The gaiety with which Annette danced through Joelle's open door was unsettling, to say the very least.
"Happy news!" Annette chirped, throwing open Joelle's closet door. "I found you a permanent residence down on Atlantic."
"I thought I was going into sober living next week?" she muttered, unable to share in Annette's enthusiasm.
"Change of plans," Annette tweeted, "pack up, we leave in an hour."
Joelle's mind was immediately consumed by Lucien. They had broached the topic of her leaving, but only peripherally. Though he had made no commitment to see her once she'd gone, it was her hope that with some encouragement, and a little teasing, he might agree. At the very least, she thought she would have a week to work on him.
"Alright," she sighed as Annette pranced from the room.
Never before had Joelle packed so quickly, not even when an angry pimp named Shade had threatened to burn her alive. But with great urgency she flooded her suitcases and tossed them recklessly into the hall.
At blinding speed she raced to the cellar. Throwing open every door and exploring every crevice, she called his name with mounting desperation. But never did he answer.
So, in agonizing defeat, she fell wasted to the cold cellar floor, a stinging pain consuming her chest.
It was an odd sensation. Certainly their times together were phenomenal, and she looked forward to his nightly visits, but never once had she lost sight of who he was. Regardless of his charm and startling intellect, and despite his staggering good looks and obvious talents, he was nonetheless demon and that didn't exactly make for great boyfriend material.
However, as she hefted her suitcases into Annette's trunk, it was impossible to ignore the feelings of loss. And as The Center disappeared from sight, she wondered whether their paths might cross again.
***
The apartment was appalling. It not only reeked of urine and stale beer, but it had the largest population of cockroaches Joelle had ever seen.
"Do they need to be walked or are they housebroken?" she asked, nodding to a sink full of wriggling bodies.
"I know it's not much, but with a little love and some paint, you can make it what you choose," Annette's voice sang, its melodic tone more cheerful than any Joelle had ever experienced.
"Yeah, sure, I can totally see that." Joelle shrugged, cringing internally.
Paint wasn't going to do a damn thing, other than add another layer of funk to the room. Besides, what required her immediate attention were the gaggles of roaches hosting a kegger on the television stand.
It took three days and six cans of Raid to get the little bastards under control, but regardless of the minor improvements, every night she found herself lumped in a ball on the floor.
Lucien was a near constant thought and an ever-present desire. On more than one occasion, Joelle had awoken to find her fingers wedged deep inside her longing walls, dreaming they were his. The thought of his mouth and the sweetness of his tongue kept her up at night.
Twice she had tried to go back to The Center in the hopes of finding Lucien, but both times she had been driven off by the evening supervisor.
"Stupid, jerk," she grumbled, tucking herself in against the sofa. "Got me strung out like a fucking junkie – again."
It was becoming clear that she would have to find a way to be okay with the thing left unsaid and unfinished between them. So she held her head high, flicked a roach from her shoe, and resolved that tomorrow would be a better day.
With feigned enthusiasm, Joelle applied for any job she came across, but found it more than a little difficult to explain the span of time between high school and twenty one. It occurred to her that writing "prostitute" in the space provided for previous employment, was probably not the best idea, so she just left it blank. Needless to say, nobody ever called for an interview.
And so, with a burdened heart, she resumed her battle against the proliferation of pests, worked her twelve-step program and did her best to mold a new life from the pile of shit she had been handed.
But on the morning of the eighth day, life changed again.
"You left," the beautifully deep voice called from beyond her closed door.
Dropping the dustpan, Joelle rushed to open the door and when her eyes met Lucien's wonderful face, she forgot to breathe.
In daylight he was even more stunning. His eyes shone brilliant emerald in the refracted light that spilled from the clouded windows; the perfection of his physique was accentuated by the custom tailored, button-down shirt that clung to his broad chest; glints of sunlight illuminated the wisps of his hair, and they shone like the delicate feathers of a raven's wing. He was beautiful.
"Did I not treat you well?" Lucien asked, sounding mildly offended.
Though she struggled desperately to maintain her composure, she failed miserably and bounced through the door, launching like a monkey into his arms.
It took less than a second to find his mouth, the taste and feel of it more spectacular than she had remembered. And as her legs constricted around his waist, his strong hands cupped her ass while returning her kiss with equal zeal.
With the first intake of breathe since she'd opened the door, she gasped. "You treated me very well."
But as his mouth drifted down her neck and between the V of her shirt, her breath was quickly stolen again.
"Were you aware there is now a Sharon in your bed?" he spat, letting her slide gently to the floor. "She is most annoying."
"Perhaps you caught her off guard," Joelle tittered, unable to pry her hands from his neck.
"Perhaps," he conceded. "So had you intended to say goodbye?"
"Annette only gave me an hour's notice. I did try though."
"Annette – I see," he growled, "so is this where you now reside?"
His eyes swept the dusty cavities of cracked drywall and forgotten wallpaper, stopping briefly to inspect the dustpan filled with tiny brown, exoskeletal corpses.
"Hey, don't hate on the new digs," she grumbled, "it's all I have."
Lucien shook his head in disgust.
A sickly fug permeated the room, wiping away her lovely scent and leaving behind a repulsive fetor, which clung like sap to her skin. It stole from his tongue the lingering taste of her mouth. It was no surprise why Annette had moved her there, it had been nearly impossible to find Joelle through the stench.
"My apologies for taking so long to find you, I could barely smell you through the corruption of this place," with a curl of his lip, he snarled.
