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Repeatedly.

But there’s something about him.

Maybe it’s the way his head tilts slightly downward, like he’s perpetually judging everyone who walks beneath him.

Or maybe it’s because he’s the only thing in this entire ridiculous house that hasn’t broken since I arrived.

Either way, I’ve gotten attached.

Which probably says more about my mental state than I’d like to examine.

“I also got an email from my ex today.”

I hold up my wineglass.

“Cheers to that asshole.”

I drink.

“He wants to know if I still have his air fryer.”

I stare at Rocky.

“His air fryer.”

The gargoyle remains appropriately horrified.

“First of all, I bought that air fryer with my own damned money. Second of all, he used it exactly twice, and both times he somehow managed to burn frozen chicken nuggets.”

I shake my head.

“And third of all, he was sleeping with his personal trainer, so I think I get to keep the fucking air fryer.”

I consider this.

“Except I don’t actually have it anymore because it got ruined when my apartment flooded.”

I lift my glass again.

“Which feels like karma, except I’m not entirely sure whose.”

I drain the last of my wine. Then I look into the empty glass.

“Huh.”

That went quickly. Probably because it’s my third. In my defense, it’s been a very long day.

And I ate a sandwich earlier. A substantial sandwich. There was cheese. That counts.

I set the glass on the little table beside my chair and lean my head back.

Above me, the sky is deepening into purple.

A week. I’ve been here a week. Seven days ago, I arrived at this enormous, crumbling mansion with a car full of everything I own and forty-three dollars in my checking account.

Okay, technically I have more than forty-three dollars now. My final paycheck came through yesterday, and the severance payment should arrive any day.

But I’m trying not to touch any of it.