The longer she stayed, the more she hated it.
It was the middle of a sweltering summer night, and her house felt like an oven.
When she tried turning on the power as the sun set, she realized the house had no electricity and let out a loud scream.
"Will you fucking shut up?!" her next-door neighbor shouted, voice sharp as a whip.
She flipped him the middle finger in reply.
Grumbling, she turned on her flashlight and poured herself a bowl of cereal. If I can just survive tonight, I'll get everything fixed tomorrow, she thought with grim determination.
There were no stars in the suffocating sky, and the heat felt as criminal as the oppressive silence of the night. She popped a Kit Kat into her mouth, barely paying attention to the reality TV series playing on her iPad.
Her headache throbbed as one of the female contestants on-screen was berated for every minor flaw while her cheating, lying, toxic excuse of a partner got off scot-free.
The problem with reality TV is that everything's on air, she thought. If she were in their place, she knew damn well she'd end up throwing hands before letting someone walk all over her.
With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her damp hair. Sweat trickled down her back, soaking into her white tank top, and the series became too much to bear.
Moving sluggishly, she dug through her suitcase like a zombie, eventually pulling out a small electric fan. She switched it on and sat in front of it, sticking out her tongue like a dog as the weak breeze hit her face.
"Damn it," she muttered. If she had more money, the apartments on the better side of town would've been her first choice. Anything had to be better than this sweltering hellhole.
She needed music—something to drown out her spiraling thoughts before the heat made her lose her mind. Rummaging through her bag again, she found her little but notoriously loud speaker.
The moment she turned it on, a wave of windows slammed shut across the neighborhood in synchronized disapproval.
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Well, I'm making a lot of friends already," she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.
Grinning to herself, she started to dance, letting the music carry her into the night.
To distract herself, she blasted the song by Glass animals but the song only made her feel hotter, it was June after all. She cranked her fan to its highest setting, raising her arms to let the breeze hit her sweat-soaked skin.
Licked a cranberry lollipop, hoping it would add more flavor to her bland life, she started to dance, her feet bouncing on the worn cushions of the sofa. She didn't care. The music was the only good thing in her house of hell.
Mid-spin, she froze, catching sight of her neighbor standing in his window, drenched, and glaring daggers at her. His golden eyes burned with frustration, his wet hair clinging to his face. At least someone was having a good time, she smirked.
Had he just showered? She smirked, waving at him as she opened a bottle of beer and took a swig.
"Turn the music down!" he growled, voice loud enough to pierce through the walls.
She shook her head, grinning defiantly. "Hell no!"
"Turn it off, or I will," he threatened, his eyes searing.
She leaned into the open window, practically shouting, "This is my house, you uptight asshole! My house, my rules!" She threw her arms in the air and let out a loud "Woooo!"
His teeth gritted. "Ever been sued, Miss House Owner? Turn it off!"
Instead, she shut the window in his face, laughing as she started twerking dramatically in the dim living room light.
The laughter faded when she heard rustling in the trash.
Holding her flashlight, she cautiously approached the noise—and screamed as a massive rat darted out. She bolted for the door, slamming straight into a wall of muscle.
Her neighbor.
"There's a rat!" she shrieked, clutching her chest.
He didn't flinch. One quick, decisive stomp, and the rat was no more.
"Well," he said with a scowl, brushing imaginary dust off his black joggers, "in the few hours you've lived here, you've broken every single neighborhood rule I've ever set."
He kicked the rat's remains onto her porch, his expression one of utter disgust.
"First thing tomorrow, you're leaving," he said, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
"You've said that three times today," she replied, her tone lilting and sweet. "And I'm not going anywhere—I have nowhere else to go."
"Then you'll live by my rules," he said, folding his arms.
"This is my house," she shot back, mimicking his stance. "I'll do whatever I want!"
He sighed, his patience visibly waning, and walked over to her speaker. Before she could stop him, he pressed the off button.
"Be quiet," he said simply.
Her heart pounded. Summer had never felt this hot.
As he turned to leave, she grabbed his arm. "Can I stay at your place?"
He froze, glaring down at her. "Don't touch me," he growled, yanking his arm away.
"Please, just for the night," she begged. "I have no power, no AC, and now there are rats in here!"
"None of that is my concern," he snapped.
"But this is your property! Shouldn't you take responsibility for your tenants?"
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I never intended to rent this house out. My brother went behind my back. Your 'suffering,' as you call it, is not my fault."
She darted in front of him as he tried to leave, clasping her hands together. "Please! Just one night. I promise I won't bother you again. No music, no noise—I'll stay out of your way."
"No," he said firmly, stepping outside.
As he moved to shut the door, his stomach growled audibly.
Her eyes lit up. "I can make you dinner!"
He stopped, turning his head slightly.
"I'm an excellent cook," she added quickly. "A chef, even!"