𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

4 | You Know What? Fuck Ikea

"And here's your new passport, drivers licence, social security number and credit cards. Your last name is Holsworthy and your first name is still Tom. We tried to make your last name similar so if you start writing Holland anywhere, you can catch yourself half way," the designated marshal says getting up from the couch and out stretching his hand to shake mine.

"Is that it? I just live here now?" I asked, looking around the empty house with all but an old couch inside.

"Well, I'll visit every two weeks as a 'friend' and check in on you. I'll also give you updates about Dominic and bring you any contraband that you need," he said with a wink.

This marshal was a legend, he worked for Dad and Uncle Jack; so that basically meant that he was as corrupt as they came. I mean, he just offered to smuggle me drugs, that's pretty cool.

He shook my hand and left, skipping down the front porch steps and getting into his car. I gave him a quick wave and looked around my new cul-de-sac. It was picturesque, all the lawns were lush and green, the houses all looked beautifully maintained and people took pride in their gardening.

Fuck me, that meant that I had to maintain this dumb fucking garden now. I'll just pay someone to come and do it.

I stood with my arms crossed, trying to imagine what my new life was going to be like for the next few months. It was probably going to be boring, I'd wear dorky knitted sweaters and say 'aw gee whiz' when someone's ugly little poodle took a dump on my lawn. I was not going to become some suburban schmuck.
No fucking way.

It was an expensive area, so my car didn't look out of place despite the fact I would have it parked in the concealed garage most of the time. At least if they saw me driving it they wouldn't ask questions. My next door neighbour had a Porsche Macan parked in the driveway; yuck that probably meant they had kids.

I sighed and walked back inside, the bare bones of a house that was now my responsibility to make look like an actual liveable home. I spent a solid hour banging and tapping all the walls and floorboards in my house to hear where the hollow cavities were in the construction, figuring out where I could hide safes. This was crucial, I needed space to keep guns and money and drugs.

Groaning at the empty interior, I pulled my car keys out of my pocket and unlocked the car parked out the front, getting in and heading to the nearest shopping centre. At least I could just buy some bare necessities today and get them delivered later this afternoon.

I hate shopping centres. I really do. Normally when I buy things I go into designer boutiques, am waited on hand and foot by the sales team and then I leave with a thousand dollar t-shirt or something.

Shopping centres are for normal people. They're crowded. They're congested. They play the top 49 music charts on repeat and they're full of kids who are crying and whining and snotty and sticky. It's fucking disgusting and I hate every minute of it.

I pretty much walked into one home store and pulled the price labels off anything and everything I wanted to buy. I was living here for three months, it didn't have to be the highest quality of stuff. Plus, 'Tom the Tech Planner' probably couldn't afford a super luxurious house. The morose sales woman at the counter was not impressed that I had done that but she quickly realised I was spending multiple thousands of dollars.

She scanned each of the labels whilst I flirted with her. It was entertaining winding people up. She was at least ten years older than me and by far the opposite of my type, but it was entertaining watching her look like she'd jump over the counter and try to fuck me at any given second. She was desperate and it was obvious.

After she received my new address (which I almost forgot) and booked my items for delivery, I thanked her for her assistance and told her that I would be home for the delivery this afternoon. I then told her I hoped she'd be the one delivering it all because my house was lonely with just me in it. I swear she came just hearing me say that - poor woman probably doesn't get enough sex at home from her husband.

I'm not a horrible person, I just like playing with people to gain a reaction. If anything, I am educating myself on basic human connection. I don't do this with people I care about, no, I wouldn't ever do that. I do this with low risk people. You know, the people who I'd never see again; like this bitch.

I sat at home whilst various delivery men and removalists brought furniture inside. I further gave them a hefty tip in order to assemble it for me, which they did happily. However, the expensive bribe didn't work for the fuckers from Ikea. The fuckers from Ikea just laughed at my attempt.

"Dude, anyone can build Ikea furniture," the fatter one said to me, chuckling to his younger colleague and getting back into their truck. Fuck you fat man.

So that brings me to now.
The inside of my house looks like a proper house now yet my front porch is empty and I'm sitting on the ground trying to make sense of the Swedish instructions. I ordered a small outdoor setting that I could sit at with a coffee in the morning, but this dumb pamphlet without any words on it was making me doubt the idea all together.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" I grumbled to myself, louder than I had realised because a woman across the cul-de-sac stopped to look at me whilst getting out of her car and asked me if I was okay.

"Pardon? Oh, sorry! Just building an Ikea table!" I called out to her, giving her a polite wave.

"Oh yeah, Ikea instructions fucking suck! Welcome to the neighbourhood though!" She called back, smiling and heading inside her home. It was smaller than mine, but it was quaint.

The woman looked about my age, she was holding a large binder and multiple text books. Ew, was she a mature aged student in college? Yuck.

I put my head down and started looked at the picture of a man with a puzzled face and holding up a screw. I had multiple different types of screws in front of me and none of them looked like the god damn picture.

Fuck Ikea.