Your Turn to Suffer by Tim Waggoner (free romance novels .TXT) 📗

The residents’ mailboxes were located in a central area outside the rental office, but she hadn’t felt like stopping and checking hers tonight. Whatever bills and junk mail that waited for her would keep until tomorrow.

The building only had two levels, and her apartment was located on the second floor. She held on to the thin metal railing as she ascended the stairs, more out of habit than any real need for support. There were two apartments on the ground floor and two on the second. Hers was 2B. She walked to her door – which was painted a particularly ugly avocado green – fished her keys out of her purse, opened the door, stepped inside, then quickly closed and locked it behind her. She didn’t consider herself paranoid exactly, but leaving the door unlocked, even for a short time, seemed like an unnecessary risk to her. And after what had happened tonight, she wanted the feeling of security being in her own place, locked door between her and the rest of the world, provided.

She flipped the light switch next to the door, and the floor lamp in the living room came on. This light was soft and warm, much better than the hallway’s fluorescents, and she sighed, relieved to be home. But her relief was short-lived. As she walked into the living room, she saw it was a mess. A comforter lay in a bunched-up mass on the couch, and a bed pillow lay on the floor between the couch and the glass coffee table. The table was littered with detritus – empty corn chip bag, a bowl coated with salsa residue, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and three empty cans of a highly caffeinated energy drink, along with several books and magazines stacked in a lopsided pile. She knew from experience that the pages in the reading material would be dog-eared, and probably stained with salsa, too. Larry was far from the tidiest roommate she’d ever had. She didn’t want to go into the kitchen. God only knew what sort of state he’d left it in before heading out to play his gig.

A duffel bag lay on the floor next to the couch. It was open and clothes – T-shirts and underwear, mostly – stuck partway out of it. Back when they’d both shared the same bed, she’d spent too much time picking up after him. But since they’d broken up, he’d become more considerate. Yes, he’d left a mess behind when he’d gone off to play his gig, but at least it was a contained mess. That was a major improvement.

The first time she’d confronted Larry about being a slob, he’d tried to play it off as no big deal. I’m a creative type. We live in our heads, not in the real word, you know? Besides, what does it matter where stuff is? On a shelf, on the floor…. Is one place inherently better than the other?

She’d felt like strangling him then. Sometimes she wished she had.

She’d first met Larry Ramirez when he’d accompanied one of his clients – a deaf man who’d undergone multiple back surgeries – to physical therapy. Larry was a sign language interpreter in his day job, and he served as the communication channel between his client and Lori. She’d found him funny and charming, not to mention handsome, and after the fourth PT session for his client, she’d asked him out. He wasn’t her patient so it wasn’t exactly unethical for her to go out with him, but it did skirt the boundaries of professionalism. They’d had dinner then gone back to her place to have a drink. She made it a rule not to sleep with guys on the first date, but she’d broken that rule with Larry. They started dating regularly after that, and three months later, when the lease on his apartment was up, she asked him to move in with her.

Larry didn’t only sign for the deaf; he was also a jazz guitarist who sometimes played with a group and sometimes played solo. She wasn’t the biggest fan of jazz, but she thought he played beautifully, and she loved to watch him perform, whether in a group or on his own.

She’d learned one other thing about him early on. He was bisexual. He’d told her not to worry, that he was currently in a ‘girl phase’. She’d never dated anyone who was bisexual before, and she was worried. She feared he’d eventually get tired of her and go into a ‘guy phase’, but she decided to put her fears aside and see where their relationship went. It lasted for the better part of three years before she’d decided they made better friends than lovers. When she told Larry, he’d agreed at once, and while she’d been relieved that he’d taken it so well, she’d also been disappointed that he didn’t seem at least a little bit sad. He’d always been a go-with-the-flow type, but she would’ve liked to think their relationship had meant something more to him.

Larry didn’t have a steady job. As both an interpreter and a musician he got paid by the gig and, after they broke up, he hadn’t been able to afford his own place right away. She’d told him he could continue to stay with her until he’d saved up enough money to move out. That had been nine months ago, and he was still sleeping on her couch every night. Not counting those nights when he stayed out partying with friends or having sex with whoever he was seeing at the time. She kept hoping he’d enter into a long-term relationship with someone and move into their place, but he rarely slept with anyone more than a handful of times in a row.

She’d once asked him why he kept moving from one short-term relationship to another.

It’s hard to find anyone who holds my interest very long, you know? He’d smiled and added, You were