The American Roommate Experiment by Elena Armas

Someone was trying to break into my apartment.

Fine. Technically, it wasn’t my apartment, but rather the apartment I was currently staying in. That didn’t change the facts. Because if living in a couple of questionable neighborhoods in New York had taught me anything, it was that if someone didn’t knock, they weren’t interested in asking to be let in.

Evidence number one: the insistent rattling of the—thankfully locked—entrance door.

The sound stopped, allowing me to release all the air I had been holding in.

Gaze fixed on the lock, I waited.

All right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was a neighbor mistaking this as their apartment. Or maybe whoever was out there would eventually knock and—

What sounded like someone banging a shoulder against the door startled me, making me jump backward.

Nope.

Not a knock. Probably not a neighbor, either.

My next breath was shallow, oxygen barely making it to its destination. But heck, I couldn’t blame my lungs, really. I couldn’t even blame my brain for not being able to accomplish basic functions like breathing after the day I’d had.

A couple of hours ago, what had been my cozy and beautifully well-kept apartment for the last five years had all but crumbled down on me. Literally. And we’re not talking about a crack in the ceiling and some falling dust.

A section of my ceiling gave out and collapsed. Collapsed. Right before my eyes. Almost on top of me. Creating a hole large enough to gift me with a clear view of my upstairs neighbor Mr. Brown’s private bits as he looked down at me. And allowing me to learn something I never needed or wanted to know: my middle-aged neighbor did not wear anything beneath his robe. Not a single thing.

A sight that had been as traumatizing as having a piece of cement nearly knock you down on your way to the couch.

And now this. The break-in. After I pulled myself together enough to gather my stuff—under Mr. Brown’s careful scrutiny and still freely hanging… bits—and made it to the only place I could think of, given the circumstances, now someone was trying to force their way in.

What sounded like a curse in a foreign language came through, the noise against the lock resuming.

Oh, crap.

Out of the more than eight million people living in New York City, it had to be me being potentially robbed, hadn’t it?

Turning on the tips of my toes, I stepped away from the door of the studio apartment I had fled to in search of shelter and let my gaze dart around the familiar place, studying my options.

Thanks to the open plan of the apartment, there were no decent hiding spots. The only room with a door, the bathroom, didn’t even have a lock. There were no weaponizable objects, either, except for a crooked clay candleholder born from a lazy DIY Sunday and a flimsy boho standing lamp I wasn’t sure about. Escaping through a window wasn’t an option, either, considering this was a second floor and there was no fire escape.

The frustrated swearing came through more clearly now. The voice was deep, musical, and the words I did not recognize or understand were chased by a very loud huff.

Heart racing, I brought my hands to my temples in an attempt to subdue the growing panic.

This could be worse, I told myself. Whoever is out there is clearly not very good at this. At break-ins. And they don’t know I’m inside. For all they know, the apartment is empty. This gives me—

My phone pinged with a notification, the loud and sharp sound breaking the silence.

And giving my presence away.

Crap.

Wincing, I lunged for the device that rested on the kitchen island. It couldn’t have been more than three or four steps away. But my brain, which was still struggling with basic functions like, let’s say, moving three or four steps forward, miscalculated the distance, and my hip collided with a stool.

“No, no, no,” I heard the words coming out of my mouth in a whimper, one of my hands reaching out. Unsuccessfully. Because—

The stool crashed against the floor.

My eyelids fell shut. As if my brain was trying to at least spare me the sight of the mess I had made.

Silence followed the big bang, filling the room with what I knew was a false sense of calm.

I opened one eye, taking a peek in the direction of the door.

Maybe this was good. Maybe that had scared… him? Them? Away—

“Hello?” The deep voice on the other side of the door called. “Is anyone home?”

Dammit.

Squaring my shoulders, I turned around very slowly. There was still a chance that—

The jingle I had set for that stupid motivational app I’d downloaded earlier today blared through the apartment for a second time.

Jesus. Someone was out to get me today. Karma, kismet, fate, Lady Luck, or some all-powerful entity I had clearly pissed off. Maybe even Murphy and his stupid law.

I finally grabbed my phone to set the stupid thing to silent.

Involuntarily, my eyes scanned the supposedly inspirational quote on the screen: IF OPPORTUNITY DOESN’T KNOCK, BUILD A DOOR.

“Seriously?” I heard myself whisper.

“I could hear that, you know?” Intruder said. “The phone, then the bang, then the phone again.” A pause. “Are you… okay?”

I frowned. How considerate for a possible burglar.

He pressed on: “I know there’s someone in there. I can hear you breathing.”

A gasp of outrage left me. I was not a heavy breather.

“Okay, listen,” Intruder said with a chuckle. A chuckle. Was he laughing? At my expense? “I’m just—”

“No, you listen,” I finally blurted out, hearing my voice crack and wobble. “Whatever it is that you’re doing, I don’t care. I’ve—I’ve—” I’d been standing there like a doofus, doing nothing. And that stopped now. “I’m calling the cops.”

“The cops?”

“Exactly.” I unlocked my phone with shaky fingers. I was done with this… this… situation. Heck, I was done with today. “You have a few minutes to leave before they get here. There’s a police station right around the corner.” There wasn’t, and I hoped he didn’t know that. “So I’d start running if I were you.”

I took one miniscule, careful step in the direction of the door, then stopped to listen for a reaction. Hopefully, the sound of his steps fleeing.

But I heard nothing.

“Are you listening?” I called, then hardened my voice before speaking again. “I have friends in NYPD.” I didn’t. The closest thing I had to that was Uncle Al, who was a security guard for a company on Fifth Avenue. But that didn’t seem to impress Intruder, because silence continued to follow my statement. “Okay, fine. I warned you. Now, I’m dialing, so it’s up to you… mother… clinking apartment-breaker!”

“What?”

Ignoring my unfortunate and not at all threatening choice of words, I set the call on speaker and a few seconds later, the emergency dispatcher’s voice filled the apartment. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi—” I cleared my throat. “Hello. There’s… there’s someone trying to break in the apartment I’m in.”

“Wait, you’re really calling?” Intruder yelped. But then, he said, “Oh, okay. I see.” Following that with another chuckle. Another. Chuckle. Did he find any of this funny? “This is a joke.”

Outrage filled my chest. “A joke?”

“Hello?” came from my phone’s speaker. “Miss? If this isn’t an emergency—”

“Oh, but it is,” I said immediately. “As I was saying, I’m calling to report a break-in.”

Intruder spoke before the dispatcher could, “I’m standing in the hallway. How have I broken in? I didn’t even make it inside.”

Now that he was saying more than a couple of words at a time, I could hear his accent more clearly. The way he enunciated certain words was familiar and set off a bell somewhere in my head. But I didn’t have time or energy to spare for bells right this moment.

“Attempted break-in,” I amended.

“Okay, miss,” the dispatcher answered. “I’m going to need your name and the address to your apartment.”

“I get it,” Intruder said, loudly enough for me to take a step back. “This is one of those pranks. I’ve seen that show on TV back home. What was the name of that guy? The host. The one with the good hair.” A pause. “Never mind.” Another pause. “You got me! It was a really good one. See, I’m laughing,” he added before breaking into a loud cackle and almost shocking the phone out my grip. “Now, can you please open this door and be done with it? It’s past midnight and I’m exhausted.” The humor had left his voice. “Tell her she’s hilarious. We’ll remember this as one of the best pranks in history.”

Tell her?

Tell who?

Frowning, I lowered my voice and spoke right into the phone. “Did you hear that? I think he might be deranged.”

“Deranged?” Intruder scoffed. “I’m not crazy, just… tired.” Something dropped to the floor with a thud on the other side of the door and I prayed it wasn’t him because I wasn’t up for dealing with an unconscious man on top of everything.

“I heard,” the dispatcher said. “And, miss, I’m—”

“Did I get the wrong door or something?” Intruder interrupted.

The wrong… door?

That caught my attention.

“Miss,” the emergency dispatcher hissed. “Your name and the address to your home, please.”

“Rosie,” I said quickly. “I’m Rosalyn Graham and… And, well, technically this is not my home. I’m at my best friend’s place. She’s away at the moment, and I needed… a place to stay. But I didn’t break in, obviously. I had a key.”

“And I have a key, too,” Intruder offered.

A record scratched in my head.

“Impossible.” I scowled at the door. “I have the only spare that exists.”

“Miss Graham.” The dispatcher’s voice was laced with annoyance. “I want you to stop interacting with the individual outside your door and share your location. We’ll send a unit to check on things.”

My mouth opened but before any words came out, Intruder spoke again, “She really outdid herself.”

She. That she again.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. Then, the silence was broken by a heavy thump. One that sounded a lot like he had just slumped against his side of the entrance door.

“She?” I finally asked, ignoring the “Miss Graham?” coming from my phone’s speaker.

“Yeah,” Intruder said simply. “My very funny and highly creative little cousin.”

A breath got stuck somewhere between my rib cage and mouth.

Little cousin.

She.

The intruder’s thick accent that is so terribly familiar.

The only possible explanation took shape in my head.

Had I—

No. I couldn’t be that big of a dumbass.

“Miss Graham?” came from the line again. “If this is not an emergency—”

“Sorry, I—” I closed my eyes. “I’ll call back if I… need to. Thank you.”

Little cousin.

Oh God. Oh no. If this was one of Lina’s cousins I’d messed up. Big time.

I terminated the call, pushed the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and forced myself to take a deep breath in the hopes that oxygen would reach my clearly faulty brain cells. “Who exactly is your cousin?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“Catalina.”

It was official. I had messed up. Yep. And yet, because this was New York and I had dealt with my fair share of strange people and stranger situations, I still added, “I’m going to need more information than that. You could have checked the name on the mailbox.”

A long and loud sigh was released on the other side of the wooden border that separated us, making the already souring sensation in my stomach swirl.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, unable to stop the two words from coming out. Because I was sorry. “I’m just making sure that—”

“That I’m not a deranged person,” Intruder answered before I could get through with the rest of my apology. “Catalina Martín, born the twenty-second of November. Brown hair, brown eyes, loud laugh.” My eyes shut again, the swirling in my belly climbing up to my throat. “She’s tiny but if she kicks you in the nuts, she’ll knock the air right out of you all the same. I know that from firsthand experience.” A short pause. “What else? Let’s see… Oh, she hates snakes or anything that looks remotely like one. Even if that’s a few socks sewn together and filled with toilet paper. Clever, huh? Well, that was what led to the nuts kicking. So the joke was really on me.”

Yup.

I’d screwed up. Big time.

Big, big, big time.