Two of a Kind

This follows n from yesterday's story, and it might land better if you read that one first.

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He's so neat.

So neat.

And quiet.

Really quiet.

He's a bit of a loner, really. Like me. If we weren't both loners, we might be friends. He's a bit awkward. The sort that doesn't make friends easily. This suits me; it means no raucous parties.

Bit of a loner, I guess. Like me, maybe. Suits me just fine. No house guests. I got a decent routine going, and I don't like surprises or changes.

He tried to be friendly when I first moved in, but he seems a bit dorky to be honest. Not the sort of guy people would normally be friends with. I'm trying to pull off "normal" and "people", so I stayed cold and distant, and now he leaves me alone. I leave him alone, too. That's for the best.

I'm not actually sure what he does for a living, but the rent is always on time, so why should I care? I guess if it's something illegal, that could be bad... but only if I'm not really careful. I have to be really careful anyway, so... meh. Don't want that Gillian-bitch-landlady going off on one again. Whinging about her other tenants, and weird smells. Putting the rent up.

Every so often he has this way of smiling that puts you in mind of the way sunlight glints off his glasses in November. Bright and sharp and cold. He seems harmless but... no. I've been listening to That Bitch too much. Christ, she thinks just because she pushed me out into this rotten world she has some sort of ownership over me.

He's a bit annoying. Got a square face, and boyband hair. I bet girls like him. Stupid. Girls are stupid. Still. I tried to be nice when he first moved in. He's a bit up himself, but like I say, as long as he pays up on time I don't care. I don't need anyone.

When I found out he was a writer, I was worried he'd want to go on and on about "his book" (there's always a book, isn't there?) and that would have been unbearable. But he just sits there, in his anorak, scribbling. Or smiling to himself, and pushing his hair out of his eyes. Or he shuts himself away in his room for days.

The best thing about him is: he doesn't ask questions. I was worried he would ask a bunch, because he did before he moved in. Storage space, and freezer space, and who knows what else. It's like he got them all out of his system, and now he never asks any. No matter if I go off somewhere for a while, or what time I come in. Good. Shit's none of his business.

He doesn't go outside much. A pale, awkward loser. It's occurred to me that if ever the authorities do catch up with me (not that that's likely; they aren't exactly very clever) he makes a very convenient scapegoat. Like I say: he fits the profile (which is to say, the stereotypes) quite neatly. So much so that That Bitch would absolutely freak out if she ever met him. She hasn't been round yet. I've been able to put her off, so far. I blame him, obviously. That makes her suspicious enough, but I've no doubt if she met him it would be even worse. She would probably drag me out of here and beg me to come back home. She was already worried he was an axe murderer when I told her I was moving in.

The other good thing about him is: he respects my space. My stuff. Boundaries and that, you know. He's never been in my room, so he never saw the blood stains. I cleaned them up, of course. But it took a while, and quite a bit of experimenting. I told him which shelf of the fridge is mine, and he's never once touched it. All I have to do is put things right at the back. He'll never look back there. Just like I don't go messing in his bit of the freezer, or his room.

One bit of old wisdom I've decided to live by is: don't shit where you eat. It's tempting, for convenience, to bring my hobby home. Especially since I have such a handy scapegoat, and plenty of freezer space. Hopefully I won't have to use it. He's so gullible. He doesn't even have my real name. He thinks it's Jarvis. I lifted that from a Marvel movie. I don't even like Marvel.

One thing I don't get is, why would he give me a fake name? I'm going along with it, of course, but it's sus, right? A red flag. It makes me think he's not on the level. Maybe I should ask him what he actually does, but then he might start asking me stuff, and I don't want that. Could spell trouble. Plus, it'd be boring.

I have considered being more friendly, even if it's just to find out more about the person I'm living with. That's what a careful person does, and I am always careful. But! That would undoubtedly mean asking questions, and questions tend to breed more of the same. So I bite my tongue, and I smile occasionally, and I watch him at least as much as he watches me. Sometimes I think, wouldn't it be funny if That Bitch was right, after all? First time for everything.

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Thank you for reading!