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I’ve bounced back from what happened on my wedding day. Well, bounced back from part of it. This situation with Philip still has to be resolved. Hopefully, when he sees the papers I sent him, he will decide to close this chapter and realize that whatever idea he is clinging to, is a foolish one.
I recline even more, glaring at the creaking fan above me. I really need to get it fixed.
As the movie drones on, my eyes slowly drift shut in exhaustion.
I don’t know what time it is when I wake up, but I am sweating profusely when I do.
The television is still blaring with some late-night show in the darkened room and I pull myself into a sitting position, ignoring my stiff muscles.
Blearily, I look around, not understanding why it is so hot.
The ceiling fan above me creaks at a moderate speed, the sound part of the background. The windows are also wide open, so ventilation is not a problem.
I get to my feet, cursing myself for falling asleep in such a position that all my back muscles are cramped. A quick glance at the wall clock tells me that it is just shy of midnight.
I am just stretching out my back when I hear a noise. It is soft, barely discernible, but I stop moving, straining my ears to hear.
There it is again.
It is coming from downstairs.
I clutch the back of the couch, not knowing what to do. There is clearly an intruder downstairs, but calling the police will be useless. This isn’t a particularly good neighbourhood, and the police avoid coming here. And if they do come, they will take a lot of time.
I hear a louder noise this time, as if something smashed, and my blood runs cold.
All my precious equipment!
I grab the baseball bat that I keep for security reasons from behind the door, and my heart hammers in my throat as I slowly reach for my front door to go down to the bakery.
The sudden vibration against my leg makes me jump, and I realize it is my cell phone. Seeing Philip’s number, I cut the call.
It rings again, and, frustrated, I answer.
“What do you want, Philip? I’m busy.” My voice is hushed.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it. We need to talk.” His voice always sounds like sin, low and husky. Right now, though, there is a tinge of authority to it, and he sounds a little put-off.
“We can talk later.” My voice is a bare whisper as I slowly turn the lock and pull the door open.
“Why are you whispering?” I can hear the suspicion in his voice. I restrain the growl building up in my throat.
“Because I don’t want the intruder to hear me,” I hiss. “Can I deal with one goddamn problem at a time?”
Silence on the other end, before he asks in a dangerous tone, “I’m sorry, did you just say there’s an intruder in your apartment?”
Maybe it is odd for him, seeing how he lives in such an upscale neighborhood. Break-ins are common in my area.
This is going to be my second break-in in these last few years.
There is a scar on my ankle as a reminder of what happens when someone is bigger and meaner than you and has a knife.
I grip the bat tighter.
“I’ll call you back.”
I stuff the phone in the pocket of my harem pants and wield my bat as if I actually know how to use it.
Taking a deep breath, I forcefully bring my fear under control. I make my way down the stairs to the door that leads to a small hallway. I push open that door as quietly as possible and look both ways, a door at either end of the corridor.
