This is a story with a slow burn so if you are looking for a quick stroke story perhaps keep searching and come back to this when you have more time.
This story has triggers, so if any of the following may cause you distress, please consider carefully whether it is safe for you to read this.
It deals with non-consent, incest, religious hypocrisy, pregnancy, and childbirth, and lactation. Also romance, age difference, and love.
Reader's discretion is advised.
As always, constructive feedback is very welcome.
I hope you enjoy this offering.
***
With arms full of grocery bags Tim shouldered his way through the heavy front door of his rundown apartment block, the hinges shrieking in protest.
Milo, the property manager, looked out the door of his unit to see who was entering the building. Rusty hinges and creaky stair treads were an effective way of knowing where people were, who was coming or going, especially on a Friday, being rent day.
And as far as the rent goes, the weasel faced man wasn't interested in excuses, only in cash; although if you were a female then he could negotiate some form of payment in kind. It was either that or find your belongings unceremoniously dumped on the footpath outside.
He didn't care, there were always people looking for a cheap room to rent, for a week or two, or a month or two.
"Hey, Milo, I want to talk to you about my heater," Tim called out as he handed over the rent money. "It's still not working, and you said you were going to get it fixed or replaced weeks ago. What's the hold-up?"
"Yeah, yeah, the sparky's waiting for parts. I told you that."
"Well replace the damn thing if you can't get parts for it."
"Do you know how expensive heaters are in winter? Tell ya what, if it isn't fixed in the next few weeks, I'll buy a new one in spring when the price drops or they're on sale again."
"Not good enough. Do you know how cold it is in my place? I'm sure you have an empty unit, grab the heater from there and put it in mine."
"I'll think about it."
"And when are you going to fix the lift?"
"Why should I, the stairs work fine. Stop ya complaining. If you don't like it here find somewhere else to live. No skin off my nose." He slammed his door in Tim's face, cutting off any further discussion.
Muttering away and calling into question the marital status of Milo's parents and grandparents, Tim climbed the stairs to his fifth-floor unit, turned on the small fan heater he had smuggled in, and put away his groceries.
Hanging up his thick coat with his gloves in the pockets, he rolled and flexed his shoulders and arms, working out the kinks from his well-used muscles. Tim was 48 years old, 5'11" tall, and worked as a day labourer, earning minimum wage while putting in a sold days' work. It was physical work, and he had developed the muscles, stamina, and flexibility to make himself sought after by the various construction companies who took him on.
Being more wiry than musclebound, at first glance he didn't appear intimidating, but people quickly learned that crossing him was a bad idea. People, that is, except Milo; he just didn't give a shit. If anyone tried to intimidate him, their belongings appeared on the footpath outside.
Tim had been living here for three years, yet there was nothing in the unit to show it, no personal items, pictures on the wall, none of the usual crap people buy to try to make a shoebox look like home. And no reminders of a past life. Tim didn't care. It was a place to eat, sleep, and try not to think.
***
The following Friday evening when Tim arrived home, he saw Milo talking to a young girl, maybe late teens but no older, and obviously pregnant. He thought that if she was wanting to live here, she had scraped through the bottom of her luck barrel.
She definitely wasn't dressed for the weather, and looked cold, her face and hands pinched and red. Neither the foyer nor the stairwell was heated but at least she was sheltered from the freezing wind outside.
Tim estimated she stood about 5'4" in her heeled ankle boots, and apart from the baby bump and boobs she was skinny. Her boots looked wet, and the summer dress only reached to mid-calf, and her coat not even to there.
She would have to be a minimum of eighteen to sign a tenancy agreement, but considering Milo's ethics he doubted many here would have a contract; he knew he didn't have one.
Her only luggage that Tim could see was a backpack slung over her left shoulder, leaving her right hand free to accept the key from Milo.
Tim was halfway up the stairs when he heard Milo tell her, "Rent is due every Friday. No excuses. Miss it and you aren't here Friday night. You are up on level 5, on the right. And if you're still here when you have the brat, keep it quiet. I don't want it keeping your neighbours awake. Any questions? No? Good. Welcome to Paradise, kiddo. Now fuck off, I've got things to do."
Tim felt the building shudder when Milo slammed his door shut, and in the fading echo he thought he heard a quiet sob.
Poor kid,
he thought.
He was in the kitchen making coffee and deciding on what to eat when he heard the floorboards groan in the hallway, soon followed by the closing of the door to the unit beside his. He'd guessed Milo would put her in there, it was the smallest and coldest room in the building, facing due south, never getting any direct sunlight through the filthy cracked windows. Hearing her boots on the wooden flooring meant Milo had even removed the threadbare carpet, cheap bastard that he was.
He briefly contemplated introducing himself to her, but when you live in this building you keep yourself to yourself. In saying that, though, he did know the names of every tenant, and the working girls knew he would come running if they needed help at any time; they greeted him by name and with a smile, but that was as far as it went. Each respected the others privacy.
The thin walls between Tim and the new girl's room meant he often heard her moving around. She woke early, too, and started her day with a hot drink, as did Tim, but all was quiet while he made his lunch and left for work.
When Tim arrived home the following Friday, the girl was again talking to Milo and asking for a receipt for the rent she had paid. He just laughed at her, saying he doesn't give receipts, too much paperwork.
"Excuse me, miss," Tim said, reaching over her with cash in his hand. "Milo, here's my rent. Has she paid the full week's rent?"
"Yeah, she has. Why?"
"Simple. I'm a witness that she's paid, so there won't be any argument about it, will there."
"Fuck off and mind your own business, smart arse," he growled at Tim. "And as for you, whatever your name is, I'll see you next Friday."
Snarling at Tim, Milo slammed the door to his room.
"Thanks. I didn't mean to cause any trouble, but I don't feel I can trust that man."
