MTLNOVEL Chapter 16: Chapter 16: A place of her own.
Saturday | Brooklyn — 5:12 PM
The keys jingled in her hand as she stood outside the building, heart tapping against her ribs like it was trying to get a head start.
Lexi stared up at the little walk-up with chipped paint and crooked shutters.
Not much to look at.
But to her? It was everything.
Her first real apartment.
No roommates. No crashing on her cousin's couch. No sublets that came with broken toilets and mysterious ceiling stains.
Just a small studio in a quiet Brooklyn block with creaky floors, decent light, and a landlord who actually responded to emails.
She'd signed the lease with trembling fingers three days ago.
She remembered sitting across from the leasing agent, pen in hand, remembering all the nights she'd begged for extensions, split rent with strangers, and questioned if stability would ever be hers.
But now?
This was hers.
Lexi unlocked the door, stepped inside…
And smiled.
It wasn't furnished — just pale hardwood floors, off-white walls, and a mattress leaning against the wall. The window was open, letting in late sun and the scent of pizza from down the street.
Lexi took one deep breath.
Then said it out loud:
"It's not fancy… but it's mine."
---
"Don't just stand there like a homeowner!" Maya called from the hall. "We've got boxes to haul and pizza to eat."
Behind her came Shasha, carrying Lexi's full-length mirror and a plastic bin labeled 'random but important'.
Lexi swung the door wider. "Welcome to my royal palace."
Shasha grunted. "Queen of the floor mattress, I see."
Maya dropped her duffel with flair. "This has vibes."
They piled in — laughter, noise, girl energy — and within minutes, the floor was a tornado of cardboard, tissue paper, bubble wrap, and half-assembled IKEA nightmares.
"Why do you have three can openers?" Maya asked, holding them up like trophies.
"In case two fail?" Lexi shrugged.
Shasha popped open a box labeled 'kitchen??' and pulled out an unopened ice cream maker. "Lex… do you even make ice cream?"
"I had dreams, okay?"
"You had delusions," Maya muttered, dropping tangled fairy lights onto the floor. "These better not catch fire like last time."
Lexi groaned. "That was one time. And we unplugged it before the wall melted."
"Barely!" Shasha said. "I still have a charger cord with the scorch mark."
They were all talking at once now, voices overlapping, tossing throw pillows around like toddlers and arguing over where the "vibe corner" should go.
Maya opened another box and screamed. "Why is there a lone corn cob decoration in here? Is this a Thanksgiving curse?"
Lexi nearly choked laughing. "Don't come for Cornelius. He's sentimental."
"He's demonic," Shasha muttered, gently placing the corn cob on the windowsill. "But okay. Power of friendship or whatever."
---
Lexi rolled out the mattress with a dramatic flop, arms wide.
"This is luxury," she said. "This is empire."
"This is two hundred square feet and a fridge from 2005," Shasha muttered, sipping wine straight from the bottle. "But it's still cute."
"Empire," Lexi insisted, raising her paper cup in the air.
"To Lexi's first castle," Maya declared, clinking her own cup against it. "May your neighbors mind their business and your Wi-Fi never go out."
---
By nightfall, the three of them sat in the middle of the empty floor — legs stretched out, heads leaned back, music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, and the scent of pepperoni and new beginnings lingering in the air.
"Dance break," Maya shouted, already on her feet.
Lexi groaned. "I have no cartilage left."
Shasha hit play on their playlist anyway. "That sounds like quitter talk."
Moments later, the three of them were dancing like fools — spinning, laughing, shouting lyrics they barely knew. Lexi's hair came loose. Maya tripped over a box. Shasha somehow turned the mop into a microphone.
And for a fleeting moment, it felt like they were 22 again — reckless, alive, undefeated.
---
After they left — hugs exchanged, makeup smudged, pizza boxes piled by the door — Lexi stood at the window in her new space.
The city hummed outside.
She leaned on the sill, fingers curled around a cup of water, heart still warm from the night.
The room was quiet now.
No couch. No bedframe. No art.
But it held something.
Possibility.
Beginnings.
A soft kind of freedom.
She imagined the meals she'd cook here.
The playlists she'd cry to.
The early mornings she'd rush out with coffee and half-done makeup.
The way this space would evolve — as she did.
This wasn't just four walls and a window.
It was her quiet declaration: I'm doing it. I'm building something real.
---
She sat cross-legged on the mattress with her journal on her knees. A soft pen in one hand. Spotify humming low in the background.
She scribbled in soft curves:
My own keys.
My own name on the lease.
No hand-me-down fear.
Just me, moving forward.
She paused… then added:
I don't need it to be perfect. I just need it to be mine.
She changed into a soft cotton tee and an oversized hoodie, curled beneath a throw blanket, and let herself just be.
Spotify played something dreamy — mellow vocals, soft drums, the kind of song that lets your chest unclench.
And for the first time in a long
Chapter 16: A Place of Her Own
Saturday | Brooklyn — 5:12 PM
The keys jingled in her hand as she stood outside the building, heart tapping against her ribs like it was trying to get a head start.
Lexi stared up at the little walk-up with chipped paint and crooked shutters.
Not much to look at.
But to her? It was everything.
Her first real apartment.
No roommates. No crashing on her cousin's couch. No sublets that came with broken toilets and mysterious ceiling stains.
Just a small studio in a quiet Brooklyn block with creaky floors, decent light, and a landlord who actually responded to emails.
She'd signed the lease with trembling fingers three days ago.
She remembered sitting across from the leasing agent, pen in hand, remembering all the nights she'd begged for extensions, split rent with strangers, and questioned if stability would ever be hers.
But now?
This was hers.
Lexi unlocked the door, stepped inside…
And smiled.
It wasn't furnished — just pale hardwood floors, off-white walls, and a mattress leaning against the wall. The window was open, letting in late sun and the scent of pizza from down the street.
Lexi took one deep breath.
Then said it out loud:
"It's not fancy… but it's mine."
"Don't just stand there like a homeowner!" Maya called from the hall. "We've got boxes to haul and pizza to eat."
Behind her came Shasha, carrying Lexi's full-length mirror and a plastic bin labeled 'random but important'.
Lexi swung the door wider. "Welcome to my royal palace."
Shasha grunted. "Queen of the floor mattress, I see."
Maya dropped her duffel with flair. "This has vibes."
They piled in — laughter, noise, girl energy — and within minutes, the floor was a tornado of cardboard, tissue paper, bubble wrap, and half-assembled IKEA nightmares.
"Why do you have three can openers?" Maya asked, holding them up like trophies.
"In case two fail?" Lexi shrugged.
Shasha popped open a box labeled 'kitchen??' and pulled out an unopened ice cream maker. "Lex… do you even make ice cream?"
"I had dreams, okay?"
"You had delusions," Maya muttered, dropping tangled fairy lights onto the floor. "These better not catch fire like last time."
Lexi groaned. "That was one time. And we unplugged it before the wall melted."
"Barely!" Shasha said. "I still have a charger cord with the scorch mark."
They were all talking at once now, voices overlapping, tossing throw pillows around like toddlers and arguing over where the "vibe corner" should go.
Maya opened another box and screamed. "Why is there a lone corn cob decoration in here? Is this a Thanksgiving curse?"
Lexi nearly choked laughing. "Don't come for Cornelius. He's sentimental."
"He's demonic," Shasha muttered, gently placing the corn cob on the windowsill. "But okay. Power of friendship or whatever."
Lexi rolled out the mattress with a dramatic flop, arms wide.
"This is luxury," she said. "This is empire."
"This is two hundred square feet and a fridge from 2005," Shasha muttered, sipping wine straight from the bottle. "But it's still cute."
"Empire," Lexi insisted, raising her paper cup in the air.
"To Lexi's first castle," Maya declared, clinking her own cup against it. "May your neighbors mind their business and your Wi-Fi never go out."
By nightfall, the three of them sat in the middle of the empty floor — legs stretched out, heads leaned back, music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, and the scent of pepperoni and new beginnings lingering in the air.
"Dance break," Maya shouted, already on her feet.
Lexi groaned. "I have no cartilage left."
Shasha hit play on their playlist anyway. "That sounds like quitter talk."
Moments later, the three of them were dancing like fools — spinning, laughing, shouting lyrics they barely knew. Lexi's hair came loose. Maya tripped over a box. Shasha somehow turned the mop into a microphone.
And for a fleeting moment, it felt like they were 22 again — reckless, alive, undefeated.
---
After they left — hugs exchanged, makeup smudged, pizza boxes piled by the door — Lexi stood at the window in her new space.
The city hummed outside.
She leaned on the sill, fingers curled around a cup of water, heart still warm from the night.
The room was quiet now.
No couch. No bedframe. No art.
But it held something.
Possibility.
Beginnings.
A soft kind of freedom.
She imagined the meals she'd cook here.
The playlists she'd cry to.
The early mornings she'd rush out with coffee and half-done makeup.
The way this space would evolve — as she did.
This wasn't just four walls and a window.
It was her quiet declaration: I'm doing it. I'm building something real.
She sat cross-legged on the mattress with her journal on her knees. A soft pen in one hand. Spotify humming low in the background.
She scribbled in soft curves:
My own keys.
My own name on the lease.
No hand-me-down fear.
Just me, moving forward.
She paused… then added:
I don't need it to be perfect. I just need it to be mine.
She changed into a soft cotton tee and an oversized hoodie, curled beneath a throw blanket, and let herself just be.
Spotify played something dreamy — mellow vocals, soft drums, the kind of song that lets your chest unclench.
And for the first time in a lon
g time, Lexi let herself feel the full weight of what she'd done.
Not just survived.
Not just held it together.
She'd made it here.
On her own terms.
time, Lexi let herself feel the full weight of what she'd done.
Not just survived.
Not just held it together.
She'd made it here.
On her own terms.