Windows on the World (OLD VERSION) [BEING REWRITTEN]

[¹⁸] ᵍᵒˡᵈᵉⁿ

With a purple backpack at her feet and a large handbag hanging from her shoulder, she stood in the lobby and watched Walter's disconcert unfold after opening his door for her.

"Can I crash here?" The voice in her question did not sound like hers. Coarseness had claimed it, like a dry cough was keeping her throat and vocals hostage. Twitching eyelids rubbed painfully against her irritated eyeballs. When he didn't answer, she realized offering an explanation was the least she could do. The man was probably simply waiting for one. "My dad's there and the whole apartment stinks of smoke and booze. I would've stayed if Dana was there but-"

"You don't have to explain," he interrupted her, taking hold of her backpack to let her know she could take the step she was so desperate to take.

Phoebe had nowhere else to go on that cold and solitary night in late February, when Jeff had claimed an overnight stay in her place. Her father was constantly between Connecticut and New York. Phoebe and Joanna naturally got the blame for this. She had no idea whether he still had a job, or if he was just making do somehow. But this routine was exhausting for her, and it had to be for him too, from the way he vented out in grey, poisonous clouds. It had gotten so bad, that it forced Phoebe to kick herself out of her own home.

Her reticent feet took her inside, but her hands fiddled with the strap of the handbag as if she was going to change her mind at any moment and leave him be.

The lights were dimmed as they usually were at such an hour. A flicker from the TV surprised her. Walter had apparently been perusing some grim crime show before she interrupted.

"I'm so sorry to impose on you like this..." She returned her attention to him after the sheltering surroundings managed to comfort her. They brought more peace than those pills ever could. "Are you sure it's cool?"

"Yes, it's 'cool'. You're always welcome here, you know that."

That acceptance from him, his unending selflessness toward her, it almost made her feel like spilling tears again... Sweet tears, for a change.

The scent of cigarette had stuck to Phoebe. As a frequent smoker, he wasn't bothered by it. But there was something tragic about it. One did not need to be a master at perception to know that there was an ick between her and smoking. The moment he'd fully realized it, he made an effort to avoid doing it in her presence, or at the minimum, near her.

Before tending to anything else, he got Phoebe a glass of water to help that parched throat.

"Make yourself at home while I accommodate the guest room."

Phoebe nodded her gratitude at the man before he took her stuff upstairs with him.

She curled up on the massive couch, hugging the glass between her hands, as if it contained a warm beverage rather than just water. After kicking off her sneakers, she placed them to the side in a parallel and neat position. This would save Walter the bother of doing it himself.