Hampton was a liar.
I knew Piper lived here. There was no way to not know it.
She was messy. She left her clothes damn near everywhere. The moment she walked in the door, her shoes and crazy ass socks came off and were dropped wherever she was standing, never to be picked up again. She left cabinet doors open in the kitchen, as if she’d become distracted and forgotten to close them. She never remembered to turn a light off and I dreaded my next power bill. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded her, she would just walk right out of a room without a second thought. And most of all, she made more noise while getting ready than was humanly possible. Whether she was singing off-tune or studying out loud, she never shut up.
She also smelled amazing. Every time she got in the shower, which seemed to be at least twice a day, my house, which was large, would be filled with the scent of lavender and honey. I’d found myself escaping to the back deck any time I heard the water turn on, even though it was getting warmer and warmer each day. It was the only way to avoid the intoxicating scent that was all Piper.
She had no boundaries, no respect for someone’s privacy. She walked around in her short robe that tended to come untied just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her smooth skin, pink from her shower. Every single morning after she took that blasted shower, she’d head straight for the kitchen, not giving a single shit that I was trying to get ready for the day. No, she’d just waltz in, half naked and smelling like every fantasy I’d ever had and try to chat. It didn’t matter that I’d walk past her with barely a grunt in her direction, she didn’t stop. She’d follow me down the hall, blabbering on about a patient she had in the ER or a new song she’d heard on the radio, and walk right into my room, throwing herself onto my bed to continue talking, never once noticing I didn’t respond.
She was funny. She didn’t mean to be, but I’d find myself chuckling at her antics nonetheless. She’d come home from the mall a few days ago with an oriental rug that was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. Proudly, she’d laid it out, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and then proclaimed that she loved it. She’d been trying to get a rise out of me, and I refused to give in to her, instead telling her I thought it fit the space perfectly. The mini tantrum she’d thrown after not getting the reaction she’d wanted was so damn funny I’d had to sprint from the room to keep from letting her see me laughing at her expense. Every day, I’d find myself laughing to myself over something she’d said or done. And every day, I’d have to remind myself to keep it together.
So, yes, I knew she was living in my house.
And she was driving me crazy.