Chapter Text
The apartment building you lived in had six floors total. You lived on the fifth floor. You swore the people above you stomped on purpose and the people below you hit their ceilings with their broomsticks and mop handles. The neighbors across the hall and next door liked to slam their door shut whenever they were entering or leaving their flat. But the worst neighbor lives three doors down the hall towards the elevator of the floor level. He yelled and screamed, a couple of times you heard him laughing about nightmares. You thought he was doing drugs and was having a bad trip but he never showed signs of drug use.
One time, you were in the elevator with him when he looked so frightened about something outside of the elevator doors. The terrified expression he wore really scared you because you didn’t see anything, it didn’t help that the lights were flickering in the hallway before the door closed and he continued to be frightened on the elevator ride. Even when you lived in New York up until you were fifteen, nothing scared you like that. Well, maybe the giant rats did and the mole people, but nothing was that terrifying until you were trapped in a small box with your weird as hell neighbor.
You needed change and moving over a thousand miles across the Atlantic ocean and new identity helped that. You are sixteen years old, although your travel documents and your forged birth certificate state that you are eighteen. You would have gone a couple years older than eighteen but you didn’t think you could properly pass as a twenty year old; and you still were working for your high-school diploma, even though you could absolutely bullshit your level of education on job applications, you’d rather be familiar with topics sixteen and eighteen year olds know so if someone were to question you, you would know.
You still kept your real name rather than a fake one. It was more of a convenience factor and reliability, so if someone were to say your real name you would respond to it. It was also a sign of respect for your parents. They were no longer in your life, they would never be again.
The neighbor to your right slams their door shut causing the picture frames on the wall to sway from side to side. You sigh as you watch the fake golden frames to see if today was going to be the day that they would fall. Part of you wanted the picture frames to fall, maybe if your neighbor heard the shatter of the glass they would feel bad and would finally stop slamming their doors after you asked them to. But alas, the frame slowed to a stop and sat precariously on the tack you shoved into the drywall. Maybe another day.
Sunlight shone through your windows, soon the sun would be setting and it would be too dark to go out and do the grocery shopping you’ve been procrastinating on. For the fourth time that afternoon you recount through the pile of money you’ve been saving for groceries. Forty one pounds, the equivalent of fifty United States dollars. It would have to be enough for the bus transportation of five pounds for the ride to the store and back and for the food you need- not the cake slice you’ve been wanting. With a sigh, you pocket the money into your jean jacket and zip up the pocket to make sure that the money doesn’t fall out. Grabbing your keys off of the kitchen counter before slipping on your sneakers, you exit your flat and lock the door behind you.
The hallway was dark as normal, the building was furnished to look nice for those who may want to live there after half of the population needed to rehome due to the blip. But, they of course overlooked the lighting. You began to slow to a stop in front of your weird neighbors door. The last time you saw him he was being carried out of his flat by two police officers, he’s been the talk of this building since nothing very interesting happens around here. Well, except for the vilangante dressed in white a white suit and cape. But, that wasn’t your neighbor, that was some weirdo fighting something that bystanders could only describe as the force from Star Wars.
Purple aliens exist and that bastard killed half of the population, at this point you wouldn’t be surprised if there were aliens that you couldn’t see. Now, you placed your ear against the wooden door and listened for any noise that would show that he was back. But all you heard was a noise of water filtering that sounded like a fish tank. Your eyes landed on the floor of the hallway, there was sand outside of his door. You scrunch your eyes and remove your ear from the door before continuing on your journey towards the elevator. Why was there sand outside of his door?
You pushed the elevator button and waited for it to arrive on your floor, your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth as you watched the numbers flash for each floor it was passing to reach yours. You looked over your shoulder and back to his apartment, part of you expected for him to open his door and chastise you about eavesdropping, it really was rude of you to do but you couldn’t help but be curious. Wasn’t there a rumor that he got arrested for destroying his workplace toilets? Maybe he really was using drugs and it was so early on that he did not develop any symptoms yet.
The elevator opens and you step into the metal box before pressing the number for the first floor. Your eyes flicker away from the button and to the hallway, your lips part and your eyes stare as you watch the lights flicker several times before the doors close and you begin your descent. It was weird and stupid of you to think there was any correlation between your frightened neighbor screaming his head off in the elevator, the vigilante in the white suit fighting invisible creatures, and now you being alone in the same elevator he was in, but still chills ran down your spine at the thought of creatures you couldn’t see were following you around.
—
The walk to the bus stop and the ride itself was uneventful, even the walk to the store was boring. Throughout your journey to get food for the week, your mind was consumed by your strange neighbor’s whereabouts, was he still in jail? Was it true that he wrecked his workplace toilets and if so, why? What was he screaming at? Your hand reaches for the bag of frozen mixed vegetables and you pause in your reach. You remembered the flickering of the hallway lights from earlier today, was something there that you couldn’t see? You shook your head at the thought, that’s ridiculous right? You nod to yourself as you place the bag into your basket and walk towards the bakery section of the store. The last thing you needed was bread, you already gathered bagged rice, frozen chicken, and vegetables. Last week you spent some money on peanut butter and jelly, which you still had leftovers for, but you ran out of bread this morning. You’ve been on a budget since moving to England, your parents had very little in savings to pass down to you and the little you saved for college you used for the deposit on the apartment and the first six months of rent.
You didn’t have much to spend on goodies. The money you earned from your job working at a sandwich shop went towards rent, bills, and groceries. You didn’t have much left over to spend, the little you did went towards your weekly transportation between work and home, and home and the store. You stopped in the bakery section, your eyes landed on the single slices of cake they put at the end of the aisles for easy selling to hungry customers. The price of the single chocolate cake slice costs half as much as the loaf of bread you needed. Your mouth watered at the treat you’ve been craving.
You haven’t had cake since your fifteenth birthday, your sixteenth you spent the day working and came home to an empty apartment. You unzipped your jacket pocket and counted the cash you budgeted for this week’s trip. It was still the same amount you counted when you left. Forty-one pounds. It was silly of you to think that more cash would have magically appeared in your pocket on the way to the store. With a sigh, you put the cash back into your pocket and zipped it shut. Your hands knit together, bringing the basket closer to your torso as your tongue darted out and wet your lips, your eyes never left the slice of cake.
Okay, it’s just one slice. You can eat peanut butter right out of the jar with a spoon, besides it’s just a little treat. You deserve a treat. With a bit of excitement, you grabbed the top container of chocolate cake and put it in the basket before walking to the self-checkout section. Respectfully paying for the items you selected, you leave the store with a small hop in your step. You were smiling to yourself, your stomach began growling as you thought about the treat you bought. Two years ago- with your timeline of events because it’s still hard to wrap your mind around that you lost five years of your life due to an alien with personal issues- you wouldn’t have thought that cake would become a treat that you would have to choose bread over the majority of the time. You wouldn’t have thought that your sixteen year old self would be moving to another continent and living by yourself, but here you are.
The setting sun glared into your eyes as you jogged to the bus stop, your fingers were wrapped around your grocery bags. The red hound bus was slowly approaching the stop and quickly you picked up your pace, by the time you got onto the bus and paid the fee, you were out of breath. One of your hands wrapped around the pole attached to the ceiling and floor of the vehicle as you prepared for the lurch of the bus before it continued on its daily route. You had roughly twenty minutes until your stop before it would be another ten minutes on foot before you reached your apartment.
The bus was crowded with evening travelers, there wasn’t a single spot open to sit down in any of the seats. Most of the passengers stared at their phones, while others looked out the window of the vehicle. You were one of the latter people. You watched the scenery as you passed by, the television shows you watched back when you were in Northern America that took place in London didn’t do it any justice. It was a beautiful city, everyday the sight of the same locations you saw always made you breathless. Especially during the times of the setting or rising sun and moon hit just right between buildings and through the crossing of branches from trees.
You wanted to record the everyday life of beautiful moments like this one and post them online for your friends and family who follow you on social media to see. But, you never did, they thought you were dead. One of the unlucky who was in the wrong place when being blipped back into existence. Just like your parents were. It was better for them to believe that you were dead anyways. Your hand tightened around the pole as the bus slowed to a stop before you released your grip and exited the bus, mumbling a thank you to the driver as you left.
The walk to your apartment was quiet, there weren’t a lot of people out at this time. Most of the population of London was eating dinner and beginning to unwind from the day. You switched the bag of food from your right and to your left to give the joint a break. You were just a few minutes away from your apartment, plans to relax for the evening began to flood your mind but, of course, life had other plans. You let out a yell of surprise as you were shoved into a nearby alley, your shoulder hit the brick wall and you grunted at the impact. Your eyes flickered to the person who shoved you.
The person wore dark blue jeans and a long sleeved black shirt along with a mask covering the lower half of their face. They wore a baseball cap, strands of brown hair poked out underneath as their brown eyes glared daggers at you.
“Give me your money,” the man hisses, flicking open his switchblade. You swallow as your eyes stare at the knife. Great, you were getting mugged. The money you did have was from the leftovers that you didn’t spend on bread, you were going to use that for next week’s trip to the store. Slowly, you dropped your grocery bag to the ground and unzipped your pocket and pulled out the single pound.
“Are you bloody joking?” He asks while he snatches the pound from your hand.
“No,” you say, “I don’t have much money.”
“Give me your phone,” he demands as he stuffs the pound into his jean pocket. You swallow, and despite the sharp blade glinting in the setting sun and the sight of it causing you to panic a bit, you shook your head. You have too many irreplaceable things on the device. Too many pictures of a time before that you have yet to download onto a flash drive or print out. He’s not getting the damn phone.
“Are you mad? I have a knife and you’re refusing to give me your phone?” He says, it didn’t sound like a question. He steps forward and presses the tip of the blade into your neck as his other hand reaches for your jacket pocket. You clench your hands into a fist as you try to remember the correct way that your dad taught you how to throw a punch. Was the thumb supposed to be on the inside of your hand or the outside to prevent a broken joint?
The mugger smelled like cigarettes as he patted your pockets for the phone. Fuck it, you thought. You breathed in as you prepared to throw hands for your phone but a voice stopped you and it didn’t belong to the mugger.
“Step away from them,” a British voice says. Carefully, you shifted your head towards the entrance of the alley, the mugger was already looking at the new person. You barely contained your surprise as you saw the familiar figure of your neighbor standing with confidence and a dark look in his brown eyes. Well, your neighbor is no longer arrested so that solves that question of his whereabouts.
But despite how confident he looked in his abilities to beat this guy’s ass, you didn’t feel very hopeful. Your neighbor looked like he hadn’t been in any fights before, and the screaming from whatever he saw in the elevator that day really diminished any confidence you had in his abilities. Maybe, you should throw that punch now. Your neighbor took a step forward, his posture straightened and his jaw clenched as he continued the strides towards the two of you. With a little hesitation, you turned your head back to the mugger, feeling the knife’s tip dig a little deeper into your skin and blood ran down your throat. You exhaled as you brought your right hand up and punched the mugger right the nose, he gasped and stumbled back as he clutched his nose. A string of swear words directed towards you left his mouth as your neighbor picked up him by the shoulder and pushed him into the brick wall.
Your hand stung, you spared a glance down at your fist to make sure that you didn’t break it, it didn’t feel like it at least thanks to the adrenaline coursing through you. You glared at the mugger as you noticed that the handle of your groceries were wrapped around his ankle and your neighbor was stepping directly on the bag. Fuck, there goes your cake and more importantly your food for the week.
“You do this to everyone?” Your neighbor asks, his British accent was gone and was replaced by an American one. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as you watch the scene play out. He adds, “or just to kids?” You frown as the mugger shakes his head, the knife was discarded to the pavement.
“No,” the mugger says, his hands are wrapped around the wrists of your neighbor. “I do this to everyone, it’s an equal opportunity for everyone.” Your stomach churned at his statement. It was obvious that he has done this before because of how confident he was to do it to you, but to state that it was “an equal opportunity” was what sickened you. It was possible that he did this to kids younger than you. You watch as your neighbor balled his hand into a fist and punched the mugger once, twice, three times until you finally had to look away when blood splattered on the brick wall and surrounding surfaces. You felt nauseated listening to the cracks on bones and groans coming from the mugger’s mouth.
It felt like ages before you finally heard the noise stop and the soft sound of footsteps approach you. You should have left, you could be in danger because of how deranged your neighbor seemed. But, you stayed and you weren’t sure why until your neighbor bent down a bit your height and carefully placed a hand onto your shoulder. You flinched before your head slowly turned to look at him, his eyes were filled with worry and so much care that it gave you whiplash from the man that saved you from mugging and anything else that could have happened and to him making sure that you were okay.
“Are you okay?” He asks, his accent was back to British. Your stomach churned and you shook your head a little before you quickly shoved him a bit to the side and threw up onto the pavement. A hand was placed gently onto your back and rubbed small circles into your spine. He says, “Come on, I’ll walk you back home.” You stand up after making sure that you weren’t going to throw up any more. You spared a glance at the unconscious body on the ground but just your eyes landed on it and your neighbor blocked your view with his body. Your eyes trailed up his torso before you looked at your neighbors face. Blood was smeared on his cheek and there were specks of it dotting across his skin.
“You live three doors down from me right?” He asks, back to the American accent. His jaw wasn’t as clenched as it was before and the crinkles around his eyes looked more relaxed. What the hell is going on? Is your hearing fucked or are you really hearing him switch accents?
“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, but it didn’t sound like you. Did you speak or did you imagine that? You must have spoken because your neighbor nodded. He gently places a hand back onto your back before pushing you towards the entrance of the alley.
“I’ll walk you home and explain to your parents that you’re in shock and what happened, alright?” He says. You cross your arms over your chest and begin your walk home, his words still struck a chord in you though. Who is he going to explain what happened to? Your parents are dead, you have nobody to explain the events of today to. You have nobody to come home to.
“I live alone,” You say quietly. You still weren’t sure if you were speaking or not. He looks at you with a bit of surprise.
“Really, you look like you’re sixteen,” He states, you nod and pinch your fingers onto your arm. Pain surfaced from the area you pinched and you nod to yourself. Right, this isn’t a dream, this is real. Your neighbor beat up your mugger and you’re in shock. Right, okay.
“How do you feel about coming over to my place then, just to make sure that you’re going to be okay,” He speaks with a British accent. You bite the inside of your cheek and feel a sting from the flesh before the taste of metal fills your mouth. You should go with him, just to have someone look after you until the shock wears off. Although, you had half the mind to decline his offer because you really weren’t sure if he was a drug addict and he did just probably kill somebody. Still, despite this thought, you threw all caution out the window and decided to trust this man, he did just save your life. If he wanted you dead he could have killed you in the alley with that one guy. Think positive, what could go wrong?
“Okay,” you say.