Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
The living area is tiny, and the kitchenette is even smaller, but the size doesn't really matter. I don't need much, and I don't take up much space.
Once I have a job, I'll spend more time there than anywhere else, and practically only use this space to sleep.
I pull in a breath, feeling more than a little exhausted with my most recent move.
The years constantly looking over my shoulder are wearing me down, and no amount of time can ease that increasing tiredness.
I wish I could freeze time and have a week where I'm guaranteed to be safe, but I know that isn't going to happen.
I turn and walk the handful of steps that it takes to get to the small refrigerator, mapping the inside of it and the even smaller freezer, so I can stock it with groceries. It helps that I only shop for groceries for a few days at a time. I never know when I'll have to pack and leave, and I don't have the money to waste on buying things I'll have to leave behind.
My to-do list for the day is super short, but it's filled with momentous things.
I have to find a shelter, somehow get a job, grocery shop, and track the paths I can take to get around town.
I give my go-bags, both the one at the front door and the one leading out to the tiny back patio, one last look before heading out.
I keep my eyes moving as I walk toward my car. Thankfully, the apartment's parking area isn't too far away, but even the short trek means I can run into others who live here. I don't make friends anywhere I go, except for being personable at work.
Friends are a luxury I can't afford, and I don't want to waste anyone's time or make them concerned for me if I have to leave in the middle of the night.
"Juliet!"
I keep walking, taking several more steps to my car before realizing that Juliet Mercer is the name I'm using now. I still feel bad about creating the proof of identity, employment, and other paperwork required to lease an apartment. I've never had a problem with people digging deep enough to check references and find out that they're all fake.
This apartment complex didn't bat an eye when I told them my ID was lost in my belongings, but I had a photo of it on my phone. It makes it easier for me, but it also makes me wonder who else lives here that is somehow manipulating the system.
I turn toward the female voice, planting the best smile I can manage on my face.
"Chrissy," I say as the leasing manager approaches.
"Hey," she says, wiping the back of her arm across her forehead. "It's so hot out here already."
"Going to be hard to get used to," I say absently. She tilts her head, and I read her expression as confusion.
"Arizona is a different kind of heat," I lie. I've never even been to Arizona, but that's where Juliet moved from. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to see if you got moved in okay."
"I did," I tell her.
"And I wanted to let you know about the summer mixers we have at the clubhouse."
"Sounds good," I say, knowing I would never attend something like that.
"They're every Friday night while the kids are out of school. They start at seven and usually run until about ten or eleven. Just wear your bathing suit and bring an appetizer."
"That sounds like so much fun," I say, trying my best to sound excited but not so enthused that she'll come knocking on my door at seven fifteen on Friday, wondering where I am.
"Where are you headed?" she asks.
I know this is just a normal conversation, but it still doesn't keep the warning bells from going off in my head.
"Gotta stock the fridge," I say.
"There's a great grocery store on East Main. It's a little out of the way, but they have great sales on their meat and produce," she offers.
"Every penny counts," I say. "Have a great day."
"You, too!"
I hate she mentioned the grocery store, because saving money on food is something I always strive to do. Now I have to avoid that store at all costs. I can't risk someone talking to her and asking questions, even if it leads back to this innocent conversation.
I walk away before she can ruin other places around town through innocent, helpful conversation.
I look over my shoulder, making sure she's walking away before checking my car for safety.
She wasn't wrong about the heat. It has a way of just sticking to you. I roll down my window as soon as I back out of my parking spot.
I know exactly where I'm heading. I researched it yesterday, but I don't drive directly to the community clothing closet, a store where people in need can go to get discounted or free items, knowing someone there will be able to give me a phone number to a women's shelter.