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“No worries, babe. If I wander into an alley, feel free to worry then.” She gives a wink and walks past me to start the movie. Just like that, it’s done.
When the movie ends, Alex is passed out and I’m hungry. An appetite makes me happy, that means my body is healing. I hate being sick—injured—same difference. I sit up slowly, mostly out of pain and also because I don’t want to wake Alex. I head toward my door, bumping into my desk chair. Dammit! That hurt, but I can’t turn on the light or I will wake her. When I reach the door, that same uneasy feeling starts to creep up my spine, making the hairs on my arm stand straight up. I brush it off, knowing that I’m still shaken from being beaten and robbed. I stand looking down at the fuzzy shadow of my hand, a bit dizzy and my eyes not quite adjusted yet.
As I open the bedroom door, my heart starts to race and my breathing becomes shorter and faster. Everything in my body is at full alert, screaming at me to shut the door and lock it! Damn this, I will not become some crazy old lady confined to one room because I’m too scared to walk to my own kitchen. I open the door with purpose, even though nobody is there to witness my show of courage. The great room is empty, dark and silent. I take a steadying breath and step through the doorway.
Half-way through the living room I see it, ever so slight and almost unnoticeable. The curtains in the dining room move.
I am frozen to my spot. My mind rushes through a thousand thoughts.How fast can I get back to the bedroom? Can I scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear? Is it just my imagination?I’m brought back into the present by the sound of the window behind those curtains closing.
I scream.
The first thing I see is Alex running at me and I realize I am running back towards her and the bedroom. We are both screaming at each other but somehow she understands that she needs to go the same way, retreating to safety. We both make it back to the bedroom and I scramble for my cell, then remember it’s dead. I’m suddenly thankful that mom convinced me to keep a landline, “just in case”. Alex locks the door behind us and looks to me for some kind of explanation.
“Please, we have an intruder! Send someone, please.” I say in a rush to the 911 operator. Alex goes to my closet and flings open the doors, grabbing the bat I keep in there for this kind of occasion. She holds it up, defensively.
As I give our address to the 911 operator, I can feel the stinging saltwater tears running down the abrasions on my face. Alex reaches one hand back and I clutch her hand, but she quickly releases my hand to hold the bat, like she means business.
We wait an eternity, both of us silent, sucking in tiny breaths as if to give the perception that we are not there hiding behind the closed, locked door. The next sound we hear is the police banging down the apartment door and announcing their presence.
“Thank God. We are in the bedroom!” Alex screams, dropping the bat and turning to hug me.
The 911 operator confirms the police have arrived and we hang up. Alex and I stand clinging to each other in a silent realization of what just happened.
God, this scene is becoming too familiar. My mother in hysterics, Richard consoling her, and me, being admonished for living in a shitty neighborhood. This time I have Alex to deal with too.
“Maybe we should just move uptown. I mean, I get it, this neighborhood has character and it’s affordable. But I’m fine with selling out our trendy edge if it means staying alive. I’m just saying,” Alex helpfully points out.Traitor.
I sigh in defeat. Why am I even fighting this? If I am being honest and not stubborn, I’ll admit that I am scared as hell to sit another minute in this place. This is twice in one week, I’ve been violated on my home turf. I look at my mother and see the fear in her eyes. It’s too much. I begin to cry, and she pulls me into her arms and strokes my hair.
“You are right, Mom. I’m not safe here and I promise we can look for a different place, but for now I just want to check into a hotel. Preferably a room without windows.” She gives a small smile and a nod.
The police are collecting evidence while my dramatic family situation unfolds. I look around my house, watching the officers dust for prints and look for evidence of a break-in. My thoughts are interrupted by someone calling out for an evidence bag.
“Careful, get me some gloves,” the detective says. “I think we may have found our weapon.”
Weapon? What the hell, I immediately feel sick to my stomach. I can feel my mother’s arms tighten around me.
“This is not happening,” Alex says as she looks at me with fear, pure terror. I look past her to see what has caused her tan face to turn ashen. It’s a knife, lying on the floor, right behind the curtain. Knife is the wrong word; it’s more like a mini-machete. “My God,” my mother breathes, and Richard immediately asks to speak with whomever is in charge.
We all watch Richard navigate what seems to be an intense conversation. I stare at the mini machete. Every once in a while, he gives us a reassuring nod and glance. After a few moments, he walks back and says in a commanding voice, “Young ladies, go and pack a bag. I will have the rest of your things packed and stored until we find a suitable and safe place for you to live. For now, we are free to leave.”
I have a million questions, but judging by his tone, it’s best to do as Richard says. I have always felt safe around him. He and my mother married a year before I left for college. He has always respected my boundaries, and I know that he will take care of me, if only because he adores my mother. I rise and walk into my room, past the flurry of officers who have seemingly taken over my living space. It is such a strange thing, to feel like an intruder in your own home.
When I go back to my room I sigh with relief for something familiar and unchanged. I sag into my bed and notice the light on my phone is lit, showing me it’s come back to life.
Crap.It’s Jack again. We haven’t spoken since our ill-fated run-in as he was leaving another girl’s apartment. I had honestly forgotten about him.
Right now, I pick up the phone and hit the call button. “Mia,” says the deep voice on the other end. “Yes?” My voice barely contained my irritation.
“Mia, don’t. I’m sorry. Why haven’t you returned my phone calls or messages, or any of my texts for that matter!?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Is he serious? He decides to screw the slutty girl from Apartment C, and I’m the asshole? I’m the jerk for not wanting to hear his excuses?! He has messed with the wrong girl!
“Are you kidding, Jack? Excuse me for not wanting to hear the sordid details of some gross, STD-filled night with the floozy downstairs. And while we are talking about my avoidance of you, it is because I was almost killed twice in the last five days!!” The last part comes out as a yell, and I surprise even myself.
“Jesus, Mia!” He sounds frantic. “Tell me where you are, tell me what happened. Are you ok?”
I hear the sound of keys jingling in the background. Is he trying to be my knight in shining armor? This guy is a joke.
