Returning to the kitchen, I dispose of the oil-soaked paper towels and quickly turn down the heat under the saucepan. I stir the stew gently, and I discover that the bottom of the pan has started to turn dark. There goes my hope for perfection. On the bright side, at least it's still edible and the excessive heat must have given it an added flavour, hopefully.

In a while, exhaustion is the only thing I feel, even after my stew is done and the rice cooker has also been turned off. I've never been a fan of cooking because in the society I grew up in, men didn't cook. But my mother never went by that rule and she taught me to make my own meals. With a belt in her hand and a time bomb over my head, of course.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open my email and search for the conversation I had with the girl concerning my spare bedroom. My fingers tap on the screen until I'm on the page.

Date: May 3, 2019 1:39:46- GMT

From: Lucilleforreal(at)gmail.com

Subject: Roommate
I'm interested in renting out the room. Can I come see the place?

Lucille. That was her name.

I had told her, yes, anytime she was free. That had been over a month ago, and the thought of Lucille ever appearing had faded more and more into nothingness. In the weeks after, several people had come to view the place.

There had been a weird man with a lisp and an unkempt beard who had expressed his interest, turns out he was running from the law and had escaped from prison. I saw his face on the news not a day later. And boy, was I glad to reject him—even if it had been after I saw him shove a bunch of bananas I had in his coat.

The second person had been a woman in her 50s who had only come around with the aim of finding company. Younger, blacker, more exotic company. Particularly me. She was out as soon as I realized what she was after---someone to provide her with 'sweet loving' as she put it.

I had sort of given up the idea of sharing my living space with someone until now, and that is only because Lucille seems desperate and she hasn't exhibited any disturbing traits so far.

She doesn't come out of her room until about 7 pm though, when I'm feasting on my slightly burned masterpiece of a meal and flipping through TV channels.

She's dressed in cargo pants and a t-shirt, a backpack in her hand. I ask if she wants to eat before she heads out to wherever. She declines.

Guess I have tomorrow's breakfast set out for me.

But before she heads out the door, she asks for house keys. I search up the spare I have and place it in her palm which she could up hastily.

"Don't wait up for me," says Lucille.

I don't. Not exactly. I only happen to be awake when she returns. Might I add, she comes through the window.

Lucille might not be so normal after all. Because no normal person enters a house they have keys to by climbing in through a freaking window. And that is the exact reason why I almost gave her a concussion with a can of bug spray-- the only thing close enough to reach for when I suddenly see one window sliding up while the suspect groaned audibly.

Fortunately, she launches herself into the room before I get the chance to whack her and we both fall to the floor. She scrambles off me, giving me a wide-eyed look when she sees what my hand is gripping onto.

"You were going to hit me with that thing?"

"You used the window! How was... I had no way of telling it was you," I retort, sitting up when she rolls off me. "You're the one who is playing burglar while you have keys to the front door."

Lucille freezes, then a smile crawls up her heart-shaped face. "Oh my God, I did, didn't I?" She starts to laugh and I don't fail to notice how much her face glows with the action. It's satisfying watching the way her nostrils flare and her eyes reduce to slits that are barely open. "This is funny."

"Not as funny as it is disturbing."

She's still laughing, bent over with hands poised on her knees. "No, no it---you're right... it's freaking hilarious." She struggles to speak even as she stands upright and hooks her bag over her shoulder. "It's just I've been sneaking out of my parents' house so much and I always sneak back in through the windows because they always forget to lock it. Guess it kinda stuck."

Lucille pats my shoulder as she begins to walk away, still bellowing, still unable to catch a full breath. "You're alright, Kobby. Even if you almost maimed me."

"You're alright too, I guess." You're the most normal thing around here.

She laughs even louder, as if she heard what I thought, as if I've never been farther from the truth.

But compared to everything that's happened to me in the past year, she really is normal.