Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

I opened my mouth to say something, but words failed me. The way he spoke made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Being alone with him, the energy around us had built and now it felt electric. All my senses were heightened.

“O…okay,” I finally whispered back.

It was quiet as we approached my house. It would be an understatement to say I was nervous about him seeing the place. Now that the rush of his kisses had subsided, I was starting to second guess my decision to invite him back. Fortunately, it was late and Christmas Eve, so most of my housemates would probably be in bed or off with their families. Maybe I could pretend I only shared with three or four people instead of twelve.

Broderick was silent as I scrambled in my bag for my key. I slotted it in the door and stepped inside. The aroma of too many dinners being cooked in the same kitchen immediately hit my nose. Then, the faint underlying scent of mildew. I chanced a peek at Broderick as he took it all in.

What was my plan again? Bring him back here and . . .?

Even if he didn’t notice the smell, he definitely saw the cramped hallway where an array of my housemate’s possessions were haphazardly strewn. Several bicycles leaned against the wall alongside shoes, boots, coats and all manner of personal items. The walls were painted a pale yellow, with damp spots marking the ceiling. Good thing the entryway light is broken.

Over the last few weeks my eyes had adapted to the mess, but now I was seeing it afresh through Broderick’s eyes and it gave me a weird pang of shame and embarrassment. I bet he lived in some swanky open plan apartment in Soho. Or a funky, hipster neighborhood in Brooklyn. Somewhere far removed from my own dank situation.

The kitchen light shone down the hallway and it sounded like one of my housemates had some friends over. Wonderful. Boisterous male laughter sounded and I glanced at Broderick again. His eyebrows were drawn, his lips a thin, straight line. I couldn’t decipher what he was thinking. Was he judging me? Pitying me? Trying to concoct some excuse to leave? To be honest I wouldn’t blame him.

“How many people live here?” he asked after a stretch of silence.

“A few,” I answered evasively and grabbed his hand to pull him into the living room. I gestured for him to sit but he didn’t look too keen. The sofa was old and moth-eaten, cigarette holes burned into the armrest. Empty beer cans were scattered across the coffee table, as well as some dirty cups and plates.

He probably thinks this is a crack den.

Why on earth had I invited him back here? Something came over me when he kissed me outside the church. I wanted more. I wanted one night where I could just forget about my life and lose myself in someone else, someone who lived far, far away and who I’d likely never see again. Just one night where reality and fantasy were the same.

“What constitutes a few?” Broderick went on, not letting up on his questioning. He finally sat and I stood by the coffee table, nervous. This was not going how I imagined it would. He stared at me, his gaze determined, not leaving me any room to change the subject.

“Twelve?” I replied, heart thumping, cheeks heating. Why was I so embarrassed? This bloke was a stranger. I didn’t have to care about his opinion of me, but for some reason I did. I cared immensely.

He blinked, and I saw the surprise flitter across his eyes before he schooled his expression. “How many bedrooms are there?”

“Three,” I answered honestly. It wasn’t like telling him the truth could do me any harm. I was a creature of interest, someone to distract him before he got on a plane and went back to whatever fancy life he led.

“That’s a lot of people for only three bedrooms,” he went on, his attention going to the chatter streaming in from the kitchen. “Are they all friends of yours from college or something?”

“No. I didn’t go to college. And we aren’t exactly friends. We all just live here. I stay out of their way and they stay out of mine.”

Broderick’s expression showed a hint of consternation. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he rubbed his temples. “But you know them, right? Please tell me they’re at least decent people for the sake of my sanity.”

I chewed on my lip, wanting to lie to make him feel better, but I’d told the truth so far so why stop now? “I know their names, but that’s about it.” I stared at him a moment. My answer didn’t appear to reassure him. In fact, it seemed t

o do the opposite.

Aaaaand now I felt defensive. Grrr. What business was it of his where I lived? We were strangers who’d decided on a whim to spend Christmas Eve together. He didn’t need to worry about me. I could be murdered in my bed tomorrow and it wouldn’t affect him one iota. “It’s all I can afford and it’s safer than sleeping on the streets, which is my only other option so…”

“Ophelia.” He said my name like I made him feel both outraged and powerless. Something about it caused an unexpected wave of emotion to rush through me.

“Don’t worry about me,” I sniffed. “I’ll be fine. This is only temporary. As soon as I have enough money saved, I’ll get a place of my own. I’ve been considering moving an hour or two away and commuting to work. The rents are much cheaper outside the capital.”

He listened to me speak and a flicker of something appeared behind his brown eyes. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when the living room door was pushed open. One of my housemates entered, bleary eyed and wobbly on his feet. He looked from me to Broderick, a can of beer in hand. I guessed he and his friends were the ones responsible for the empty cans scattered all over the living room.

“Amelia!” he said, loud and obnoxious. “Merry Christmas!”

Broderick looked to me, eyebrow raised as he mouthed, Amelia?

I shook my head, glancing at my roommate, whose name was Mikael. “It’s Ophelia, remember? And Merry Christmas to you, too. Do you know what time your friends will be leaving?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Whenever they run out of booze probably.” He flopped down on the couch next to Broderick and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up. Mikael was far too drunk to realize how rude he was being.

“So, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked, turning his attention to Broderick, who appeared to be deciding whether to entertain the question. Before he had the chance to say anything, Mikael’s friends burst into the room, a bundle of noisy, drunken male energy.