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lost-blueberries
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Crash.
Oh fuck, oh fuck - oh, fuck!
I almost topple out of the shower.
I take in the sight in front of me with large bulging eyes, trying to cover my naked body with shaking hands as if my bathroom is seeing me naked for the first time.
Half of the bathroom ceiling is collapsed onto the floor in front of my shaving-foam covered legs.
My head rolls up to the gaping hole left above me.
A hole. A huge hole, bigger than the window in my bedroom. Soaking wet and full of dust and revealing pipes nobody on this side of the bathroom ceiling should be able to see.
A sprinkle of plaster falls down as if it's mocking me.
The water damage turned the ceiling green long ago, but the mold clinging to the beams and infesting each section of the structure above me has my stomach turning.
More plaster falls into my hair.
I told the estate agent multiple timesthat the water damage in the bathroom was going to do more damage the longer they left it. The longer they ignored my messages asking them to fix that bloody hole in the roof above the ensuite, the more the damp would spread.
I told them in January when damp spots first started appearing out of nowhere. I told them in March that when it rained water would start running down the bathroom wall. I told them in April that it had started to rain above the toilet during extreme weather conditions too.
I told them and I told them and I told them.
And now the plaster has taken on too much water, so the ceiling has fallen down.
Stupid fucking pricks.
The words won't stop tumbling from my mouth as I grab my plaster-covered towel and try to shake it off. I squelch my hair out over the sink and attempt to shake the water from my legs as I dial the number to their out of hours office.
I listen to their dull, droning 'out of hours' message that I've become all too familiar with, and take a deep breath just as the beep signals, allowing me to state my piece.
Hi,
I address with gritted teeth,
This is Madelaine Grayson again...
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Honey,
my mothers frown encapsulates me through the phone screen.
I don't know how many times I've told you that you need to give your notice on that place.
It's cheap and I'm broke,
I remind her.
She takes a sip of the mojito in her hand, tapping a freshly manicured nail against the glass after doing so. In the background, a male voice grumbles about something or other and she smiles over at him.
What a wonderful idea.
She states.
Matthew has that fold-out couch at his place. He's not too far from you is he, sweetheart?
A groan leaves my mouth,
I cannot stay with Matt.
She purses her lips and Paul appears behind her in the video, hovering.
I can't,
I whine.
I need my own space.
It'll be fun,
Paul grins.
Just like you guys are teenagers again.
Exactly!
They share a look between themselves and I blush once more at disrupting their time with each other.
Paul had been in the family for years. Long enough that he'd seen both myself and Matthew throwing tantrums about one thing or another. He worked hard, he worked long hours, and he treated my mother like she was the only woman to walk the Earth. After the mess of my fathers affair, watching Paul and my mother share a rom-com screen-worthy romance showed me what a partnership was supposed to be.
Since his retirement they'd been living the life of luxury on various cruises and calling them felt like breaking them out of their love bubble. Every time.
I'll call Matt for you,
Paul says gently.
You just pack your things and get ready for him to come and get you.
You can't be staying in that awful flat, Maddie.
I try to smile at my mothers addition but it's obviously strained. The call ends and I look up into the abyss that has carved its way into my bathroom ceiling.
Suppressing a scream, I begin packing.