The Uber ride home was a blur. Somewhere between packing up all the items from my cubicle and getting out of the backseat, my mind had completely vacated my body.

7 PM and it’s pitch black out here, I thought.  Towering above me was the Ickmanns’ house, which is to say, Beck Ickmann, his ex-wife Cecilia Ickmann, and their 20 year-old daughter Bethany Ickmann’s house. Believe me, you did not want to be anywhere near their house before 9 PM. Usually, I’d stay out until then, but I was exasperated. Marching up to the guest house in the backyard, I ignored the cacophony of yells permeating from their basement dining room (Don’t ask.).  I ripped my keys from my bag and jammed a gold one into the lock. It didn’t work. I blew on the key, wiped it on my shirt, and tried again. Still didn’t work. I tried a different key. Still didn’t work. I tried another and another. Nothing was working. Oh, god. This CAN NOT be happening. I sucked in a deep breath. This meant I had to go to their front door and ask for Beck. That nauseous dread began to fill my whole torso once again, causing my heart to thump from my chest to my throat.

                It’s fine. It’s fine. I just have to go talk with him. It’ll be fine. Walking the cobblestone path to their front door, I rolled my eyes, I can’t believe how this day’s going. Little did I know.

                Their home was a tall, stately 2-story Victorian townhome. Last summer, I had helped them paint the roof a deep sapphire blue over the chestnut brown it had been. I wish I could say I did it out of the kindness of my heart, but, really, I was behind on rent.

As I neared the door, the screams grew louder, graduating to feral screeches. I braced myself for the worse and knocked three times.

“WHAT!” Bethany shrieked.

“It’s Vivian!” I yelled back.

The door whipped open. “The fuck do you want, creep?” She snarled, puffing smoke from her vape into my face. She always hated that I lived in their backyard. Itching her nose, she swatted the strands of blond highlights out of her face. She wore her typical get-up: ponytail, white t-shirt, baby blue denim jacket, and black skinny jeans. Cecilia and Beck’s argument carried around the house.

“Uh, my key won’t work…? I can’t get into my apartment, “I said, quietly. She rolled her eyes.

“DAD!”

“WHAT!” Her father yelled from the basement.

“It’s your fucking garden creep!”

I could hear Beck’s thudding footsteps thundering up the basement’s steps. In a minute, he peered around the hallway from the living room.

“Oh. Hi, Vivian,” he said somewhat nervously. He wore a grey t-shirt; his blue plaid jacket was tied around his waist; and his oversized pajama pants just grazed the floor.

“Hi, Beck,” I replied back, ignoring Bethany’s gaze burning through my face. She rolled her eyes and pivoted on her heel, heading into the house.

“So, you’re probably wondering about the keys—why you’re locked out, I mean…” He stared at the ground for a moment, his bald spot shined in the yellow light of the incandescent entry torches. Here it comes. “Look, I like you. But… I can’t keep waiting for you to get your shit together…”

I gulped harshly.

“I’ve given you chance after chance. And, look, I know your job wasn’t the best, but it’s getting ridiculous. You’ve made partial payments of what—1, 300…1,500?--on rent for the last 6 months. That’s like a $3,000 loss on my part.”

I feel like throwing up again. There’s no way. I can’t lose my job and my apartment in the same day. That’s not right. It can’t be. “Beck, I--,” I sucked in deep breath, “I know that I haven’t always been consistent… I know, but… please.” I looked into his eyes. His green eyes pierced mine; they mirrored his daughter’s perfectly. “Please, I really need a place. I just—I can’t—I don’t have another alternative,” my voice hitched.

“And, I would be understanding if this was the first or second time--”

“I know—I know, but please. I’ve been a good tenant, right?”

“Yes, yeah, but--”

“I even helped with the roof or even tasks in the house and I paid my part of the utilities and--”

“Yes, but, listen--”

Desperation clawed at me, “But, Beck, you can’t do this to me! You have to give me at least 30 days, or something?! I really need this—“

“This is not up for debate, Vivian! Unless you can make a payment right now…” He stepped forward, guarding the door with his massive shoulders. A shadow casted over his entire face.

“Please, I’ve just lost my job! I need someplace while I--!” Shit. I spilled the beans. My eyes widened as I realized what I’d just said.

“You what?” His mouth set into a line.

“I—I just need a place to stay while I get a new job,” I bowed my head down.  I am so fucked.

 “You need to get out,” his voice dropped an octave.

“Can I, at least, get some of my stuff—some of my food or something?” I said, shakily.

He stared at me silently. “Beth was right about you,” he said, seething. He stepped backwards into the house and gripped the door.

“W-wait,” I motioned.

The door slammed right in my face.

“Fuck.”

Backing away from the door, I hugged my purse close to me, trying to figure out what to do next. At her bedroom window, Bethany was smiling down at me.

That bitch.