Rooming with the Enemy

Astrid Sinclair

The glass doors of the luxury high-rise closed behind me, cutting off the warm, vanilla-scented air of the lobby. Instantly, the damp autumn chill hit me like a physical blow. I pulled my hood up, shielding my face as I stood beneath the concrete awning, staring at my phone screen.

The digital transit app flared to life. A single one-way bus token to the downtown district was $2.75.

I flipped over to my banking app, staring at the numbers that had been haunting me all evening.

$14.52.

If I took the bus there and back, that was $5.50 gone. I would be left with exactly $9.02 to survive on until my bi-weekly university stipend cleared in six days. Nine dollars meant choosing between eating a single hot meal or buying the loose-leaf paper I needed to submit my lab reports.

"Two miles," I muttered to myself, staring into the dark, empty street. "It's just two miles. It’s a straight shot down Grand Avenue. I can walk it in thirty-five minutes if I sprint."

Right on cue, the sky completely opened up.

A sudden, violent crack of thunder rattled the windows above me, and a torrential downpour slammed into the pavement. Within seconds, the light drizzle transformed into a thick sheet of blinding water. The wind picked up, driving the rain sideways beneath the awning, soaking the bottom of my jeans.

I clenched my jaw, zipping my thrift-store hoodie up to my chin. My organic chemistry textbook was buried in the center of my backpack, wrapped tightly in two plastic grocery bags to keep the pages dry. That book was my only ticket out of this cycle, and I wasn't going to let a storm ruin it.

I stepped out from under the awning and straight into the rain.

The cold water instantly pierced through the thin cotton of my hoodie, gluing the fabric to my shoulders. I started walking, my old canvas sneakers squelching miserably with every step I took against the flooded sidewalk. By the time I crossed the first three intersections, the glitz and glamour of the university district began to fade. The pristine storefronts and well-lit cafes gave way to dark industrial lots, boarded-up brick warehouses, and iron security gates.

The streetlights here were spaced further apart, half of them flickering violently or completely dead. The roaring sound of the storm filled my ears, masking any footsteps that might be lingering in the shadows. I felt a familiar, tight knot of anxiety form in the pit of my stomach, my eyes darting toward the pitch-black alleyways.

To keep myself from panicking, I started reciting formulas under my breath.

"Acid-catalyzed dehydration of secondary alcohols," I whispered, my teeth beginning to chatter from the biting cold. "The mechanism requires a proton transfer... then carbocation formation... then another proton transfer... shit, what was the temperature threshold?"

A sudden, deep growl cut through the sound of the falling rain.

It wasn't thunder. It was the low, aggressive purr of a high-performance engine.

A pair of bright, blinding LED headlights cut through the dark sheet of water behind me, casting my long, trembling shadow against the brick wall of an abandoned dry cleaner. I pressed my back closer to the side of the building, my heart instantly leaping into my throat. A lone girl walking down a deserted, unlit street at midnight was an easy target. My hand slipped into my pocket, my fingers desperately searching for my small self-defense keychain.

The car didn't speed past. Instead, it slowed down to a crawl, the heavy tires splashing through the deep puddles as it matched my exact walking pace.

It was a sleek, low-slung, jet-black luxury sports car. It looked like a brand-new Audi R8—a machine that cost easily over $150,000, looking entirely alien and predatory against the decaying backdrop of the downtown docks. The windows were heavily tinted, reflecting the jagged flashes of lightning in the sky.

I picked up my pace, my breath catching in my chest.

The passenger window slowly, silently rolled down. The warm, amber glow of the vehicle's high-tech dashboard spilled out into the rainy night, illuminating a sharp, rigid jawline, dark damp hair, and a pair of piercing eyes that were currently burning holes through me.

Calix.

"Are you completely out of your fucking mind, Sinclair?" he barked over the steady rumble of the engine.

I stopped dead in my tracks, wiping a stream of freezing water away from my eyes. "What the hell are you doing here, Calix? Are you tracking me?"

"Get in the car," he said, leaning across the premium leather passenger seat, his tone completely unyielding.

"No," I shouted back, the rain dripping from the tip of my nose. "Go away! Go back to your luxury penthouse and leave me alone!"

"Astrid, look around you," Calix growled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. "It’s a literal monsoon, it’s midnight, and you’re walking through a district where people get jumped for a twenty-dollar bill. Get your stubborn ass in the fucking car right now."

"I told you, I'm fine! I like the walk!" I lied, shivering violently as a gust of wind sent a fresh wave of freezing water straight down the collar of my shirt.

"You look like a drowned rat," he sneered, though the usual mocking smirk was entirely missing from his face. His expression was dark, heavy, and intensely irritated. "Your lips are literally turning blue, Sinclair. Why didn't you take the goddamn bus?"

"Because it’s none of your business!" I screamed back over a loud rumble of thunder. "Just drive away, Calix! You made it perfectly clear earlier that you don't care about my life, so stop pretending to be my savior now!"

Calix pressed his foot on the gas, moving the car forward another few feet to keep blocking my path. "Joshua told me, okay?"

I froze. "What?"

"Joshua saw your phone screen on the kitchen counter earlier before you left," Calix said, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register that carried an uncomfortable amount of weight. "He told me you have fourteen bucks left to your name. Two dollars and seventy-five cents for a bus token is too much for you right now, isn't it? You’re walking through a storm because you can't afford the fucking fare."

A suffocating wave of hot, burning humiliation rushed straight to my cheeks, completely overriding the freezing cold of the rain. It felt like he had stripped me bare right there on the concrete.

"Shut up!" I yelled, my voice cracking as tears of pure shame threatened to mix with the rain on my face. "Shut the fuck up, Calix! You don't get to look down on me from your hundred-thousand-dollar car. I am working! I am earning my own way! I don't need your pity, I don't need your money, and I damn sure don't need your ride!"

"This isn't pity, you idiot!" Calix snapped. He suddenly threw the sports car into park right in the middle of the empty, dark street.

Before I could even register what he was doing, he pushed his door open and stepped out into the torrential downpour. He didn't have a jacket. Within two seconds, his expensive dark designer t-shirt was completely soaked, clinging to the broad, heavy lines of his chest and shoulders. He didn't seem to care. He marched around the hood of the car, his heavy boots splashing through the water until he stopped directly in front of me, completely cutting off my escape route.

"Get out of my way," I whispered, trying to push past his shoulder, but he caught my upper arms in his large, warm hands.

His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute iron. The heat radiating from his skin felt like a furnace against my frozen body.

"I-I said let go of me," I stammered, a violent shiver racking my entire frame, my voice breaking from the sudden shock of his touch.

Calix looked down at my pale, dripping face, his dark eyes wide and blazing with a chaotic, dangerous frustration. He reached over with one hand and popped the passenger door wide open. The blast of the car’s internal heater, smelling of rich leather and warmth, rushed out into the freezing night air.

"You are the most infuriating, stubborn woman I have ever met in my entire life," Calix murmured, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"I don't care what you think of me," I choked out, trying to wrench my arms free from his grasp. "Let me go to my shift."

"Look down the block, Astrid," Calix said, his voice suddenly dropping into a chillingly quiet, deadly tone that completely cut through the roaring storm.

I blinked through the heavy rain, my eyes traveling past his broad shoulder toward the distant, flickering neon sign of the liquor store three blocks away.

My blood turned to pure ice.

Three tall figures had just stepped out from the deep shadows of an abandoned warehouse lot. They weren't seeking shelter from the rain. They were standing in a line, watching the two of us intently. As I watched, one of them took a slow step forward, casually pulling a long, heavy metal pipe from behind his back, letting the end of it scrape menacingly against the wet pavement. They began walking slowly, deliberately, in our direction.

Calix didn't look back at them. He kept his eyes locked firmly onto mine, his grip tightening on my arms as he pushed me gently but completely backward, forcing my hips straight against the plush leather edge of the open passenger seat.

"Get in the car right now," Calix commanded, his face millimeters from mine, his dark whisper laced with an absolute, terrifying authority. "The local street gangs don't give a fuck about your pride or your pre-med exam, Sinclair. And I am not fighting five guys in an alleyway tonight just because you're too damn proud to accept a free ride.