Chapter Text
Rap rap rap! Rap rap rap!
I groggily lifted my head, awoken by the noise.
Rap rap rap!
At 3 in the morning, a loud banging at my door seemed kind of concerning. I quickly slid out of bed, now feeling wide awake, and headed to my closet where a baseball bat was lying. I carefully made my way through the living room, on my way to the door, and there was the loud knocking again.
Rap rap rap!
With the baseball bat in my hand, I cautiously yelled out, “Who’s there?”
I waited a moment in silence, holding my breath, when the reply came.
“I could tell you, but it wouldn’t make any difference.”
It was a female voice. Whoever she was, I didn’t think she sounded dangerous, so I slowly opened the door.
The girl walked right in, luggage in hand and set down her things in the living room with a sigh. Then, eyeing the bat in my hand she said mockingly, “Were you planning to use that on little old me?”
Still too confused to reply, I shut the door behind her, and took in her appearance. Long, wavy, blonde hair, blue eyes, early twenties, a ratty jacket and a much worn in pair of boots. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past couple days, but a playful smile was still spread across her lips.
“Anyways,” she said, unzipping one of her bags and pulling out something in a frame, “I believe this is yours.” She handed me the frame and I instantly recognized the painting within it.
“I’ll even sign it, just for you,” she winked.
“Wait, so you’re Maya Hart?” I said shocked, and still confused.
“In the flesh,” she motioned to herself.
I was instantly brought back to a few days earlier.
***
“And here we have our young artist spotlight painting of the month,” the guide gestured to the painting presented before us. It was a beautiful night time scene; a moon glowed in the dark sky on a little town, the dark sky dotted with perfect little stars.
“Who’s the artist?” I immediately asked.
“Let’s see,” The man slid his glasses down his nose as he scanned the paper in his hand. “Maya Hart. 23 years old, New York, New York.”
Drawn in by the painting, I moved to get a closer look and asked, “How much?”
It was strange, how intrigued I was by the painting; I wasn’t much into art, and I had only come to the gallery simply because I wanted to get out of the house and couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.
“That would be $100.”
I turned to look at the guide, baffled. I had never bought art before, but I was sure a piece this beautiful should’ve been worth a lot more. Nonetheless, I told the guide I would take it, and he assured me that if I left an address, they’d deliver it in the next few days. I had no idea the artist herself would be the one to show up at my door.
***
“Um well, hi then,” I said taking a seat on the couch. Maya sat down beside me, casually as if it was her own place and it wasn’t 3 o clock in the morning.
“Hey, Ranger Rick,” she smiled.
“Ranger Rick?”
“Well you see,” she explained, “I saw your name – Lucas Friar – and I immediately thought ‘Hey! He’s some kind of southern cowboy!’ and so Ranger Rick didn’t seem so far off.”
“Ranger Rick?”
“Are you not a cowboy?” Maya questioned.
“I, I mean, I’m from Texas –”
“Ranger Rick,” she nodded.
I sighed, totally bewildered by everything that was going on.
“So uh, do you think you could maybe tell me what you’re doing here? At my apartment? At 3 in the morning?” I said, exasperated.
“Oh yeah, that!” She rearranged herself on the couch so she was facing directly towards me. “Here’s the thing, Huck,” Huck? I thought, “It’s really a funny story. So I had my own apartment, and I was living on my own and doing art, and everything was great. But see the thing is, being an artist isn’t the best way of making money. And when you have no money, you kind of need some money. So I kept telling the landlord I would pay the rent later, with interest, but I never could so he kicked me out,” She finished, giving me a look that said what can ya do?
“He kicked you out at 3 in the morning?” I questioned doubtfully.
“Weeeeell technically I was supposed to leave yesterday, but I didn’t, and he found out I was still there, like, forty minutes ago, and he threatened to call the police...so having this painting and your address, I packed up, and headed over here. Surprise!” She threw her arms out and gave me an apologetic smile.
I stared hard at the ground, trying to wrap my head around everything she had just said, and thinking of what I should possibly do in that situation.
“I don’t even know you,” I said slowly.
She sighed and closed her eyes. “I get it. I’m a complete stranger, and this was a long shot. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She sounded defeated as she got to her feet and started to collect her bags.
I wanted to just let her walk out, I really did. I mean, how did I know she was who she said she was? How was letting a stranger stay in my apartment for who knows how long a good idea in any situation? But she looked so drained and tired and cute, like a stray puppy. And just like the painting, there was something about her that I was drawn into, some kind of invisible force.
After a couple moments of mentally debating with myself, and Maya just about to leave, I sighed and said, “The couch is yours.”