Page 3 of Resist

“Maybe.” I think we both knew it wasn’t likely to happen.

Trish walked out of the room.

This was always the hardest part about starting over. Even in a room full of people I felt completely alone. Everyone was a stranger. Nothing was familiar. The conference room was new. This building. The next building. Everywhere I turned I saw something strange and foreign.

I told myself it wouldn’t stay like this. Each day I’d learn people’s names. I’d figure out how not to piss off the shuttle driver. I’d learn to wear the right shoes. I’d be able to make it to clinic without having to check the map app on my phone. The pieces would come together. But right now as I watched my colleagues shuffle out of the meeting, it was hard to think that day would ever come.

I only had a few more steps to go. I looked up at the brownstone I now called home. Why was our apartment on the top floor? The windowpanes glowed from the sunset sinking behind the city. Even the ones on the third floor reflected orange and pink hues.

I knew why. Greer loved the deck. She loved the view. She thought it was cool all of our windows were huge dormers.

And she told me a hundred times on facechat that we couldn’t beat the location. The townhouse was in the heart of Adams Morgan, directly in

the center for both of us to go to work. I went northwest and she went southeast.

I hadn’t been here long enough to know if the location was the best. I hadn’t met any of our neighbors. I hadn’t even changed my address with the post office. I still felt as if I were visiting Greer, not living with her.

It had been five years since she was my roommate in college. Neither one of us had expected to live together again.

I glared at the front stoop. I couldn’t take it anymore. Not another step. I reached down and peeled the stilettos from my feet. I almost expected to see dried blood on my skin.

“Ouch,” I whined. My toes were permanently pressed together. I couldn’t wiggle them.

I took the first step, feeling the heat of the rough surface sear into the underside of my foot.

“Oh God.”

I gingerly took the next step until I was in the foyer. I still had three stories to go. At least I had removed the torture devices from my feet. I slung the messenger bag across my chest.

By the time I made it to third-story landing, I was certain I had damaged every tendon and nerve ending in my feet.

I turned the key in the lock and walked through the narrow hallway. Greer and I shared less than a thousand square feet of living space, but the deck was enormous. It was the best part of the apartment. I hobbled to my bedroom on the far end of the apartment.

I pushed through the door, stubbing my toe on a cardboard box next to the wall.

“Damn it.” I hopped on one foot. I felt the sting of tears in the corner of my eye.

“You okay in there, Elliot?”

Greer appeared in the doorway.

“What are you doing home?” I was surprised to see her.

“I got one of the guys to take over my file for the rest of the night. Told him I needed to get home early.”

It was close to seven. I had learned in the few days we had moved in together that Greer rarely made it in before nine.

“Did you wear those heels all day?” She zeroed in on the coffee-stained shoes in my hand.

I dropped on the bed. “God yes. And don’t ask me why I thought it was a good idea.”

“I should have warned you about all the concrete.” I heard a tinge of regret in her voice.

“I’ll be ok in a week,” I added.

She twisted her bottom lip under her teeth. Even with a funny expression on her face she was still pretty. Greer was one of those girls who could leave the house without makeup and her skin always looked flawless. She had bright olive skin and long dark hair.

“I have a way to help you forget about your swollen blistered feet.”

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