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An incoming text diverts my attention from my focus on getting back home, and I accidentally drop my phone onto the gravel. I quickly pick it up and wipe off the dampness. The number is unknown to me, and I open the message app to read the complete message.
Unknown: Girls like you should be careful.
22
My hands shake as I try not to drop my phone again. I read the words one more time to make sure I am not seeing things. Is someone watching me? My eyes dart around my surroundings but can only see darkness and the vague outline of streetlights in the fog of the night. I start to jog and am relieved when I make it to the sidewalk. It’s as if stepping foot on it makes me somehow safer. At least now I am near a bunch of homes.
My lungs scream for air as I keep up my pace. I am just a couple of rows away. Maybe a fourth of a mile, if that. I will myself forward and transition into a run. And I run and run.
My throat clenches as my foot slips, and I am airless. Gravity drops me to the cement. Pain sears through my knees and palms. The wind is knocked out of me, and my phone gets propelled forward. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’ve fallen. The rain is now beating down in a violent attack, stinging my exposed skin. My hair is soaked despite my hood, and the drops are streaming down my face. I pick myself up and rub at my sore knees. I am sure they are bruised and bleeding underneath the fabric of my pants. My palms are skinned but nothing is broken. For that I am thankful. I find my phone a couple of yards in front of me and rub it against my wet clothes—only to just smear moisture all over the screen. I attempt to jog but cannot get my legs to cooperate. I am in pain.
I need to make it a few more houses. Ironically, no one is around. It’s as if the entire area is deserted. I focus my attention on getting home, up the steps, and to my door. I rummage through my purse for the keys and realize they’re in my pocket. I unlock the door and push my drenched self through the threshold into the entryway.
I peel off my jacket and throw my soaked purse onto the floor near the rack of shoes. I remove my boots and toe off my socks.
The sound of loud masculine laughter coming from the kitchen bombards me and helps awaken my senses.
“Claire, I’m home!” I yell loudly—giving warning to my presence—to avoid witnessing naked body parts.
“Okay! Be there in a few minutes!” she giggles. “Just finishing up dinner. Do not come in here.”
“Make sure you sanitize the space,” I call back. “Changing clothes and will be down.”
I slowly crawl up the stairway, feeling the pulling skin of my knees with each bend. Ouch. I resist telling Claire what happened. At least for now. She will freak if and when I do tell her. I just don’t want to kill the happiness right now that Ethan seems to bring out of her in abundance.
When I enter my room, I quickly discard my wet attire and examine the damage done to my knees. Just some mild swelling and a brush burn. I clean the open areas and place bandages over the wounds. I wash my hands and decide to forgo covering the skinned flesh on my palms. The blood has already clotted and scabbed over. I open my dresser and settle for a set of pink fleece pajamas with the words “Girl Power” printed across the front. I slip on a pair of fuzzy red socks and brush out my wet hair.
Settling in on the sofa, I find a medium sized package on the coffee table addressed to me. Seriously, again? What is with the random packages?
Claire’s voice penetrates my ears with her shushing and exaggerated stops.
“What smells so good?” I yell, giving warning to my reappearance.
“Ugh, um, homemadebutternutsquashsoup,” Claire answers suddenly, blending her words together in a rush. The sound of rustling and falling plastic cups fills the silence. “I had a craving.”
“Yum! I can smell the nutmeg and cinnamon. Smells like fall in here. Love it!”
I hear a few umpffs, and I stifle a giggle. I really am just hoping they clean up after their sexcapade.
Claire’s head peeks around the door frame between the kitchen and living room, giving me a sly smile. “Um, can you close your eyes for just one minute?”
“Sure.” I shut my eyes, moving my palms to cover the lids for added effect. I hear two different sets of footsteps running past the coffee table and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. The laughter heard from the top of the staircase lets me know instantly that I am safe to look. “Please tell me you two Clorox wiped all of the surfaces! I just cleaned them the other day!” I holler, only sparking their giggles.
Three minutes later, Claire emerges, fully clothed in loungewear. “Sorry about that,” she mutters, her face actually producing a blush. It must have been some good sex for her to react like that. “I’ll disinfect everything. Promise.”
I shake my head back and forth in mock disapproval. I cannot hide my amusement. Maybe living vicariously through your roommate’s romps is the way to make it through college unharmed by overzealous billionaires.
“You shower already?” Claire asks suddenly, looking at my hair. She flops down on the couch.
“Car broke down and I got caught in the rain,” I explain.
“What? And you didn’t call me? Especially after what happened with Resa,” she scolds.
“Yeah, I know,” I say with a frown, “but I figured you were busy.”
“Angie! You can be so dense sometimes. What if something happened to you?”
“I’m fine. Nothing bad happened.”
