You’d roll your eyes to the back of your skull if you saw me, naked under my covers, one hand stroking my inner thigh as I watch closets become tamed, junk dumped.

  Throw your hands up into the air when I slide my fingers into my pubic hair as a pile of Christmas presents gets wrapped in July.

  Scoff and fling yourself toward the door as I circle my clit and watch buttons sorted into piles governed by colour, size, and style.

  You’d slam my door shut and yell fuck in disgust if you saw me plunge my fingers into myself furiously and pump as a woman sorts and cleans her purse.

  You would leave forever if I came in a rush, the last remains of clutter finally purged from behind an old couch.

  Complex 2675

  1A

  Mary dreamed she died.

  She woke drenched in sweat, her breath slipping in and out. Something was different. She swung her feet over the edge of her bed and crept into the bathroom. She needed to see herself. With trembling fingers, she flicked the light on, but at the last second avoided her reflection with a quick snap of her neck. Because what if nothing was different and she’d imagined everything? But no, she’d dreamed she had died. So Mary leaned into the space between herself and the mirror, her face still cocked to one side, and pushed her body forward until she felt her stomach stretch over the hard counter. She put a hand on the mirror to brace herself, then turned her head.

  Her eyes looked back into her. They startled her. They were alive.

  Mary’s fingers were still trembling at four-thirty as she straightened the painting of the cottage in the hallway outside Gerry’s apartment. She’d hung up the painting because it made her think of the cottage she would’ve loved to retire in if she hadn’t already bought an apartment out in the middle of the prairies.

  The ding of the elevator made her heart jump. She grabbed the broom she’d leaned next to her and pretended to sweep the hallway.

  Swoosh, the door opened, and Gerry from 4A stepped off onto the pink linoleum. His eyes were focused on the floor. Her heart beat faster as he lumbered toward her. Gerry was a tall man; Mary liked that. He was also quiet and kind. Mary liked that too.

  As he approached, she opened her mouth to speak.

  Gerry’s phone went off. He reached for it, fumbling in his pockets as he did.

  Mary’s face turned red. She held her breath.

  “Uh, hello. Oh hi, Rebecca,” Gerry said. He paused outside his door with his back to Mary.

  Mary faked a sneeze.

  Gerry looked over at her, and she smiled and waved.

  When you have a second, she mouthed.

  He smiled back at her as he uh-huh’d to the person on the phone, then reached into his pocket for his keys.

  Mary cleared her throat and stepped forward.

  Gerry pulled his key out and inserted it into the lock. He looked back at her, face tight with a smile, before stepping inside.

  Mary waved to Gerry as he shut the door in her face.

  She stared at his closed door, waiting for him to get off the phone and come back out and excuse his rudeness. After a few moments of silence, she returned to her broom. She started to sweep the hallway, still waiting for Gerry from 4A to reappear, waiting until she could tell him about her dream, about her eyes that were still alive.

  4A

  Gerry snapped the phone closed. There was no call—he had programmed his alarm to go off like a phone ringing. Every day he got off the elevator and Mary was there wearing a sickly sweet smile and sharing some inane gossip about one of their neighbours. He’d never seen her leave the building; she was forever in the hallway, sweeping the damn floors. He’d thought about moving just to get away from her, but he was half convinced she’d track him down just to tell him Mrs. Chickamore in 4D had brought home another cat.

  He had to be polite, though. She had some disease or something. She nattered on about it all the time.

  Gerry dropped his coat and briefcase on the floor. He hated his apartment, how his head almost touched the ceiling. He kicked off his dress shoes with a sigh and shuffled to the kitchen. All he wanted was a beer and silence. All day at the office his phone had been ringing, the emails had just kept coming. He swore all he ever did at work was answer questions. He didn’t even know what his real job was anymore.

  The fridge was empty. Gerry slammed the door and filled a glass with tap water, then shuffled to the couch and plopped down with a grunt. He kept the lights off. He’d been waiting all day to come home and sit in the cool darkness of his living room. No questions, no answers, just silence.

  Gerry closed his eyes and thought about the girl he’d seen in the elevator on the way up. She was new to the building maybe—he tried hard not to pay attention to the other people who lived in the complex. But he knew he’d never seen her before, and she wasn’t a visitor because she had laundry. She looked nice, and she’d smiled back at him. And she was pretty—well, not super pretty, but pretty enough. Her smile was a bit toothy, but he could live with that. And she hadn’t asked Gerry any questions. She’d understood his need for silence. No questions, no answers. He wondered what her name was. She’d smelled good, like flowers—maybe lavender, and something else. Lemon maybe.

  3C

  Sarah banged on the washing machine.

  “Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit washing machine.”

  She pushed the On button over and over again, hoping for something to happen. She gave the machine a final kick before crumpling to the ground.

  “Fuck!”

  Sarah knew it was just her shitty luck, the same shitty luck that followed her everywhere she went. She had just moved into the building and she already hated it. She hated every goddamn thing about it: the pink linoleum, the cramped elevator with the creep who wouldn’t stop staring at her, and now this fucking washing machine.

  All Sarah wanted was something good, a glimmer of hope, somewhere. She sat in the dank basement and stared at the floor for a few minutes until the door to the laundry creaked open. She sighed before lifting her head up. A guy started loading his clothes into the only other washer in the room. She cleared her throat and he jumped.

  “Shit!” he said. “Fuck, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “What are you doing on the floor?”

  “The fucking machine won’t work.”

  “Oh yeah, that one’s always unplugged.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked.

  He shrugged before turning back around. Sarah studied his back. He had a nice build. He looked like a runner. A runner with amazing hair.

  Sarah crawled around to the back and saw that the plug was lying in a pile of dust. She picked it up and plugged it back in. Then she got up, fished some more coins from her pants, and pushed them into the slot. The light turned on and she pushed Start.

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “No prob,” he said.

  She smiled at him, but he didn’t look up. He pushed the button on his machine and it whirled to life. He backed away from the washer and headed toward the door.

  “Hey, sorry to bother you,” she started.

  He turned back around.

  “It’s just, I’m new here.” Sarah stuck her hand out into the air between them. “I’m Sarah.”

  He eyed her hand and gave a tight smile. “Michael.”

  Sarah gripped his hand. “If you’re ever looking for someone to go out with, you know, dancing or whatever, I’m in 3C.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he took his hand back. “Uh, okay.”

  Michael turned back to the door. When he looked back for a second, Sarah gave him an earnest smile. He walked through the door and let it slam shut behind him.

  Sarah watched him go and wondered if something good was finally happening to her.

  2D

  Michael walked out of the laundry room. He heard the door bang on his way out and winced. He hadn’t meant to do that. When he’d walked into the laundry room, she’d been crumpled on the floor. He’d chosen to ignore her, he didn’t have the time or the patience—but when she cleared her throat, he’d felt obliged to turn around. He’d known the washer was unplugged because Larry in 2B always unplugged it.

  Michael pushed the button for the elevator. It dinged immediately and the doors slid open with a gentle swoosh. He stepped on, pressed D, and the doors slid closed again. Michael looked at his reflection in the gold-flecked mirror in front of him. He looked tired—his eyes were darkened with bags and his mouth was turned down in a frown. He looked up instead and watched the numbers light up. When it hit the lobby, the doors opened.

  Standing in front of Michael was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen.

  The man gave him a smile.

  “Oh, um, hello,” came a shrill voice from behind the man.

  Michael saw Mary from 1A standing behind him. She was clutching her broom and smiling her sickly sweet smile, one hand outstretched like a claw, motioning for the man to come to her. Michael felt his stomach tighten as the man turned toward her. Michael reached down to push the button to keep the door open, but before he could, it slid closed.

  1A

  Mary rubbed her thumb up and down the worn wood of her broom as she studied the man in front of her. She’d never seen him before.

  “I’m Mary, I live here,” she said.

  “I’m Gabriel.”

  “Well, that’s a nice name. So you’re an angel?”

  “Oh, no,” he answered.

  “So you’re a devil then?”

  “What?”

  Mary laughed, the crack of it echoing around the lobby. “Do you like our building here?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  Mary watched Gabriel as he took in the lobby. It was her mission this summer to clean it up. She’d been waiting since last summer for Tom, the landlord, to do it, but he’d never gotten around to clearing out all the old junk left by previous tenants. Mary had finally decided that she’d had enough waiting. She would do it herself.

  “Well, it will be nice, once I clear out all this junk. I might put some plants in too. What do you think? Do you like plants?”

  “Oh, yeah, they’re nice,” he answered.

  “But do you think they would make this lobby nicer?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Are you moving in?”

  “Oh, no, I’m just visiting a friend.”

  “Who?” Mary asked.

  Gabriel stuffed his hands in his pockets. Mary knew from a show on TV that this meant he was lying.

  “Someone I used to know.”

  “Well, you know, we all know each other—in this building, I mean.”

  “That’s great,” Gabriel said.

  “So, you like the idea of plants then?” Mary asked again.

  “Yeah,” Gabriel said.

  “That was Michael.”

  “What?”

  “On the elevator, his name is Michael. He lives in 2D with his wife. They’re a nice couple.”

  “That’s great,” Gabriel said as he looked past her, out the lobby’s large glass window.

  Mary gestured to the mailbox. “So, which one of these is your friend?”

  Gabriel looked back at Mary and then over to the wall lined with little gold boxes. He took a step forward and pointed at a name written in black cursive.

  “Oh, she’s on C, come on, I’ll take you there,” Mary said as she grabbed Gabriel by the elbow. She guided him to the elevator and pushed the Up button. They waited in silence as the lighted numbers ticked down. Swoosh, the door opened and they stepped in. Mary leaned over and pushed C.

  4A

  Gerry stood at his door, his eye mashed against the peephole as he surveyed the hallway. He hadn’t heard the swishing of Mary’s broom for quite some time, and thought it might finally be safe to go out and grab a six-pack from the shop on the corner. He opened his door a crack and poked his head out into the hall. It was empty. He stepped out and shut it as gently as he could manage, then slipped his key in and turned it until it clicked. He spun around and headed to the elevator. He pushed the button, and as he waited, he kept an eye on Mary’s door. It stayed shut.

  Ding.

  The door slid open, and the girl from before was tucked into the elevator’s corner. He felt his face go red as he stepped in. He pushed the L button and stood facing the door. The elevator started to go in the opposite direction, but Gerry didn’t care. He watched her face in the mirror as she twisted the ends of her hair. She didn’t pester him with hellos and questions, and he felt his admiration grow.

  Ding.

  The door opened on C. Gerry moved to the side, and as she walked past him, he breathed her in—definitely lemon and lavender.

  She stopped short, and over her shoulder Gerry glimpsed a tall man in a black wool coat standing outside what he guessed was her door.

  “Gabriel?” she said.

  Gerry held his hand out to stop the doors from closing. He was so focused on her that he didn’t see the person standing beside the tall man, waving.

  “Gerry!” Mary yelled.

  Gerry groaned and tried to melt into a far corner of the elevator.

  “It was nice meeting you, Gabriel,” Mary said as she took off toward the elevator.

  Gerry was obliged to hold his hand out again to stop the doors from closing. He looked past Mary and watched the girl walk toward the tall man. The man looked nervous, and Gerry felt his own face burn from embarrassment for being caught by this man watching her so intently.

  Mary stepped into the elevator and immediately started to natter at him. “I’m so glad I ran into you,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “There are so many things I have to tell you. I had a dream last night.”

  The doors closed and Gerry slumped against the back wall. The elevator was still headed the wrong way. He looked at the floor. Unlike the rest of the building, the floor was brown.

  “Are those new tenants?” he asked, interrupting Mary.

  “That was Gabriel, he’s a friend of Sarah —”

  “Sarah.” Gerry felt her name in his mouth.

  “—from 3C, she just moved in.”

  “Sarah.”

  Ding.

  The doors opened on floor D, and Gerry saw Michael from 2D standing in the hallway. He looked like he was playing a game on his phone. He looked up and Mary waved before the doors closed again.

  Sarah. Blond hair. No questions.

  2D

  Michael was hyping himself up. He’d been standing out in the hall playing Tetris on his phone, willing himself to open the door and go inside. Only after the elevator had come and gone, opening and closing on Mary’s smile, did he shove his phone back in his pocket.

  He pushed open the door. The apartment was strewn with clothing, garbage, and other useless knick-knacks. He gritted his teeth.

  “Michael?” His wife’s voice came from the direction of their bedroom.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Where were you?”

  “Doing laundry.”

  “I said I’d do it.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “Fuck you,” she yelled.

  Michael exhaled and walked into the living room. He kicked her crap out of the way and headed for the couch. He flopped down and leaned over for the remote to click the TV on.

  “DO YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW NEED LIFE INSURANCE?”

  He turned the volume down.

  Michael hated everything about his wife. He hated her face, her voice, her disgusting mess. The cloying citrus candles she was constantly burning to cover the smell of cat litter and garbage. The way she kept the volume on the TV blaring. He just fucking hated her.

  He sat on the sofa, clicking through the channels, wondered who the tall guy in the dark wool coat in the lobby was.

  3D

  Martha, just breathe, she told herself. One, breath, two, breath, three, breath, four, breath.

  Martha closed her eyes and concentrated on the feelings in her lungs. I will not panic. I will not panic.

  “FUCK YOU.”

  Martha’s eyes popped open as the fight carried over from her neighbours’ apartment. She hated them and they loathed each other. She was sure that Michael was into guys and that Vanessa, his wife, was having an affair. She’d complained to Tom, the landlord, about their constant fighting, but he said it wasn’t his problem—he had to take care of his kids and fix all the other problems in the building, he explained to her in a degrading voice every time she asked.

  Just breathe, Martha. One, two, three, four, in and out.

  She’d been dreaming about Mark. She thought she was over him, but maybe not. He’d left six months ago, and now Martha had panic attacks. Panic attacks that kept her trapped in her small apartment where the linoleum was an awful shade of puke pink and the neighbours never stopped screaming.

  Just get up, Martha. Just get up.

  Martha put one foot down on the floor and took a breath. She put the other foot on the floor and felt her muscles tighten.

  Breathe.

  She stood up and took small steps until she made it to her patio door. She peeked out and saw the sky was grey. That was reassuring; grey meant nothing extraordinary would happen, it meant the same day as yesterday and the same as tomorrow. She felt her pulse steady, and then she heard a noise in the hall. She darted over to the door to peer out the spy hole. A load of books, magazines, and clothes flew out into the hall. She pulled her head back before looking again.

 

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