her. That was it, Mia thought -- it was another sign that she shouldn't be here. She should run to the bridge.
The Mercedes then stopped and Mia watched curiously. She watched it idle for a moment, before making a U-turn. It stopped in front of her and waited. The driver opened the door and climbed out. A man stood in front of her. He was dressed like an undertaker, wearing a black suit and black shirt. Tall, maybe six feet, slim but muscular. His eyes narrowed at her and Mia waited for the inevitable abuse she grown used to in Chicago.
But his mouth dropped and he said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get you. Are you okay?"
"No," Mia said, whimpering as she felt the cold water freeze her skin.
"I'm sorry," he said again. He bent down and began picking up Mia's clothes from the ground.
Mia wiped her face clean and got a better look. A neatly trimmed beard and light brown hair, he looked like he was in his early thirties. His face triangular and with a pointed chin made Mia feel uneasy for some reason. Still, he was picking up her soiled tops and jeans.
"Look, take my number. I will pay for the dry cleaning," he said, taking out his phone.
Dry cleaning? Mia couldn't even think about that. There was no money, motel fees, food and travel took a huge chunk of the meager pay. Her eyes watered again. "I can't... I don't... have. I need to get to..."
He then frowned at her, like he was judging her. Or maybe he was checking her out. Either way, Mia didn't like it. She thought he would be grateful, giving him an out so he could go about his business, while she could decide if travelling to O'Hare was worth all the trouble. He also had that executive-type look, always requesting little changes that drove Mia mad.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Mia."
"Look Mia, I feel bad about messing up your stuff. And soaking you. It's below 40 and it might snow again. I live a couple of blocks away. Come to my apartment and you can dry off and then I'll give you a ride to where you need to go."
Mia checked her watch, if this man was true to his word and that she could go to his apartment, maybe talk her way into a shower, and then he can drive her to the Lincoln Motel before it closes. But then there were his undertaker clothes, the way he looked at her and his face. She could imagine him parked a couple of blocks away, waiting for the right woman and then drive at her, accidently splashing her so he can use good Samaritan play to get them back his apartment.
"If you're scared, you can call a friend and let them know that you're coming up to my place," he said, like he was reading her mind. "My full name is Ethan Thomas Kohler and my apartment building is on Madison Street."
Mia slipped a hand in her pocket and squeezed her phone, but did nothing else. Apart from Paul, some clients, everyone else she knew was in Tennessee. No one was coming if she was about to be murdered. Considering what she was feeling before, did it really matter?
Mia then nodded her head and waited.
***
He was right, Ethan's apartment was only a couple of minutes away. During the short ride, he did most of the talking, saying that he was a lawyer and that he had just finished work. Mia only offered up her name and that she needed to get to O'Hare. She had caught him glance at her suitcase and trash bag, probably thinking something classiest, but he didn't personally say anything. At least she had that, Mia thought.
His apartment had this understated look -- neutral colors, little stuff in the way, but expensive electronics. She got the hint that Ethan only slept here. Mia asked if she could use the shower and Ethan replied with a simple yes, walking to the fridge and grabbing a beer. She made sure that the bathroom door could be locked and not easily opened by him, before stripping.
The hot water felt great, but it worried Mia. She shouldn't be getting used to the luxury of a working shower. From previous motel experiences, she knew it to be lucky in getting water that wasn't either ice cold or boiling hot. She needed to get out soon. With one of Ethan's towels wrapped around her, Mia slowly walked into the living room, looking for her suitcase.
Her eyes quickly met Ethan's, he was standing next to her open suitcase and trash bag of clothes. Again, it felt like he was checking her out, but Mia didn't see it as sexual or anything. It was worse, he was trying to see if she was on drugs or mentally ill. By now he must know that she was homeless.
"You're not going anywhere tonight," he said.
"What?"
Ethan then pointed to the window, "It's really coming down. There's no way I can drive you."
Mia slowly stepped towards the window and saw he was right. Heavy snow blanketed the roads, it was getting dangerous out there. Her stomach felt empty and something seemed to be dragging her body down. A lone tear rolled down her face. She then imagined a frozen park bench.
"Look," Ethan said, now standing next to her. His face gave the impression that he was worried about her. "You can crash on the couch and we will see what happens tomorrow."
"Thank you," Mia whispered, covering her mouth.
***
Ethan opened the door to his condo and immediately got hit by the heat. Mia liked to push the thermostat up, matching the temperature to whatever Southern state she was from. Ethan preferred it cooler, and since he was paying the utilities, it should be his decision. That was just one of the things that he was getting annoyed with.
He thought it was only going to be a day or two, but now it was already a week. From his brief conversations with her, Mia was looking for a job first then an apartment. He didn't know what kind of work; it wasn't his business. He just wanted her out, craving his own space again.
Mia was on his couch, phone in her hand, tightly huddled under a blanket. He didn't say anything, or really acknowledge her presence. Ethan went directly to the kitchen and opened his fridge. A low, maybe dramatic groan escaped his month -- Mia had eaten his food. Again. Taking a beer, he returned to the living room and switched on the TV.
That small act made Mia sigh in frustration, which then made Ethan roll his eyes. It's his house.
"How are you?" He asked, more out of obligation than actually wanting to know.
"I'm still looking," Mia said, snapping at him.
He didn't need this. Not in his own house.
"I'm going to chill in my room," Ethan replied, getting up.
He needed to have a talk with her. This had to end soon. He can't let her dictate what he did in his own condo. He could speak to his buddies, maybe they know of some openings somewhere.
***
Mia stared at the ceiling, doing another set of shoulder stretches, hoping it would relieve the pain. Ethan's sofa was okay to sit on for a while, but there was no way anyone could sleep on it. It was hard and those buttons that pressed into her skin. But worst of all, her feet would rub against the armrests.
It had been like this for days. It was affecting her mood; she couldn't focus and she was irritated all the time. She had already lost a couple of jobs which just made her more depressed.
Then there was Ethan.
Mia knew she should be grateful that he was letting her stay, but he had this obligated air around him. Always asking if she had found something, a job or an apartment. The tone he would use, so condescending. An air of resentment flowed from him whenever Ethan opened his mouth. And another thing, when he'd leave for work, he always woke her up.
