Anita

Meriam’s house was impressive, or at least, the outside of the apartment where her house resided was. The building itself was quite old, with brick walls freshly painted an energetic silvery blue. Several balconies, fenced in with intricately designed black bars, lined each side. The windows shone brightly with the rising reflection of the full moon, blocking the view of whatever laid inside.

Anita admired the building while Meriam moved her car into her assigned parking space, only a few small feet from the front door. When the sounds of the engine faded Anita stepped out of the tiny vehicle, forcing herself not to shiver against the cold and approaching the glass doors. She could feel the telltale tingle of magic surrounding the building and frowned, taking each step slowly in fear of walking into a wall.

When she reached the wall without any problems she grinned, leaning against the smooth surface and patiently waiting for Meriam to catch up. The girl punched in a few codes on the door, a slight click sounding in their ears as she pulled it open. Meriam held the door while Anita stepped inside, the brunette’s glasses fogging up in the warmer temperature.

“Goddamnit.” Anita snorted at Meriam’s annoyed mutter and continued her examination of the building. The lobby had a cozy interior, soft green chairs lined up along the walls, a couple mailboxes to the side that Meriam went over to check. The paintings held her interest. A variety of them hung slightly higher than her head along the hallways.

Tentatively, she ran a finger along one of the frames, gazing into the sad expression of the woman portrayed. A hand touched her shoulder and she whipped around, already curling into a defensive crouch. Meriam smiled and put her hands up in surrender and Anita slowly straightened, clearing her throat to cover her embarrassment.

“Why does this painting look so depressing?” Anita asked, trying to change the topic while also genuinely interested in the confusing painting.

“It’s just, I don’t know, art I guess.” Meriam shrugged, “There are a lot of paintings that hold different emotions, it’s a form of expression for most artists and they incorporate their own feelings into their work.”

“Oh.” Anita had a hard time pulling her attention from the woman. She decided she didn’t like that one, didn’t like the vibe it gave her and kept shooting glances at it as Meriam pulled her away.

The warm hand on her wrist reminded her of her bare skin and Anita crossed her arms over her chest, yanking herself free of Meriam’s grasp in the process. The girl apologized quickly, mistaking her action as dislike of her touch and Anita couldn’t find the words to correct her. She settled with a shrug, immediately regretting it at the resulting frown.

Anita shook her head slowly, she didn’t know how to do this, how to behave around her. If she had been different, cruel or cold, she could do it, but the girl’s kindness continued to confuse the life out of her.

“Why are you helping me?” Anita mumbled the question quietly, not really expecting a response.

“You don’t deserve the kind of life you’ve been given,” Meriam responded, pausing to dig her keys out of her purse. Anita hadn’t noticed the little bag before and was surprised at the amount of stuff that was crammed in it as Meriam started pulling out items. Glasses case, contacts, bulky wallet, tiny cylinders labeled “Lip Balm” and “Chapstick” , their purpose lost on Anita. Meriam shoved some of the items at Anita as she continued digging through her bag, a pile of utterly useless crap, as far as Anita was concerned, piling a mile high in her hands by the time the girl finally found her keys.

“Come on in,” Meriam called from inside. Anita stepped cautiously into the apartment, looking around for somewhere to drop the purse contents that wasn’t the floor. Plush carpet squished beneath her feet, her shoes discarded by the door at Meriam’s direction. “Just throw that stuff on the counter in the kitchen,” Meriam instructed, opening a closet to hang up her purse, “I’ll deal with it later.”

Where the hell is the kitchen? Anita wandered aimlessly into the house, placing the pile on the nearest elevated flat surface she found.

“That’s not the kitchen.” Meriam giggled, walking up behind her, “This is the living room.”

“Oh.” Anita went to pick them back up but Meriam waved her away, piling them into her arms and going farther down the hall. Anita followed behind slowly, glancing over the black leather couches and the large, flat thing that suddenly came to life. She jumped backwards, tripping over the couch and landing heavily on the ground. “Ow,” Anita hissed, rubbing her sore side.

“Are you okay?” Meriam asked, holding out a hand to pull her to her feet.

“I’m fine,” Anita growled, taking the offered assistance.

“Sorry,” Meriam whispered, immediately backing up a step and clasping her hands behind her back.

“Stop apologizing,” Anita sighed, scratching the side of her head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“So-” Meriam clamped her mouth shut and walked back to the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?” she asked instead.

Anita followed her into the bright room, raising an eyebrow at the sparkling interior. Aside from the purse placed carelessly on the counter the kitchen was spotless. Smooth glowing black counters along the walls, dark wood cabinets above and below. Meriam was twisting the cap off a chubby clear bottle labeled “Vodka”.

“What is that?” Anita slowly approached, recoiling at the strong scent. “No thanks.”

“It’s not meant to taste good,” Meriam grumbled, “meant to feel good.”

“What does that mean?” Anita frowned.

Meriam held out a small glass full of the disgustingly scented liquid, “Try and find out.”

Curiosity got the better of her and she took a small sip, wincing at the burning in her throat and coughing slightly. “Ew.” Meriam laughed and shook her head, pouring her own glass and downing it in one shot.

Anita copied her movement and gagged at the taste. Ugh, it was awful and left a tingling sensation in her throat that made her want to puke.

“Second one’s easier,” Meriam said, offering her the refilled glass.

“What is this meant to accomplish?” Anita coughed around the second shot.

“You’ll see soon enough.”