Chapter 1 – Ferrin
Thick tears, resembling the droplets streaming down the windshield in front of me, slide down my cheeks. Glowing red taillights blur as my eyes ping-pong with the windshield wipers. What another craptastic day, of another craptastic month, in yet another craptastic year of my shitty life.
At a dead stop, I wipe the wetness from my face. Roger’s irate shouting rings in my head. I’ve never had a boss make me feel as worthless as he does. I can’t believe I spend each Monday through Friday boxed into the three walls of my office cubicle, in a toxic working relationship with Roger, the world’s worst supervisor.
When I was a little girl, I never imagined that I’d spend my evenings in bumper-to-bumper traffic, crying over the latest insults from Roger, or any person for that matter. Yet, here I am at 6:47 PM on a Wednesday, staring at a bumper sticker for the Seattle Seahawks while dabbing at thick tears and shoving Cheetos into my mouth on the over one-hour-long commute home.
I never thought I’d live such a meaningless, uninspiring life. I dreamed of being a veterinarian or a journalist when I was a little girl, not a customer service representative for a local telephone company.
When did life turn into this? At what point in my thirty-three years on this planet did I become a woman who cries on her way home from work?
As my thoughts take control, running over the past four years of my life and trying to figure out where I took that wrong turn, my foot unintentionally slips from the brake causing my compact Honda to roll forward. Startled, I slam the pedal back down, jolting the car.
When did my dreams cease to matter? There has to be more to life than punching in and out for a job I despise and going home to my cat and an empty bed. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. Traffic around me crawls. When was the last time I had an evening out with friends? What friends? They’re all happily married with a kid or two, living the dream. I’m stuck in an endless whirlwind of nothingness, going nowhere… like a mouse spinning on a giant wheel.
I brush off the depression from my day as I take the off-ramp, heading for my quaint but dull neighborhood. If there’s anything I have going for me, it’s that I own my home. At least I have something to show for the years of abuse I’ve suffered at the hands of TelCom Digital Systems.
Relief washes over me when my historic home comes into view and I pull into the puddled driveway. Thankfully, the rain has let up; dashing through it from my car to the house is never much fun. Glancing at the house on my right, warmth heats my chest. There’s one other thing I have going for me (well, in a way): my neighbor, Sam Landry. He fills my nights with fantasies and lust. Unfortunately for me, Sam has no idea we’re in a romantic relationship.
I grab my insulated lunchbox, my purse, and the Cheetos before stepping out of the car. Keeping my eyes on Sam’s front door, I head toward mine, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before I go inside.
While unlocking my door, the smell of fresh, rain-soaked pavement surrounds me. Otis’s raspy meow welcomes me home, but I don’t go inside before I sneak a last look at the front of Sam’s house, begging for a chance to see his gorgeousness. No such luck.
Shutting the door behind me, I fall back against it, letting my purse and lunch bag hit the floor, but holding on tight to the Cheetos. I’ll need these for backup when I start bawling again. I slide down the door till my bottom hits the floor. Diving my hand into the bag of cheesy goodness, the sobs come.
“When did my life turn into hell?”
Otis stares at me before zigzagging under my legs and around my ankles. Though mostly black, his patches of white fur somehow leave behind strands on my pants. He looks up at me, his perfect half-pink, half-white nose warming my heart and his large, green eyes filling me with love, all while reminding me of how alone I am.
My salty tears mix with the orange, greasy heaven I shovel into my mouth. “Are you hungry, boy?” I whimper between bites and sobs.
Looking down at my gooey fingers, I reach into my purse and pull out a tissue, thinking Otis probably isn’t the best option for a napkin. I pry myself off the floor with a sigh before stripping off my jacket and tossing it aside. Flicking the lights on in each room as I make my way to my kitchen, I keep wishing I’d seen Sam. At least a peek at him would’ve brightened up my night a tad.
The gray sky darkens my kitchen through the open lace curtains as I make my way to the sink, where I wash the remainder of the cheesy dust from my fingers. Otis’s head rubs my calf as I grab a can of food from the cupboard, remaining lost in a daze of gloominess. I stick the can into the automatic can opener, but the smell churns my stomach, and any idea I had of making a decent meal for dinner falls away, replaced by the sheer tiredness washing over my body. The pop of the lid on Otis’s food pulls me from the trance. As I fork half the can of soft food into his bowl, I notice my actions mimic that of a zombie’s. Staring down at his loveable green eyes, watching his pink tongue flick across his black lips, I give him the best smile I can muster up.
“Rough day, kid,” I explain, before setting his food down next to his water. I wrap the rest of the food and put it in the fridge.
Grabbing his water bowl, I turn for the sink… and there it is! The moment I was hoping for. There he is. Sam. I lean against my sink, squinting my eyes for a better look at his tall, toned, and handsome frame through the panes of my kitchen window, as he steps onto his back porch. My tongue whisks across my lower lip. As far as neighbors go, Sam would be on any woman’s top ten list. Thick, sandy-blond, highlighted curls tumble around his rugged face to the nape of his neck. A tendril lingers near one of his bright, almond-shaped, emerald eyes, accentuated by dark brows and lashes. His muscles flex under his tight, baby blue t-shirt as he lowers a box onto the ground. My hand rushes to my tangled, auburn hair, and I brush it behind my ear, not wanting any distractions from the scene I’m witnessing.
When Sam bends to pick up a couple more boxes from his back porch, his butt is framed perfectly in tight blue jeans. I let out a little peep as giddiness rushes over me. How sad is it that this is the highlight of my day, or that watching a hot guy through my kitchen window while holding my cat’s water dish is probably the most exciting thing that will happen to me this year?
Sam disappears inside his home, and the weight of my dreadful day, once again, demolishes what’s left of my sanity. Remembering Otis, I wash out his bowl, fill it with fresh water, and place it back on the floor.
As if blinded to it before, a waft of terrible smell nearly knocks me over. I raise my eyes to my overflowing trashcan and wrinkle my nose as I put two and two together. I swear toxic, green fumes rise from the compost currently wasting away in my kitchen.
“Ick.”
Otis glances up and, in my mind, speaks with a distinct English accent. “Mum, not only are you falling apart, but you’re taking me and the house with you. Get your act together.”
I pet his cute head. “I know, Otie. I know. I can’t let work turn me into a hoarder.”
Standing, I brace myself for garbage detail and pull the bag from the can. After tying it, I lean it against the wall and walk upstairs to change out of my nice work clothes. Even though I probably already stained my slacks, I still feel the need not to get trash slime on them. Plus, my sweats and bulky sweatshirt are calling my name.