Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

Half an hour after leaving Tris’s house, I pull up outside the run-down apartment block, the SUV completely out of place. Turning the engine off, I lay my hands on the top of the steering wheel, putting my head on them as I take a deep breath.

I came to see the apartment on Thursday: it’s not the best of places, but it’s the only one I could find so quickly.

A knock on my window has me squealing, and when my head shoots up I see the landlord standing there. His gray, greasy hair is combed to one side, a dirty tank top stretched over his small chest along with some black sweatpants hanging off his waist.

Moving my shaky hand, I open up the door and slide out of the car. “Hi, Harry.”

“Amelia,” he grunts. “Need some help?” He points to the back of the car, his dark beady eyes not moving from mine.

“I… that would be great.”

He swipes his hand under his nose, walking around to the back of the car without another word.

We make quick work of carrying all the boxes up the two flights of stairs, and an hour later the door is closing behind him and I’m left in my new home.

The walls are a beige color that’s been slapped on to cover a multitude of sins; a small, ratty sofa sits in the middle of the room with a worn coffee table in front of it. The open-plan, tiny kitchen is to the left, a cupboard door hanging off its hinges. I make a mental note to fix it tomorrow.

Walking toward the large window at the back, I pass a door I know leads to a bedroom with a small bathroom off that. But it’s the rain that’s started to hit the window that keeps my attention.

Opening it, I push it up all the way and step out onto the small metal balcony that’s part of the metal steps lining the side of the building. It’s only three foot wide but it’s enough to stand on and stare out at the run-down area. I sit on one of the steps to the left that lead up to the next floor, pulling my jacket closer around me and leaning my head back, relishing in the rain as it hits off my face and wets my hair.

The lights in the distance shining through the darkening sky blink mixing in with the sounds of cars driving by, the voices in the other apartments and on the streets add to the soundtrac

k of my new home.

It’ll take some getting used to having noise around, but for some reason, it’s comforting—as if I’m not alone.

A pair of headlights flash on in the parking lot, and when I look down, that same tingling feeling rolls down my spine.

It’s them.

I keep my eyes on the car, not able to see through the windshield but knowing they know I’m looking at them.

My nostrils flare; it’s their fault I’ve had to not only leave my home of the last six years, but that I’m having to break my own heart and that of the only man I’ve ever loved, destroying the future we would have had together.

When I stand up, they rev their engine and squeal out of the lot. My nostrils flare. I’m not going to take this lying down. If my life is being ruined, then I’m going to make sure they can’t do the same thing to anyone else, and the only way to do that is to confront them.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do, I just need to do it in the right way.

I said to myself I’d give her the time to move out on her own, but it’s been well over a week since I last saw her and I’m going out of my mind.

I called her on Monday like I said I would—no reply.

Tuesday came—no reply.

Every day after that has been the same.

I’ve called her twice already today and again—no reply.

I should take the hint that she’s not answering, but I can’t. I stare at my cell wondering if I should call her one last time before I have to go and pick Maya up from my parents’ place. She’s staying over while they’re jetting off on vacation. She’s getting to the age where going on vacation with your parents for the summer is “so uncool.” Her words, not mine.

I sigh, getting up and grabbing my car keys off the side unit, leaving my cell where it is on my coffee table and walking through my hallway and into the garage.

The drive to my parents doesn’t take long and I’m soon walking up the steps and opening up the blood-red front door.

“Maya, let’s go,” I call into the entryway. My parents have already left this afternoon so it’s just us two.

I hear a door opening before she shouts, “A hand with my bags would be nice!”