Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

Well. How about that? Maybe Tanner is smarter than his movie twin.

“This one here just arrived this morning.” He thumbs a stubby finger at Apartment 1D before leading us to the apartment next to it with a gold ‘1C’ sign on it. His huge set of keys jangles as he searches for one in particular. “Now, I’ll tell you what I tell all my tenants. I’ve only got one rule but it’s a deal breaker. Keep thy peace! Don’t be throwin’ no wild parties with drugs and orgies—”

“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.

I shove all our sheets and blankets into two machines, cursing the world for making us sleep in secondhand bedding in the first place. I’m buying new bedding with my first pay check, I commit to myself. Dumping in a mixture of bleach and detergent, I set the water to its hottest setting, wishing it was labeled, “boil the hell out of any living organism.” That would make me feel marginally better.

The machines need six quarters per load. I hate paid laundry machines. Earlier, Livie and I accosted strangers at the mall with our dimes and nickels, asking for a trade. I have just enough in my stash, I realize, as I begin sliding them into their designated slots.

“Any free machines?” A deep male voice calls out directly behind me, surprising me enough that I yelp and throw the last three quarters in the air. Luckily, I have cat-like reflexes and I catch two coins midair. My eyeballs glue on to the last one as it hits the ground and rolls toward the washer. Dropping to my hands and knees, I dive for it.

But I’m too slow.

“Dammit!” The side of my face hits the cold pavement as I peer under the machine, searching for a glint of silver. My fingers can just fit underneath …

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Now I’m pissed. Who sneaks up on a female in an underground laundromat, other than a psycho or a rapist? Maybe he is one of the two. Maybe I’m supposed to be quivering in my sandals right now. I’m not though. I don’t scare easily and, frankly, I’m too damn annoyed right now to be anything else. Let him try to attack me. He’ll be in for the shock of a lifetime. “Why is that?” I force out between clenched teeth, trying to remain calm. Keep thy peace, Tanner warned us. No doubt he sensed something about me.