Grounding （6）

Amara stepped off the elevator, a hamper bag slung over her shoulder, and headed to the laundry room in the basement.

Almost 3000 bucks a month and there's no washer and dryer in the damn unit? she thought, annoyed, as she set the bag down next to a washer and tried to locate the coin slot. She scoped out a couple different machines with no luck.

Growing frustrated, she must've been muttering to herself because she heard, "It's a card, babe. You have to load it on the machine over there."

She turned to look, and an attractive younger guy was pointing at a screen in the corner. He was wearing a gray wool hat and sucking on a lollipop. "Thanks," she said, before realizing that she'd only brought quarters. "And I don't have my wallet," she said, slapping her hands against her thighs. "That's great."

He walked slowly over to where she was standing at the washer, leaned in close to her, and held his card in front of her face with his index and middle fingers. "I got you. You can owe me one." She went to take it from him, but he wouldn't let go. She shot him a puzzled look. "Got a name, or should I just call you Beautiful?"

She blushed and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I mean, yeah. That's why I asked."

"Amara," she finally told him.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman." He smirked, finally letting go of the card so she could take it.

"Thank you. And you are?"

"Hayes," he said, extending his hand towards hers.

"Your name is Haze?" she asked curiously, grabbing his hand. "Like, H-A-Z-E?"

"My last name, yes. Like, H-A-Y-E-S." He squeezed her hand on the letter S, and then let go. "That's what everyone calls me, except my mom. I'm Tyler to her."

"Well, I'm probably old enough to be your mother, so Tyler it is."

"Yeah, I figured you must be old. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're fine as hell. It's just that you brought a bunch of fuckin' quarters to the laundry room like it's 2001. I really hate being called Tyler, by the way."

"Sorry to hear that, Tyler," she shot him a sideways look as she started loading her clothes into the washer.

"Alright, I see how it is. Amanda."

"It's Amara," she corrected him.

"I know that."

"Right," she said, pressing the button on the machine, leaning against it, and crossing her arms. "So, you actually doing any laundry down here or just searching for your next victim?"

He took the lollipop out of his mouth and pointed it toward two machines behind him. "Nine minutes, babe. That's plenty of time, don't you think?"

"Mmm, I'm sure it is for you, Thundercat. Well, I've got almost an hour, so I'm gonna run up and grab my wallet," she said, handing him back his card and making her way towards the door. She turned back to face him. "Thanks again. I owe you one, Tyler."

"No problem. I'm sure we can, uh, figure somethin' out." He slowly wrapped his lips around the lollipop, then pulled it out and flicked the tip of his tongue against it a few times, winking at her.

She realized her mouth was open, so she quickly closed it, shook her head, and walked out to get back on the elevator.

Holy fuck. Do only young, hot men live in this building? she thought, opening the door to her apartment.

Speaking of young, hot men: she wondered if Ryan had come back yet, but that question was confirmed quickly.

As she rounded the corner from the kitchen to the living room, she saw him lying flat on his back on the floor in the hallway that led to their bedrooms. His legs were bent at a 90-degree angle and his feet were against the wall. His hands were on his forehead, his breathing labored.

"Ryan?" she asked cautiously, standing over him. "You OK?"

"Debatable," he replied, his eyes closed.

"What's going on?"

"Just a…panic attack. Probably should've warned you about these. I tried to make it to…my room, but this is as…far as I got."

"OK. Can I help you?"

"Nope. Just gotta ride it out, focus...on my breathing. It's kinda...fucked at the moment."

She lay down on the floor next to him, bending her legs in the exact same way and putting her feet up on the wall next to his. She reached over, grabbed his right hand, and held it with both of hers. "Hey, tell me five things you can see right now."

"You. The wall. My shoes. The floor. The ceiling."

"Good. Now tell me four sounds you can hear..."

She walked him through the rest of the steps, counting down to one, and his breathing began to return to normal. He rolled his head sideways to face hers, which was already turned towards him. "You too?" he asked quietly.

"My ex. He used to get them pretty bad."

"I've been anxious for as long as I can remember, but this bullshit started when I was 17, right after my dad died. He swung his legs over and sat up. "And as quickly as they hit, they disappear. I'm sorry."

"For what?" she said, sitting up next to him. "I'm glad I could help you. Any idea what set it off?"

He closed his eyes and leaned his head onto his arms, which rested on his bent knees. He sat quietly for a bit, then lifted his head to look at her. "You know, Nick was right. You're really easy to talk to."

"I feel the same way."

"Hey, we need to get to know each other, right? So, let's play a game. We agree to share some random shit about ourselves every day. Even if it's embarrassing and completely ridiculous. OK?"

"OK," she said, unsure about where this was headed.

"Cool. I'll start. Nice to meet you, Amara. I'm 23 fucking years old and I've never even been in a real relationship. I want one, but instead of actually trying, I screw just about everything with a pulse. I immediately lose interest after, and then I hate myself. There have been two girls that I've liked even after slamming them, and both told me to fuck off. I have never been in love. Not even close, and I don't even know if it's something I'm capable of, honestly."

Amara blinked a few times. "Um, wow. You've been waiting to get that off your chest, huh? That's some heavy lifting, Baylor. OK, we're doing this, huh?" She clasped her hands and nodded. "My turn. Nice to meet you, Ryan. I'm 41, and I'm pretty sure real relationships are complete, overrated bullshit. My last ‘real' relationship literally almost killed me. I probably won't ever trust anyone enough to be in another one ever again. I haven't even seen a dick since before my divorce, and I would love nothing more than to screw just about everything with a pulse, preferably as soon as possible."

They looked at each other, Ryan smiling. "What's that you said about heavy lifting?"

Amara shrugged. "Guess we got some shit to help each other work through, don't we?" She stood up. "Anyway, what time are we heading down tonight?"

"So, you'll come?" Ryan asked, his voice laced with mild excitement.

"Why not? Besides, maybe I'll meet something with a pulse." She winked at him.

"Yeah. Maybe," he said blankly, getting up off the ground. "Give it a few hours. I'm gonna go lay down for a bit. Shit takes a lot out of me."

She watched him walk away to his bedroom, unable to pull her eyes away from him for even a second. Everything about Ryan Baylor was beyond beautiful, and as she'd suspected would be the case, she found herself insanely attracted to him. But, having caught a glimpse of just how broken he was, she decided that, for right now at least, this one was off-limits.

Mr. Laundry Room, Tyler Hayes, however, was a completely different story.

Game on with that one.