Someone. please. stop. this. car.
“Turn the car around, Raymond.”
“My apologies, Mr. Alore, I have to follow your parents’ orders,” the family chauffeur said, not a gram of remorse in his tone, like he’d claimed.
I’m aware that my parents’ word takes precedence over mine, and that whatever I say will not remove me from this predicament. But I’d be damned if I accepted my fate without obvious protest.
“It’ll be a few months at most, Mr. Alore. Think of it as studying abroad.”
My words carried no weight anyway, so I abstained. Abstained from explaining that it isn’t like studying abroad. There I’d have my wealth to use. There I’d be well accommodated. Here I’m left to fend for myself with the smallest budget I’d laid my eyes on.
It’s for the better good of your future.
My parents’ words pecked at me whenever I started to resent them. They called it a rite of passage. Something they’ve all gone through. I’m not sure I believe them or even agree with the method.
I reached my body forward, my head right next to Raymond’s. It required embarrassingly little effort, for my father sent me in the smallest car we owned. He called it an early taste.
“Raymond, nothing you say will bring my morale up. Let’s face it, it will be a miserable time.”
His eyes remained steady on the road, but for once he showed emotion, a crack, through a deep inhale.
“While I can’t turn around,” he started, “I can stop somewhere until you’re ready to go.”
“No need,” I said, pressing my back flush against the seat again.
No delay could make me ready for what’s to come. The day would only feel longer.
I gazed out the window, thinking this place was beneath me. Just its name, Pan City. What kind of bland name is that? I wouldn’t visit the place, let alone reside there. It’s a cluster of people with the appearance of pride, without the credentials to justify it.
My eyes dilated when I noticed the car driving past the bustle and towards the highway. We were leaving downtown. Previously, I thought this was a nightmarish lucid dream, but it’s been demoted to just a nightmare where I’ve lost all semblance of control.
“Raymond, please don’t tell me I’m moving to the suburbs of Pan City.” I clenched my teeth to restrain the fire that coated my throat.
I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror; he’d stared back for no longer than a second.
“You’ll find it is cleaner and more peaceful than the downtown area.”
There was no use in talking to him. He wasn’t in charge, and for once, neither was I. We didn’t linger on the highway as he took the first presented exit. From then on, it was all buildings on the smaller side, sorely sticking out in vast greenery. Then modest houses cramped with little to no space in between. How foreign must privacy be for these people?
How did my troubles manage to spiral further? Will they turn into a ravaging tornado by the end? Is it conceivable to survive a storm of this scale? Has anyone ever?
It took me minutes to realize the car had stalled. Raymond had been silent for the rest of the drive. Perhaps his last act of care was to give me time. Yet I told him I didn’t want time. We were in a dull-looking neighbourhood where houses were stuck together. Near endless rows on each side. No space, and worse, no garages. The cars were also crammed in rows. The mere sight ignited a claustrophobia I hadn’t felt in ages.
These houses are what Mass Market Paperbacks are for the publishing industry. Low-cost for low quality. There’s no originality, except for garlands on a few doors barely seen from afar and potted plants under the mailbox. Truth be told, I was kind to consider that originality.
Raymond coughed, he seemed to have taken notice of my confusion.
“I was told to drop off your luggage and take my leave,” he said, stepping out of the car. He went out faster than I could complain.
My parents struck again. Till the end, they were cruel. I unfastened my seatbelt and followed him to the trunk.
“You’re not going to bring them into the house?”
“My apologies, Mr. Alore, I cannot disobey your parents.” He picked out my suitcases with precision and care while I fumed in disbelief.
“They won’t know if I don’t tell them.”
“My apologies,” he repeated, his movement not faltering at my words.
What a loyal driver he is. I’m sure keeping these promises was beyond his pay grade, yet he delivered. My parents will be glad to know they’ve hired the right person, and I’ll be hell-bound if I don’t procure a driver as diligent as him when I return to my wealth and responsibilities.
“Mr. Alore, it is the first house in the row ahead of us. Number 1443,” he pointed with his gloved hands. “I look forward to driving you back home when Mr. and Ms. Alore direct me to.”
He fled, in a calm manner, and I didn’t stop him. I was too stunned and unprepared to react. I didn’t expect a tearful farewell—we’re on no friendly terms—but that was, even by my standards, cold. The motor sound grew fainter while I let the image sink in. Myself, abandoned in the middle of the street, with three bulky suitcases.
Yes, the house was right across, but how was I supposed to send my belongings there on my own. The option to haul them in one by one posed too great a risk. Who knows what could happen after I turn my back on them. Would they still be standing on their wheels when I’m back?
I don’t trust many people, and I hadn’t been outside on my own in a long time. There’s always a chauffeur. Occasionally, my parents, my sister, secretaries, and, when required, bodyguards. It was odd to be alone all of a sudden.
In the end, I manoeuvred it so that I was pushing all the suitcases towards house 1443. The sound of the wheels rolling against the asphalt was insufferable. I can’t recall the last time I’ve bent my back this much. The ache would come to haunt me later.
Screw the crickets singing or wailing.
Screw the wind for making me feel like a rom-com heroine moving out of her (ex) lover’s home. The turbulent gust prickled my eyes and left them moist.
“Vaughn?” I heard from beside. The name’s mine, but that voice I didn’t recognize.
My back still bent, I pivoted my head around. The first sight: two people I’d never seen before approaching me. A woman with a ponytail so loosely tied that it was barely holding on. A man wearing the same flannel as the gardener of our main house—don’t get me started on the nest he had instead of hair.
The girl who’d called my name waited for an answer, but all I had were questions. How did she know my name? Why did they walk to me? Was I facing danger or overreacting?
Perhaps my parents weren’t as cruel as I thought them to be. They’ve assigned me two—questionable—people at least, I thought.
“I am Vaughn Alore.”
“I’m Rain,” she said straight-faced. Is this the life I will always see through my lens? Cold. “And this is Hael,” she pointed. “I’m the…let’s say owner of the house. Or the closest thing to it, actually.” She sounded so unsure. It was suspicious.
I sighed when I heard she was the owner, or the closest thing to it. That meant she wasn’t here to help me, and neither was the guy beside her. And it turns out that my parents were as cruel as I thought them to be.
The pair stood still after my sigh. I cared little for their notice of my disappointment. I’m not here to please or befriend.
“The ride must have been quite long,” the man said, a foolish smile plastered on his visage.
What a way to tie my disappointment with a bright red ribbon.
“We’ll help you with your luggage,” Rain then said.
What a peculiar name—now that I think of it.
The man nodded alongside her, and they reached for the suitcases in sync. I expected them to take all three, but much to my dismay, one each. Having to pull only one made it easier, but were they effectively helping if they didn’t take full responsibility? The people who are supposed to be kinder, more hospitable because they’re “down to earth”, weren’t as nice as they seemed.
I followed them to the place I’m supposed to call home for, hopefully, a brief time. I refuse to call it home. Now or ever. It’s the place of my temporary duty and nothing more.
Vaughn had just toured the basement, humming at every corner. I wasn’t sure if the humming was of satisfaction or disappointment. Whatever he thought, he didn’t share it. Now, he peered back and forth between Hael and me. Though he didn’t say it, it’s clear he wanted to be left alone. Another man of few words…
Egon at least had manners. This one looks like he’s withholding vitriol. His lips are pressed taut and his eyebrows strain his forehead like a wet cloth. Still, the expression stood refined, as though rehearsed.
Beside me, Hael had turned observant. He’d been so talkative with Egon. They say different people bring out different sides of you—it must be true.
It was time to end this staring match we all so enjoyed.
“If you could head upstairs in a while, that would be nice. Now that everyone’s here, I think we should have one important discussion,” the words barely escaped my lips. They were held down by dread.
All I felt was dread. One conversation was all we needed, but even that’s too much. It would also cement Vaughn’s position. He’d be a housemate whether we liked it or not. Maybe I was rushing things, but in part, I’d wanted to get them over with.
He held up his chin and nodded. I’ve never seen someone nod from the top. It’s…interesting.
“Yes, yes, we should leave you to settle and meet again shortly,” Hael chimed in, his body already turned towards the stairs.
Was he capable of feeling awkward now?
His eyes soon followed his body, and all he needed was for me to leave too. I, for some odd reason, hesitated. It’s what everyone wants—me included. So why?
It didn’t matter.
“We’ll be waiting upstairs. Another housemate, Egon, will also be there,” I said.
It was the first time he heard about Egon, since we didn’t talk while hauling the suitcases in. No small talk, just an uncomfortable silence.
***
Upstairs, I thought Hael would spill all that he thought about Vaughn, but he didn’t mention him at all. Maybe he was too kind to share his assumptions. Or he was waiting for me to complain first.
“Have you thought of rules for this co-habitation,” he said.
We were stationed in the dining room, sitting face to face, as we did at breakfast.
“Rules sound strict.” While I know they’re necessary, because free-for-all calls for conflict, I didn’t want to be uptight. “But I thought of making schedules for laundry and bathrooms. As you may have noticed, there are two bathrooms and only one shower. We might have to figure out something for that,” I scratched the hem of my shirt under the table.
The basement wasn’t meant to be rented, and legally we can’t consider it a separate unit because it has no bathroom or separate entrance, or exit. So, the basement was documented as a room. This was all a hassle. To make the schedule and to keep it. Again, I grew up an only child—I didn’t fight someone for having been in the bathroom too long. It’s not now that I will.
Hael, like the attuned person he was, frowned at my unease.
“Schedules are good, and they can go hand in hand with rules without turning the matter stiff,” he said, with a little pep. His leaks of positivity will never fail to take me aback.
He brought out his phone and placed it between us, his notes app open. “Let’s brainstorm these rules. Anything comes to mind?” he said, already typing the first one.
Fridge space
I picked up the phone, too.
Noise
It was self explanatory.
We picked up the phone back and forth, one idea inspiring another. Brainstorming was an effective method. It still felt ridiculous and a waste of time. I felt too involved with a stranger, while I vowed not to. The same overly kind stranger who set four mugs on the table and prepared a pot of coffee.
“Coffee?” he asked, tilting his head.
I sighed before I nodded offhandedly. Keeping up a cold font with Hael was too demanding.