[h1] Kaelyn Bellamy [/h1]

Kaelyn stared at the furnace across from her position on the wool sofa. It was grey, only a slightly lighter tone than her baggy men’s department sweats. Her and her loose pants had become one in the past few weeks as the temperature plunged throughout the city. She had been housed here in the Bronx for almost a year now. Kaelyn knew she ought not to try her luck moving around non-stop, it seemed to draw more attention than staying put. However, changed was much missed in her life. The small apartment in which she resided, rented for only $995 a month. She was unaware of how many square feet it was, the landlord, if that’s what you could call him, probably didn’t know either. Her method of payment was cash in an envelope, if that spoke to the professionalism of him and his business at all. It was a one bedroom, one bath, and half kitchen, she called it. To herself. Her living room, bedroom, and kitchen were all sort of synthesized like a single entity. It was barely furnished, only a few pieces were present. Across from her wool sofa, in front of the furnace, stood a bulky ‘vintage’ TV as she loved to call it, and a small, rectangular coffee table. 

The place was immaculate. How could it not be with so few belongings? Should a place be so under designed, the cleanliness was less noticed and the sanity of the owner was called into question, though. The kitchen held within its drawers a few forks and spoons, exactly two butter knives, a paring knife which she used for anything that wasn’t butter, a skillet, a sauce pan… Maybe four plates, all from different sets. How she’d lived like this for a year already, no one could speculate. A good three quarters of her belongings had been left behind in haste. Often, she joked pessimistically that she'd forgotten to bring Katherine along, too. 

Kaelyn had been sleeping on the couch as of late. Her mattress had become lumpy and lopsided from overuse and quite likely, her restlessness. When she wasn’t teaching, she was home, in bed. Her groceries were even delivered to her. She’d made some sort of teetering black market deal with the owner of the supermarket a few blocks over. She had her delivery boy bring her bi-monthly groceries, memorizing her list and address, off the books, and in return he was paid in cash. She was scheduled for a delivery that afternoon, and thought she might leave before he arrived so she wouldn’t be home to answer the door. Perhaps the teenager wouldn’t find her existence so pathetic if he thought she might be out. That had been her brilliant idea this morning, but as the Sunday dragged on into the early afternoon, her eyes remained glued to one of 6 channels, her hands salty from her family sized, value-brand snack mix. 

Over the past school year and through her first summer in hiding she’d gained at least ten pounds, settling on her thighs and rear, which didn’t look befitting on her lank figure. Her students, and her only peers, loved her regardless – kindergartners. They loved anyone who dressed in bright colors and smiled a lot. The twenty-three year old had been blonde for some time, and only during the past year had she began keeping it dark, opting also for Halloween-grade colored contacts. Kaelyn hardly recognized herself, which was essentially the point. Her face had aged five years faster than she had wanted it to, though she amplified this process by letting herself go, looking for any means to change some aspect of her physical appearance. 

“It’s okay, Kat, it’s part of your super hero disguise,” she told herself.

Her eyes had dried out, body and pants ad becoming one with the couch and so she sat up, rolling closed the chip bag and replacing them on the bottom shelf in her tiny pantry. She washed her hands to avoid tracking all day chip grease onto every surface of her home. After ruffling through the small dresser beside her bed, she replaced her baggy clothing with a thick coral pea coat and black tights. The last thing she wanted to do was move any limb of her body in any direction other than the couch, but beating the delivery boy was a necessity. Just this once, maybe to prove she was capable of change after striving for nothing but the status quo. Her existence revolved around staying the same. Even her habitual laziness was growing weary of it.

Two weeks from now, when he came again, she would surely answer the door with the same hesitant, jumpy dance her eyes did. But varying just this once wouldn't hurt anything or anyone, but it might soothe the insanity ready to rear its head.

There were blue sticky notes in her bedside table drawer – she wrote him a little note that she wouldn’t be home, that she would pay in-store today, just to leave the groceries on her steps. Suede boots found her feet and she moved towards her front door, unlocking the two dead bolts and the main lock, pulling it open with intention.

But it wasn’t the delivery boy standing at her door this time.