Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(4)

“Sorry, can you specify—what qualifies as an orgy in the State of Florida? Are threesomes okay? What if blow ups are involved, ’cause, you know …” I interject, earning a pause and a scowl from Tanner and a sharp jab to the shoulder blade from Livie.

After clearing his throat, he goes on as if I didn’t speak. “No feuds, family or otherwise. I don’t have patience for that crap and I’ll boot you out faster than you can lie to me. Understand?”

I nod and bite my tongue, fighting the urge to hum the Family Feud theme song as Tanner pushes the door open.

“Cleaned and painted it myself. It’s not new, but it should give you what you asked for.”

The apartment’s small and meagerly furnished, with a green and white tiled kitchenette area lining the back. The white walls only enhance the hideous puce and orange floral couch. Cheap forest green carpet and the faint scent of moth balls pulls together the 70’s white trash look nicely. More importantly, it’s nothing like the picture in the ad. Surprise, surprise.

Tanner scratches the back of his graying head. “Not much to it, I know. There are two bedrooms over there and a bathroom between them. Put in a new toilet last year so …” His lop-sided gaze shifts to me. “If that’s all …”

He wants his money. With a tight smile, I reach into the front pocket of my backpack and slide out a thick envelope. Livie ventures further into the apartment while I pay him. Tanner watches her go, biting his lip as if he wants to say something. “She seems a bit young to be out on her own. Do your parents know you two are here?”

“Our parents are dead.” It comes out as harsh as I intend and it does the trick. Mind your own damn business, Tanner.

His face turns ashen. “Oh, um, sorry to hear that.” We stand uncomfortably for all of three seconds. I fold my hands under my armpits, making it clear that I have no intention of shaking any hands. When he spins on his heels and heads out the door, I release a small sigh. He can’t wait to get away from me, either. Over his shoulder, he hollers, “laundromat’s underground. I clean it once a week and expect all tenants to help out with keeping it tidy. I’m in 3F if you need anything.” He disappears, leaving the key sitting in the lock.

I find Livie investigating the medicine cabinet in a bathroom made for hobbits. I try to step in but there isn’t enough room for both of us. “New toilet. Old, repulsive shower,” I mutter, my foot tracing the grungy, cracked tile floor.

“I’ll take this room,” Livie offers, squeezing past me to head to the bedroom on the right. It’s empty except for a dresser and a twin bed with a peach crocheted spread over it. Black bars line the single window that faces the exterior of the building.

“You sure? It’s small.” I know without looking at the other room that this one is the smaller of the two. That’s how Livie is. Selfless.

“Yeah. It’s okay. I like small spaces.” She grins. She’s trying to make the best of it, I can tell.

“Well, when we throw those all-night ragers, you won’t be able to fit more than three guys in here at once. You do realize that, right?”

Livie tosses a pillow at me. “Funny.”

My bedroom is the same except it’s slightly bigger and has a double bed with an ugly-ass green knit blanket. I sigh, my nose scrunching with disappointment. “Sorry, Livie. This place looks nothing like the ad. Damn Tanner and his false advertising.” I tilt my head. “I wonder if we can sue him.”

Livie snorts. “It’s not so bad, Kace.”

“You say that now, but when we’re fighting roaches for our bread …”

“You? Fighting? Big shocker.”

I laugh. Few things make me laugh anymore. Livie, trying to be sarcastic is one of them. She tries to pull off airy and cool. She ends up sounding like one of those radio announcers doing a dramatic rendition of a cheesy murder mystery.

“This place sucks, Livie. Admit it. But we’re here and it’s all we can afford right now. Miami’s freakin’ expensive.”

Her hand slides into mine and I squeeze it. It’s the only one I can handle touching. It’s the only one that doesn’t feel dead. Sometimes I have a hard time letting it go. “It’s perfect, Kace. Just a little small and mothbally and green, but we’re not that far from the beach! That’s really what we wanted, right?” Livie stretches her arms above her head and groans. “So, now what?”

“Well, for starters, let’s get you enrolled in the high school this afternoon so that big brain of yours doesn’t shrink,” I say, popping open my suitcase to empty its contents. “After all, when you’re making a bazillion dollars and curing cancer, you’ll need to send money my way.” I rifle through my clothes. “I need to enroll at a gym. Then I’ll go see how much Spam and creamed corn I can buy for an hour with my sweaty, hot body on the corner.” Livie shakes her head. Sometimes she doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor. Sometimes I think she wonders if I’m serious. I stoop to yank the covers from my bed. “And I definitely need to bleach the shit out of this entire place.”

***

The building’s laundromat beneath our apartment is nothing to write home about. Panels of fluorescent lights cast a harsh light over faded robin’s egg blue concrete floors. A floral scent barely masks the musky odor lingering in the air. The machines are at least fifteen years old, and they’ll probably do more damage than good to our clothes. But there’s not a cob web or a piece of lint anywhere.