Apartment Complexities

Corrected version of a story I started on 12/04/23. Let me know if I should continue it!

The elevator pinged, and she stepped inside, pushing the worn button for the 4th floor. Halfway up it stopped, and there he was. “Good morning, Cathy.”
He smiled, the lines around his eyes creasing along his cheeks. He stepped inside, his shitty blue uniform stained with something. She smiled back at him, a weak smile, that didn’t match her eyes.
“Morning Dan.”

They rode in silence, and she stepped off, on the third floor, as did he. She went up the stairs, and he walked away. The railing creaked under her weight as she made her way to her apartment room, giving the door a shove to get it to open. Damn thing always needed oiling, didn’t it? it slammed shut behind her. Her old leather shoes made a soft plunk as they hit the floor, her feet resting on the cold linoleum. The spotty, feathered gray curtains blocked out any light from the window, the kitchen still smelled like burn from yesterday's dinner. The couch sagged under her weight, and she rubbed her face with her hands, smudging the cheap makeup with her tears. What did it matter if her face smudged? She was smudged. This apartment was smudged. Isn't life itself smudged?

The room darkened with the passing hours, the footsteps of upstairs neighbors pattering in her ears. The door creaked as if someone knocked, but no one would actually be there. No one was ever there, not for her. However when she opened it after a few minutes, there he was.

“Good evening, Cathy.” in his stained, shitty uniform. A smile crinkling around his eyes again.
“Thought I should come fix this door of yours, Mandy at the desk says you’ve had some trouble with it, can’t have that can we?”
She nodded, “Suppose not.”
He bent down and took a look, slipping oil into the hinged edges that had already began to bronze with rust. “Should work better for ya now.”
He placed his supplies back in his little box. A stupid little box, blue like the shitty uniform, always clanging with noise of metal and whatever else he kept in there jingling around. “Thanks, Dan."
“Just doing my job, ain’t I? Have a good night.”
After that he clanged back down the hallway. Cathy closed the door, and it slid into the lock. The couch sagged again, as she collapsed onto the rough fabric.

The next morning cold outside air pushed at her skin, crawling all over like a bug infestation as soon as she left the complex. It made her skin feel too tight and dared her hair to swirl around her head as she made her way through the city, as if trying to cling onto the last bits of the outdoors it would see for the next twelve hours. It finally gave up the fight as she made her way into her office. Not quick enough to avoid the lecture on professionalism in appearances from her manager. She gave her empty apologies like usual, and thanked him for letting her stay. Internalized, however, were the critiques. Why does it matter how she looks anyway? She makes phone calls. Clients don't see you through telephones, they just care that you sound bubbly enough to pop, and boy could she pop any minute. The energy from irritation settled into dismay as she sat, complacent, in the drab cubicle she'd looked at for a decade now.

Was there ever really any light? It was dark when she left for work, and it's dark now that she left. The cold air pulls now, making her skin loose and weak. Each step feels like a stomp on the short way to the bus, and every sound from every fellow passenger feels like it was made special to disgust her. The apartment doors feel heavier, yet the elevator squealed all the same as she pushed the worn button for the fourth floor. Climb the stairs, slide the door shut, and kick the stupid leather shoes off. Plunk, plunk, they went. The couch creaked. Everything goes the same, every day. Except, someone knocked on the door. Again? Good lord.

She forced herself to get up and slowly, she dragged her body to the door, and cracked the door.
“Good evening, Cathy.”
Dan peeked at her, head tilted to see through the crack. He stood, giving her that same smile, the same smile he always did. “I wanted to come by again and check in, make sure that door’s not been giving you any more trouble. Gotta make sure I gave it enough oil.”
Of course, the door. She didn’t care much for it anyway, paid very little attention to it. She moved it a little back and forth, quietly testing it for him. "No trouble, it’s been working just fine. Doing what a door should.”
He nodded, like a commercial bobble-head. “That’s fantastic! While I'm here, there ain't nothing else that needs fixing, is there?"

Cathy shrugged. What a dork. His enthusiasm for such a mundane job always irritated her. She'd get it if he did something interesting or inspiring, but being a building mechanic would probably suck her soul more than being a customer relations manager does. Yet here he was, always strutting around, getting to know people and grinning like a dental model. "Not sure. I don't look into the nooks and crannies of this place like you do."
She realized how backhanded that was after she said it, but brushed it off. Dan didn't seem to offended, he just kept smiling. "That's surprising. You spend more time in this place than I do. I'd say I've seen you here every time I've had to work this floor! Say Cathy, when’s the last time you got out of here?”

What did he just say? “I leave every morning for work, you know, the little office down the street. You ought to know that if you're paying so much attention to me." She countered.
“You know I don’t mean for work. When’s the last time you made a choice? When’s the last you got up and set out to do something else?
This man was something else. She shifted her weight on the door frame. "I'm struggling to see where you hide the audacity to inquire that. I do plenty else."
He laughed at that. She wasn't trying to be funny, that was meant to be rude. "I'm sorry, I really am, I just can't help it. I pay attention to everyone here, and I can't help but pay mind to the way you've been cooping yourself up."
She let the door open all the way, looking him right in the eyes.
“What are you trying to say, Dan? Your job is to do maintenance on this apartment, and last time I checked, I’m not a part of this building.”
“Golly, Cathy, you might as well be." He quipped. When her indignation became apparent he motioned to her leaning on the door, and shrugged.
“Well, I can’t remember the last time i saw you leaving outta choice, and I remember the stripes on my childhood cat. To keep up with the residence you gotta keep up with the residents, y’know what i’m saying? it’s hard not to notice. I'm just worried, but I won't bother you if you're not comfortable.

What is wrong with this guy? Who does he think he is, And why doesn’t he understand how to mind his own business?
“I don’t think it matters," she muttered, "and it certainly shouldn't matter to you."
“I know it shouldn't, but it always does, Cathy. I just wanted to check in."
Everybody needs somebody. “That’s very nice of you, Dan, but be assured that I don’t need checking in on.”
The look he gave her said he didn't quite agree, but he nodded. “Well, I'd best be on my way then. G'night, Cathy.”