Chapter Text
Multiple leather straps were buckled over your wrists, ankles, and neck, the thick cordage keeping you secured to the reclined leather chair. Eyes darting around the familiar sterile room, the straps pressed against your skin, gripping tight like strong hands. There was a faint tremble running through your body in anticipation of what was about to happen as Doctor Barlowe finished placing the final electrode to your forehead. Focusing back on her, you desperately attempted to catch her eyes behind those thick, black glasses she always wore.
“Please,” you begged softly. “I don’t like this one. Please don’t make me do it again.”
Her hands paused for just a moment, fingers lingering against your skin. Her eyes shifted from where her hands had paused along your temple to your face, an unreadable expression on her own.
“Please,” you tried again. “I’ll–I’ll try any of the other tests, I swear. Just not this again. It…it hurts.”
“Now, now, hush 647,” Doctor Whitlock’s harsh voice echoed through the room.
The door closed with a solid bang behind him as he entered the testing room. Seconds later, he appeared just beside the place where your legs were strapped down to the chair. His expression was serious and stoic like always, not the slightest hint of sympathy anywhere on him.
“You know why we do this,” he told you.
Swallowing hard, the usual anticipatory fear began to swirl in your stomach as Doctor Barlowe took her place at the nearby machine. Turning your head against your chair, you saw a metal cart with a surgical tray placed on top. You recognized the two syringes filled with a familiar vibrant orange liquid laying in the tray, your eyes now fixated on them. Uselessly, you tugged at your restraints.
“647, let’s not make this more difficult than necessary, hmm?” Doctor Whitlock hummed. “You know what you have to do if you don’t like the pain.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the ID tag on his white lab coat obscured at the gesture. His eyes focused on Doctor Barlowe from where she sat at the machine beside you. “Administer the first dose of MGA.”
The younger doctor lifted one of the syringes and slid her chair across the tiled floor, coming to a stop beside you. Eyes snapping shut, you felt the sting of the needle in your forearm as she injected the first dose. Shortly after, the telltale burning raced its way up your right arm, igniting like wildfire in your veins. Your eyes clamped shut even tighter as your head slammed back onto the leather of the chair, a pained whine escaping your lips.
“Why don’t we increase the voltage a bit this time?” Doctor Whitlock mused aloud to Doctor Barlowe. “Maybe that will be the bit of motivation it needs.”
“No,” you pleaded between gritted teeth. “Please.”
“You can end the pain yourself, 647,” Whitlock answered. “If you don’t want to feel the shocks, stop them. Use your mind.” There was a pause before the sound of footsteps approached the other side of you, then Whitlock’s voice issued the order. “Begin, Barlowe.”
Sharp, burning pain immediately jolted your brain, your body abruptly tensing at the shock as the electricity coursed through you. Arms and legs straining against your restraints, the leather bit sharply into your skin. As your back arched involuntarily off the chair, your airflow briefly halted as the restraint around your neck bit so deep into your throat that the passageway momentarily closed. For a moment, you hoped you'd pass out just to have an escape.
But then a few seconds later–though it felt far longer–the pain disappeared and your body momentarily slackened in the reclined chair. Tears were stinging behind your closed eyelids as a light sheen of sweat began forming across your body. Breathing heavier, your veins still feeling as if they were on fire, your head weakly rolled to the side.
“Hmm,” Whitlock hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the monitor beside Barlowe. “It is showing more brain activity with the increased voltage this time.”
“There’s definitely a noticeable increase from the last time,” Barlowe agreed.
“Please, stop,” you whimpered. Eyelids fluttering open, you glimpsed Whitlock rubbing his chin in thought, his focus still on the monitor. You knew it was useless to beg because they never listened to you, but that didn’t stop you from trying. “No more,” you choked out. “Hurts.”
“Try again,” Whitlock ordered, disregarding you. “Increase the voltage.”
When another rush of electricity went racing through the electrodes on your forehead, a scream shot out of you before your body seized up at the pain. Your mouth clamped shut as bright white flooded your vision behind your closed eyelids. The pain was so strong, so pervasive, that you couldn’t think or feel anything else.
Eventually, the shock dissipated and a ringing filled your ears in the absence of the pain. Disoriented and worn, it took a moment for you to make out what the voice beside you was saying.
“It’s bleeding, sir,” Barlowe pointed out.
“Just bit its lip, it’s nothing serious,” Whitlock replied simply, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. “Though I suppose you should get the gag again, we don’t want it to bite its tongue off next.”
There was a rustle of movement in the room as you lay strapped to the chair, your body exhausted from the electrical shocks. Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks as you stared up at the white ceiling with its blinding bright lights above. Barlowe’s face came back into view, the clear mouthpiece they often shoved into your mouth when the electrical shocks had first begun now in her hand. Eyes widening, you sent her a pleading look, attempting to shake your head, but she kept her attention focused on the lower half of your face. Her gloved fingers roughly wrenched open your mouth before she forced the uncomfortable plastic inside. Choking back a sob awkwardly around the contraption, the hard edges cut into your gums.
“Let’s continue, shall we?” Whitlock said.
The electrical shock once more shot through your body before you seized on the leather chair, a strangled noise flying from your throat.
A scream escaped from your mouth before you bolted upright in bed, chest heaving as your breath came in hard. Momentarily confused and panicked, it took your brain a few moments to recognize that you were laying in your bedroom and not the testing room that often plagued your nightmares. A light sheen of cold sweat covered your body as you lay tangled up in the dark gray sheets of your bed.
It was only a dream–a memory.
“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen,” you murmured to myself. “Not The Facility. I’m home. I’m safe.” Closing your eyes tight, you drew your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them. “They can’t hurt me. Just a dream. Wasn’t real.”
Trying to focus your attention on your breathing, you inhaled slowly and held the breath. You counted to five before exhaling it out long and slow. Repeating the process, you continued for a few minutes until your breaths gradually became more even and controlled. Slowly, you felt your body begin to relax back into a calm state. When you opened your eyes again, wiping a hand over your sweat-dampened forehead, you began to disentangle your legs from how they’d twisted into your sheets while you’d been thrashing in your sleep.
Reaching over to your nightstand, you grabbed your phone. The screen lit up in the darkened bedroom, causing you to squint your eyes while they took a moment to adjust. It was only 5:37 in the morning–still early. Setting your phone back onto the nightstand, you rubbed the heels of your hands roughly against your eyes. You’d calmed down from that dream, but you were certainly too wound up for sleep now. With a huff, you threw the sheets off of yourself and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Raising your arms up over your head, you felt the pull of muscles as you stretched before making your way to your dresser. Opening the middle left drawer, you dug around for a sports bra and a pair of leggings.
Beginning to change, you removed the loose tank top that you’d been sleeping in over your head before slipping on the sports bra. Swapping your sweatpants for black leggings, you tugged them on before crossing the room to your closet and pulling the door open. Eyes landing on the navy track jacket hanging there, you pulled it out and tossed it on. Afterwards, you headed back to your nightstand and grabbed your phone before sliding it into the pocket of your leggings. You grabbed your earbuds next before heading out of your bedroom and down the short hallway outside of it.
The living room of your new apartment was still covered in shadows cast from the lights just outside of the large loft windows. Outside, the sun still hadn't risen quite yet, leaving the city dark and quiet–or as quiet as it could be for Hell’s Kitchen. Pausing by one of the large windows, you took a moment to enjoy the beautiful view of the city that you had from up on the sixth floor. This place hadn’t been cheap to rent, but it was worth it for that view while you worked–a vast difference from your life spent nowhere near a window.
But that’s not what you wanted to think about.
Sliding the earbuds into your ears, you turned and walked over to the entryway hall, stopping to lean against the wall before tugging on your running shoes. Before stepping out of your apartment, you grabbed your keys from the console table near the front door. Taking a moment, you locked the door behind yourself as your mind focused on only one thing.
You knew what you needed right now–an escape. Something to clear your head and refocus yourself. To keep your mind level for the day. As you headed down the end of the hall and pushed the call button for the elevator, you knew that a quick jog would do exactly that.
While you waited for the elevator to reach your floor, you pulled your phone back out and spent a moment looking for something to listen to during your run–something to distract yourself from your thoughts. A minute later, the elevator doors opened and you stepped inside, pushing the button for the lobby before slipping your phone back into the pocket of your leggings. Music began to play through your earbuds, but as the elevator lurched downwards, the jarring movement somehow caused your dream to resurface. Wincing, you raised a hand to rub at your temple as the memory of those shocks returned.
“If you don’t like the pain, 647,” Whitlock chided, “use your mind. Make it stop.”
Shaking your head back and forth rapidly, you tried to push the sound of his voice out of it. That was not what you needed right now.
“No,” you muttered to yourself. “No, you’re not here. Go away.”
“You were born for this. This is your purpose,” Whitlock’s cold voice said. “Be good and sit still or we'll get the restraints.”
Your jaw clenched at the memory of his voice, tooth grinding hard against tooth as your nails dug into the palms of your hands. The elevator doors opened with a ding that barely registered around the music playing in your ears as a mixture of emotions welled up inside of you. Stepping out of the elevator and into the lobby of your apartment building, you moved with a determined purpose straight for the exit. The second you were outside and your feet touched the sidewalk, you took off at a run.
Pushing your legs past their limit, you felt them beginning to burn after you'd been running for a while. But you ignored the pain building inside of them, your focus only on your breathing and the music in your ears. Everything else faded out around you–which was exactly what you needed right now. As close to nothingness as your mind could reach.
It wasn’t until it felt like your lungs were on fire inside of your chest that you finally came to a stop. Breathing heavily, you threw your hands up over your head in order to catch your breath while you walked at a brisk pace, your heart racing inside of your chest. You could feel a sharp pain in your left hip with each step, but the pain only served to further ground you in reality.
Just above the multitude of skyscrapers looming over you, the sun began to peak its way up over the city of New York. All the dark shadows of the night gradually were replaced with the beautiful orange glow of the morning light. And with that change from dark to light, you shoved your fears aside and took a right turn, heading back towards your apartment building. You’d need to sit down at your desk and start work in almost an hour, but you wanted a shower before you settled down for the day.
The walk back to your apartment had taken just under fifteen minutes since the traffic had picked up with the rise of the sun. With a clear head, you made your way through the lobby and back to the elevators, grateful when a man exited one and left it empty. Stepping inside, you pushed the button for the sixth floor before leaning against the wall of the elevator, running a hand across your forehead as it began its ascent to the top floor.
Retrieving your phone from the side pocket of your leggings, you turned off the playlist you’d been listening to before taking the earbuds from your ears. You felt better after that run, your mind and body both relaxed and that nightmare mostly forgotten. Which was what you’d needed to keep yourself calm and level today. You didn’t need to get emotional. You didn’t need to give into fear.
You were safe here.
When the elevator doors opened, you pulled your keys from the other pocket of your leggings, focused on your task of getting back to your apartment. Vaguely you were aware of a man knocking on the door across the hall from your place, calling something through the door. Out of politeness when you neared him, you sent him a smile before turning your attention to your own apartment door.
“Hey, you’re the woman who just moved in, right?”
Pausing at the man’s voice as you’d stopped in front of your door, your hand with your keys hovered over the lock. Your mouth twitched as you stood there with your back facing him, not having expected him to acknowledge you.
Normal people make small talk, you reminded yourself.
Letting your hand drop to your side, you plastered a friendly smile onto your face before turning around. The man who’d addressed you was unfamiliar to you, your eyes scanning over his shoulder length blonde hair and the bright, friendly smile on his face. He was dressed in a white shirt with a light blue tie, a gray suit jacket and matching gray slacks. In his hands he held a tray with two coffees and a brown paper bag that you assumed held some sort of breakfast food judging by the smell.
“Yes, just last week,” you answered him.
The man adjusted the bag and the tray of coffee in his hands before he crossed the small distance between you both in the hall. He held his now free hand out towards you, the friendly smile still drawn wide over his mouth. Eyes dropping down at the movement, you eyed his hand warily.
“My name is Franklin, but everyone usually calls me Foggy,” the man said.
He seemed either unaware or unconcerned with your stillness and hesitancy. Clearing your throat, you slowly extended your own hand towards his before giving it a brief shake.
“Olivia,” you replied.
It was a fake name, one you’d chosen for yourself not too long ago. It had seemed simple and you’d liked it–and you’d never had one before it.
Foggy’s smile somehow further widened in response. “Nice to meet you, Olivia,” he greeted warmly. “I was actually just waiting for my friend, Matt–he’s your neighbor. We work together.” He paused for a moment, straightening up as he readjusted his hold on the food and coffee in his hands. “We just started up our own law office, actually.”
Head tilting curiously to the side, you raised a brow as you silently studied him. He seemed genuinely friendly, albeit very eager to connect with you. You weren’t entirely sure why. From your experience, most people in the city weren’t this forthright. But before you could respond, the apartment door behind Foggy opened and drew both of your attention. You spotted the white cane before you caught sight of the man emerging through his apartment door. Your neighbor, you assumed.
“Ah, buddy, there you are!” Foggy exclaimed, turning and making his way back across the hall to his friend. He watched as the man locked his door, shifting the tray of coffee and bag of food in his hands once again. “I was just meeting your new neighbor, Matt,” he told him, his warm gaze returning to you across the hall.
Your neighbor’s head turned in your direction, the red glasses covering his eyes glinting in the overhead lights at the movement. For the briefest moment, his expression was entirely unreadable at his friend’s comment, but then a slow, friendly smile spread over his lips.
Something strange happened in that moment as he smiled at you. You felt an odd, soft vibration pass over your skin–as if you could feel him looking at you. Breath catching, the hair on the back of your neck slowly rose as a small shiver tickled its way up your spine. His smile briefly faltered before he recovered, your sharp eyes catching the minute movement.
“Were you now, Foggy?” your neighbor asked. That smile remained on his face, though it seemed slightly altered now. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
You stiffened when the man took a few steps in your direction, his cane lightly tapping along the floor. What he’d said was true, you hadn’t met him yet despite having been living across the hall from him for a week already. Though you had heard some loud banging late at night coming from his apartment on occasion, you'd yet to actually cross paths with him.
“I’m Matthew,” he said, stopping just before you and extending his hand in your direction. “But you can call me Matt.”
Eyes trailing down his face, you found yourself distracted by how attractive he was, your gaze scanning what wasn’t hidden by his dark glasses. Gradually, your eyes lowered, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and chest that were noticeable even under his black suit coat. Eventually your eyes dropped down to his awaiting hand.
Swallowing thickly, still aware of that strange tingling along your skin, you extended your own and wrapped it around his. His hand was warm and calloused as he gently shook yours, the sensation causing something odd to stir in your chest at the contact. You’d never felt that before.
“I’m Olivia,” you offered softly, still confused by him.
“Well, Olivia,” Matt said, a small grin tugging at his lips as he released your hand, “it’s a shame it took us so long to meet.”
Behind Matt, you caught the way Foggy rolled his eyes at his friend. “Can you not charm every beautiful woman you meet? Just once?”
You felt your cheeks heat at the implication in Foggy’s words, your attention shifting back to Matt as he chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at his friend, that grin still on his mouth.
“I do not charm them all,” Matt disagreed.
“You do and it’s weird, man,” Foggy countered. He looked past Matt, focusing on you with a conspiratorial look as he cupped his hand still holding the bag of food awkwardly around his mouth before he whispered, “It’s like his super power.”
“Flirting with beautiful women?” you questioned in confusion.
Matt laughed loudly in response, the warm sound filling the hallway. Foggy rolled his eyes, a smile returning to his face as he lowered his hand back to his side.
“No,” Foggy answered. “Knowing that a woman is beautiful is his superpower. He always somehow knows.”
You shrugged in response, finding these two men to be more enjoyable company than you’d first anticipated. “I wouldn’t exactly consider that a superpower. Seems a little useless.”
Foggy’s eyes lit up with curiosity immediately, a look of interest washing over him. “What would you consider the most useful one then? Because I personally think–”
“Fog, we should probably let Olivia go,” Matt said, cutting his friend off.
Foggy’s face fell, his shoulders dropping a bit. A sympathetic smile spread over your face in return. You were surprised to admit it, but you found yourself a bit disappointed that they needed to go. But unfortunately, so did you.
“I do need to actually get ready for work myself,” you agreed.
“Right, I’m sorry,” Foggy said, gesturing to your workout clothes. “You just finished a workout, you probably want to have a chance to shower without being late.”
“Well,” you admitted, “I work from home so I doubt I’d be late. But yes, I would like to grab a shower first.”
“Either way, we shouldn’t keep you,” Matt said, a charming smile on his lips.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you smiled at them as the three of you exchanged goodbyes. While they headed down the hall towards the elevator, you turned around and unlocked your apartment, finding yourself missing the interaction already. It wasn’t often that you had an opportunity to connect with others.
By the time you’d gotten back into your apartment, you had a half an hour to quickly shower and dress before you needed to be logged onto your computer. Getting ready in a rush, you moved as if on auto-pilot, though your mind kept wandering back to those two men you’d just met. More specifically, your mind kept returning to your curious neighbor who quite literally made your skin tingle. You’d never before met someone who could do that before and you didn’t know what to make of it.
Once out of the shower and dressed, you headed back to your living room and over to your desk that was situated between two of the large windows. Your computer and dual monitors sat atop the oak desk, the surface of it featuring a herringbone pattern you’d been drawn to when you’d first seen it. Beside both monitors sat a pothos plant and a few potted succulents–because you'd developed a fondness for plants.
Reaching your hand out, you turned on your computer before setting your phone down on top of your desk. You still had a few minutes before you needed to be at work, which meant your run hadn’t made you late today. Settling into your computer chair, you began to pull up a handful of programs, logging into them and letting them start. But as you did, you could feel the exhaustion in your body from waking so early and your eyes shifted towards your kitchen. With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of your chair, deciding you’d make yourself a coffee before really starting the day.
Absently you set to work in your kitchen, grinding the appropriate amount of fresh beans into the portafilter before tamping the grounds down while your espresso machine heated. Then you slid the portafilter onto the machine and reached up onto one of the open shelves above you, grabbing down a mug to set underneath it. A double shot of fresh espresso began to pour out, the comforting aroma filling your apartment.
As you waited for the espresso to finish, you headed back into the living room and picked up the television remote from your coffee table. Switching on the television mounted along the wall, you settled on the news. There was a fluff piece currently on, discussing a new local business that had opened up today. Increasing the volume, you turned and stepped back into the kitchen and began to finish making your morning latte.
A few minutes later, with your morning caffeine dose in hand, you were ready to focus on work. You walked back over to your computer chair and set your mug onto a coaster before making yourself comfortable. Pulling up the first email of the day, you began to skim through it, responding to a co-worker of yours before moving onto the next email. As you worked, you listened to the background noise of the news until a particular story caught your attention.
“Breaking news on last night’s murder in Hell’s Kitchen,” the reporter on the television said as the news segment changed. “The woman responsible is now in police custody. Hope Shlottman is currently under investigation for two counts of murder–both of them her very own parents. The young athlete shot them both dead in an elevator last night, and despite video surveillance, she is still claiming to not be responsible for their deaths. Her defense? She says that a man told her to kill them.”
Tensing at the reporter’s words, your head slowly turned towards the television still playing across the room. There was a video of a young blonde woman being dragged out of an apartment building in handcuffs, blood covering the front of her. She was crying, her face red and splotchy with a twisted expression of genuine grief drawn over it. She kept repeating over and over: “It wasn’t me! He told me to do it!”
A cold chill ran down your spine as you sat there staring at the screen. The hairs along your arms rose, a prickle of fear running through you. Breath coming in a little sharper, you glanced around your apartment, eyes sweeping around the entirety of the space. There was no one else here, though. You were alone.
Coincidence, that’s all, you told yourself.
Rising from your desk, you made your way back over to your coffee table and snatched the remote from off of it. With a hard press to the power button, you turned the television off, your apartment falling silent once more. Pausing for another moment, you looked around your living room and kitchen, both bathed in the soft glow of morning light.
No one else was here.
Walking three blocks while carrying six full bags of groceries by yourself wasn’t easy, but that’s what happened when you spent the past week putting off doing any real grocery shopping. You’d only grabbed a few things for quick meals, choosing to order takeout most nights instead of cooking. But after work, you’d gone for yet another run to ease that feeling twisting in your stomach, and on your way back home you’d decided to stop to grab groceries.
Now, you found yourself struggling to navigate your way into the elevator with three large and very full grocery bags in each of your hands. Pushing the button for the sixth floor with your pinky finger, you willed the doors to hurry up and close. The plastic bags were threatening to cut off the circulation to your hands at this point.
Almost there, almost there.
Huffing a relieved sigh when the elevator reached the sixth floor, you groaned a second later when the doors felt like they were opening slower than normal. But as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, you paused. At the end of the hall was the blonde lawyer you’d met just this morning–Foggy, if you recalled correctly–and a pretty young blonde woman in a dress standing beside him. They were banging against Matt’s door and laughing loudly, and it was clear that the pair of them were obviously drunk. With a resigned sigh, you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid them, so you set off down the hall towards your apartment.
“Come on, Matt!” Foggy shouted, slamming his hand against the door.
The young woman loudly shushed Foggy between giggles, resting a hand lightly against his shoulder. Smiling wide, Foggy reached out a hand in return to her as he stepped back, waving at the apartment door.
“You try,” Foggy slurred to the woman. “Maybe he’ll listen to the pretty girl.” He leaned towards her and attempted to whisper, “Pretend I’m not here.”
Your brow quirked as you neared the pair of them. He'd just been banging on the door, there was no way she could pretend he wasn’t there. Unable to stop yourself, a small, amused smile slipped onto your lips as you neared your apartment door across from them.
“Matt,” the young woman called out, her voice cracking a little at the pitch as she leaned her weight against the door. “It’s Karen,” she continued, voice slurring. “And I’m very, very sorry about this. If I were you, I would not come to this door.” She paused, glancing at Foggy and giggling before she continued. “But I think I also drank the eel.”
Clearly forgetting the part about wanting to pretend he wasn’t present, Foggy began shouting again beside the woman known as Karen, his attention so fixed on the door that he hadn’t noticed you across the hall as you came to a stop in front of your own. Attempting to carefully set all of your grocery bags down so you could pull out your keys, you couldn’t help overhearing the commotion behind you.
“And we are now filled with mighty eel strength,” Foggy shouted, pounding on the door again as Karen broke into yet another fit of giggles. “Matt! Come on! We’re staying out until sunrise!”
A soft gasp came from across the hall just as you managed to slip your key into the lock.
“Oh, no,” Karen breathed out.
As you unlocked your door, you heard Foggy’s distinct voice call out your name.
“Olivia!” he exclaimed.
Eyes widening, you pulled your key from the lock, shifting your head over your shoulder towards the pair. Foggy was already stepping across the hall towards you, roughly clapping you on the shoulder.
“Do you know if Matt is home?” he asked.
A breathy laugh left you before you looked over at the door they’d been yelling at for a few minutes now. “I mean, he’s blind and not deaf right?” you replied. “I’m pretty sure he’d have answered by now if he was home.”
Karen let out a laugh from her place against Matt’s door. “She has a point,” she said, pointing a finger at you.
Foggy’s eyes dropped down to the bags at your feet, his brows furrowing for a moment. Then an overexaggerated look of surprise flew across his face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you were carrying all of those!” Foggy exclaimed.
Without warning, he began quickly scrambling to take the grocery bags from off the ground, lifting them into his own hands. You stood there shocked, but Foggy completely ignored the dumbfounded expression on your face.
“Foggy, you shouldn’t just–” Karen began, but she broke off on a laugh at his overeagerness and didn’t finish her thought.
“Let me help you bring these in,” Foggy said, somehow holding all six bags in his hands as he looked up at you. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Your lip tugged upwards at his words, a hint of a smile ghosting over your mouth. “But you’re not my neighbor,” you pointed out.
Foggy only sloppily waved a hand at your words, your eyes going wide as it looked like one bag was dangerously close to tearing.
“Potato piñata” he answered simply.
Looking over at Karen who had taken a few steps closer, you hesitated and contemplated the offer. They seemed harmless enough, just incredibly sloppy drunk. And it did feel nice to not be carrying six bags.
“Alright, fine,” you relented, turning and opening the door to your place. “I appreciate the help.”
Waving a hand at your opened door, you allowed the pair to enter first. You followed in behind them, closing the door after yourself and tossing your keys onto the console table. Karen and Foggy had already made their way into the kitchen, the pair laughing about something as they disappeared around the corner.
When you finally made your way around the entryway hall, you saw Foggy had already placed the bags he’d brought in onto the kitchen counter. He was pulling items out and curiously scanning them in his hands as Karen leant against the breakfast bar, her chin resting on one of her hands. But when you entered the kitchen and her eyes met yours, she stood tall and held her hand out towards you.
“I’m Karen,” she introduced herself, a friendly smile on her face despite the way her eyes were glazed over from the alcohol. “Suppose that’s important.”
You reached out, accepting her offered hand. “Olivia.”
“They mentioned you this morning,” Karen said as she released your hand.
Stepping over towards the counter where your grocery bags were at, you looked curiously back at her. “Who mentioned me?” you asked.
“Foggy and Matt,” she replied.
Your eyes turned slowly towards Foggy, watching the way he was eyeing a head of cauliflower in extreme interest. His cheeks were pink and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or embarrassment at what Karen had just told you. Slowly, your gaze traveled back to Karen who was grinning. Leaning against the breakfast bar, mimicking Karen’s relaxed posture, you found yourself unable to resist asking her for more information–you hadn’t forgotten the way your skin had oddly tingled when Matt had ‘looked’ at you earlier. That wasn’t normal.
“And what’d they say about me?” you asked.
She leaned in towards you as she spoke, that smile still on her face. “Apparently Matt thinks you’re sweet. And interesting.”
Feeling your palms beginning to nervously dampen at her words, you absently wiped them against your leggings. You knew that information wasn’t important. You didn’t do relationships. You’d only been in a relationship once and–well, you weren’t going to think about him. But apparently your racing heart and the heat creeping into your cheeks didn’t appear to care about that fact with what Karen was telling you about your handsome neighbor.
“He’s met me for all of five minutes,” you casually pointed out.
You pushed off the counter, focusing on putting away groceries now. Though you couldn’t completely ignore the way something pleasant unfurled in your stomach at her words.
“Well, Matt told us that he’d been trying to find a chance to bump into you in the hall for days now,” Karen continued, her smile growing wider.
Your hand momentarily paused on the fridge door, her words catching you off guard. Opening it, you knelt down and began unloading some fruit from a grocery bag into the fruit drawer. He’d been wanting to meet you for days?
“He said he’d…overheard you screaming a few times at night,” Karen added, her tone abruptly switching to something a little softer. “Said he’d wanted to check on you but that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
You swallowed hard at that information as you placed a bag of apples into the drawer. He’d heard you in here? Crying out in your sleep? That did make you uncomfortable.
“Sounds like he’s paying far too much attention to my apartment,” you commented.
Foggy appeared beside you, cauliflower still in hand. He held it out to you and you took it, placing it in the appropriate drawer before he began handing you more vegetables from a bag on the counter.
“I told you,” Foggy began, his words still partially slurred. “He always knows when there’s a pretty girl. And usually he’s a sucker for the ones with questionable morals,” he told you, “but I think he’s got a bigger soft spot for damsels in distress.”
Snorting at his comment, you glanced up from your position on the floor in front of the fridge. “I am not remotely a damsel in distress,” you replied.
“I don’t know,” Foggy said, his tone already taking on a note of disagreement. “You are a young woman.” He waved his hand at you as if to prove his point. “And he says he’s heard you screaming a few times in the middle of the night–”
“I get nightmares,” you cut in defensively.
Foggy raised his hands in a placating gesture at your words. “I’m just saying, you sounded in distress. Ergo–damsel in distress.”
You let out a quiet, frustrated grunt before getting off of the floor and closing the fridge door. Making your way back to the counter with the grocery bags, you began grabbing more items out and putting them away in the pantry cabinet next.
“Unfortunately for him,” you began, trying to sound disinterested, “I don’t do relationships. Or one night stands. Especially not with…guys like him.”
“What’s that mean?” Foggy asked.
Closing the cabinet door, you turned and focused on him and Karen. They were eyeing you curiously now, both of them wearing serious expressions on their faces despite the alcohol in their systems.
“Flirts,” you answered simply.
A sheepish look crossed Foggy’s face at the word, slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, I’ll admit, Matt is pretty popular with the ladies.”
“Yeah, not my type,” you stated flatly.
Clearing the grocery bags from your counter, you could feel both Karen and Foggy watching you. You expected them to pry further about your dating history, or to question you more about Matt. But you were surprised at what came out instead.
“You want to come out with us tonight?” Karen asked you.
You paused at her question, not having expected it. Meeting her gaze with a raised brow, you stood across the counter from her.
“It’s just, I don’t feel like being alone in my apartment right now,” Karen said, the words practically spewing from her when she saw the look on your face. “And we were planning to stay out until the sun rose. Matt said you just moved to the city this past week, so I’m guessing you don’t know anyone here yet. So,” she paused, catching her breath before asking again, “would you like to come out with us?”
Biting your lip as her invitation hung in the air, you saw the hopeful look Foggy was sending you. It was true, you didn’t know anyone in the city. And having friends would be nice, it was something you didn’t usually get to have. But you also weren't great at relationships–the lack of experience from growing up in The Facility made sure of that.
But it was something you’d always wanted. A normal life. Friends. Maybe someday a normal, healthy, safe relationship. And you’d truthfully been antsy in your apartment all week, unable to really settle. If you stayed in, you’d most likely just go to sleep soon. Probably wake up from another nightmare covered in sweat and spiraling mentally.
…or you could go out with these two seemingly friendly individuals and attempt being “normal” for once.
“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “I’m not doing anything right now.”
Foggy pumped his fist into the air while releasing an excited noise that startled you, causing you to jump on the spot before a light laugh fell out of you. You definitely liked him. Across the kitchen counter, Karen let out an excited gasp, clearly surprised you’d given her that answer.
“Really?” she asked.
You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, why not,” you replied. “You’re right, I don’t know anyone here. Might be nice to make some friends.”
“Yes!” Foggy exclaimed. “I can absolutely, positively assure you that you will not regret making friends with us.”
Somehow, you had a feeling he was right.