Jessie & Elizabeth (abandoned)

1. Another Cockroach

The absolute last thing I needed today was some loser following me around to shout indecent and frankly disturbing proposals at me.

So, of course, as soon as I left the third roach-infested one-broom closet I'd checked out that week, a dude in a raggedy bomber jacket popped up to whistle at me: "Hey, beautiful. Why you walking like that? Where you going? I'm talking to you, hey."

I forced myself to not look over my shoulder, increasing my step as I buried my chin deeper in my coat. On my way here, I'd passed through a nice neighborhood crammed with stately mansions — maybe, if I could just reach one of those unreal, glamorous streets, this creep would stop bothering me.

"Didn't your mama teach you it's rude to walk away when someone is talking to you? What's wrong with your legs anyway?"

Sorry, sir. If there was something my mama had ever taught me, it was to punch anyone who annoyed you, although that wasn't a lesson I'd ever repeated. Ma was the size of a bull with knuckles hard as steel from cutting down trees all day, but I was as light as a pair of socks and as soft as a bunny's fur, or so Ma had told me many times. I doubted I could inflict any real damage on another person.

I hurried to cross the street, already one foot lifted from the pavement — a car horn honked at me, and I startled heavily, almost crashing headfirst into the asphalt. My heart raced, the driver showing me their middle finger as they sped by. Oof. That was close. Although, it might not have been that bad to get hit. It wasn't like I was living such a great life anyway.

Twenty-five years old I was, crashing on my baby brother's couch, no job, no degree, and, I remembered with a pang as I touched the tiny butterfly on the inside of my wrist, no girlfriend.

I huffed and resumed walking, glancing over my shoulder to see the scrawny man still leering at me.

Hulking houses with painted shutters and spacious gardens lined up on this side of the neighborhood, and immediately the air felt cleaner in my lungs. I sighed in relief and slowed down a bit. Surely, creepy dude would clear off now. Another glimpse backward, and I stiffened — he was still onto me and catching up. He called out something else, something crude that sent shivers down my spine, and I almost tripped over my own feet trying to get away.

To my right, a handsome Victorian mansion hid behind a line of prospering cypresses, a BMW waiting quietly on the gravel leading to the front door. Before I could think about it, I was walking up the driveway and, hoping to God someone nice lived there, rang the bell.

Immediately, hurried footsteps sounded from the inside, and I was greeted by an older woman, her face blotchy, and her hair a frizzy chaos. She had kind eyes, like the bark of an oak tree. "Yes?"

"I'm so sorry to bother you," I said, my cheeks heating up. Who's to say someone who lived in a house like this one would trust me, with my denim cut-offs and messy ponytail? "I'm being followed by some low-life, and I was hoping to get rid of him this way."

The woman peered behind me, craning her neck, then gestured for me to enter the house. "Come in, hon," she said. "Watch your step. They should lock men like that away forever, they should."

I breathed out deeply, not believing my luck. The lady seemed trustworthy enough, with a motherly vibe, and everything was better than being out there getting verbally harassed.

A modest chandelier lit up the dark hallway, showing off mahogany paneled walls and hardwood floors. My jaw slacked as I took in the floor-length gilded mirror and antique closet, gawking at the polished banister of a beautiful staircase. Even though the area was cluttered with an array of small shoes and pink backpacks, it exuded grandeur, and I had never seen anything like it.