The Novel Apartments Novels & Stories

I am still worried about my mother, but I know they wouldn't do anything to her as long as they can use me. Using the phone Norman gave me, I searched for the nearest and cheapest apartment, and found it just a few blocks away from the police station. When I got there, I was guided to a hundred-worth apartment that is the size of a capsule. It has a single bed, small table, small kitchen area and a common restroom for the tentlants to use. It was so narrow that you could reach the kitchen when you stood up from the bed. "Well? Are you going to take it?" The middle-aged woman chewing a gum, impatiently asked me.

The apartment was a new, modern cage on the 14th floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking, glittering view of the city Sloane had been drowning in just days before. The air smelled of new paint and money. Her footsteps echoed on the polished concrete floors as she explored, a ghost in her own new life.

Halle’s apartment was only two years old, she was one of the first tenants to move in, the building called to her like a siren when she had gone house hunting, the apartment was bigger than the last one she left, it had more than enough space to contain everything she owned and even more. It had a living room and a bedroom separate, a big kitchen that could survive her working on her cooking skills, and despite it being way above her budget, she paid for it as a treat for herself…Greta began to visit more often after that, well that was until Simon came into their lives.

I asked as I scanned each apartment building we passed. “It doesn’t seem to be on this block. Let’s try looking in the next block over,” Robert replied. “It’s called the New Hill Apartment. The apartment building is dominated by gray paint and has a modern design. Ah, it looks like the building in front of there,” I pointed. “I think you’re right, Miss,” Robert replied. He drove the car to a tall, modern-looking apartment building near a convenience store and coffee shop. “OK. We’ve arrived. Let’s go, Miss,” Robert invited me.

The start of summer. The apartment was, objectively speaking, a complete disaster. It was a fourth-floor walk-up in a grimy, industrial neighborhood of Chicago. The hardwood floors were warped, the radiator clanked like a dying engine, and the single window in the main room looked directly out onto a brick alleyway. "The landlord says the water pressure is 'character-building,'" I noted, turning the rusted faucet in the tiny kitchenette. A pathetic, sputtering stream of lukewarm water trickled out.

We drive the rest of the way in silence, broken only by the radio murmuring some forgettable song. The city rises up around us eventually glass and concrete and too many people. A place big enough to disappear in. I chose it for that reason too. The apartment is small. Second floor walk-up. One bedroom, one bathroom, a narrow kitchen that smells faintly like lemon cleaner and new paint. I unlocked the door this morning, checked every corner, memorized every exit. Aidan steps inside like he’s crossing a threshold into someone else’s life. “This is… nice,” he says, uncertain but polite.

I start my journey with the first step. Admittedly, my apartment complex doesn’t lend itself to optimism. My neighbors to the right are clearly nocturnal, and the hallways always smell like pee and marijuana. The carpets were probably dark blue at some point, but now they’re a grungy brown to match the walls. There’s always some kind of graffiti about the apartment manager– probably someone trying to get him to repaint– and we’ve all gotten a thousand threatening emails about dire consequences if he finds any new “art.” Once I get out on the streets of the Big Apple, I’m able to take a deep breath and find a smile. I can do this. Probably.

I took the usual shortcut home through the park. Typically, it was always a bad idea to travel alone through Central Park, but it was the middle of the day and I had nothing to worry about except my own clumsy feet getting stuck in the snow. To state this very clearly, I am a klutz. Floors and walls are my greatest enemies. The building I go to was directly off of Central Park West, actually known as the West Apartments. The outside of the building was rustic but elegant, and if you were a full paying tenant of the building you’d also experience luxury internal designs year-round. But I was not a full paying tenant, and technically I didn’t actually live in the building, but behind it, above

No Contini men dressed in black at every entrance. My apartment was in a quiet neighbourhood nearly twenty minutes from the office where I would begin working the following week. I had chosen it from photographs sent by the rental agency: small, furnished, and affordable enough that I wouldn’t need Uncle Angelo’s help. When the taxi stopped outside, I looked up at the building. It wasn’t luxurious. The brick exterior had darkened with rain, and one of the lights above the entrance flickered. The Contini estate probably had storage rooms larger than the apartment waiting for me upstairs.

she said, as if to leave. But just as she reached the door, Daniel called her back. "Maisie, I have an empty apartment." She was momentarily stunned. He offered her a warm smile. "You could move in. I... I can cut you a deal on the rent. What do you think?" - The apartment was situated in the city center within a top-tier luxury complex. It was a spacious 200-square-meter flat with a south-facing orientation and ample natural light streaming in through full-length windows. It offered a panoramic view of the bustling neighborhood below, especially enchanting in the evenings.