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“They’re closed!” I stated anxiously, “This isn’t an entrance.”
“It is for us.”
“Don’t you dare even try.” I looked away from the door, surveying the darkness of Central Park. We were alone, but I didn’t know for how long. I was certain it was locked from the outside, but I didn’t want him to even touch the handle. The alarm would be deafening, just as it had at the Dripphotoshoot. “I’ll leave.”
“Try, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”
I shook my head. “I’ll scream.”
“Swear?” He begged, overly joyed from my threats that seemed to excite him. I tensed, both from his words and the thought of getting caught.
“You’re such a jerk.”
“I’m honest, at least with what I want, and as much as I would enjoy hearing you scream, I’d prefer you save your voice. I have plans for it.” He added, slipping something out from his jacket. “Tonight we enter for free.” In his hand was a key, its shape far too unique to go unnoticed.
“You didn’t?” I asked, assuming he’d stolen it from the firemen at the photo shoot.
“It was a gift,” he replied. “An exchange for one hell of a photo.” He slipped it into the lock, twisting it to the side. The click of the handle made me flinch, but no alarm was triggered.
“This is totally illegal.” I warned.
“And?”
“And, it’s not a good look,” I defended, “not for me and especially, not for you.”
“You my good girl?” He asked, an uninvited pressure to bend. I was a good girl, and though part of me was embarrassed to admit it, I kind of enjoyed hearing him say that. This time, I wasn't sure if he was teasing or if he meant it. His potent stare was interrupted by a drop of rain that fell from a loose strand of his hair. This was a contest to see who’d budge, either I would leave, or I would follow him, both my choice alone.
“Don’t call me that.” I insisted, pushing him aside. I pressed on the handle, popping the door open. It creaked, revealing a long dark hall with swooping cool air. I stood at the opening, less confident than I pretended to be. “You first.” I requested, my hesitancy garnering a breathy laugh. He seemed brave, and if he wasn't, then he was as good of an actor as others had claimed. I followed as he stepped inside, allowing the door to shut, to encapsulate us in the dark.
“I knew you’d come, I also knew you’d enjoy this.” He stated, the sound of his boots as thick as his voice.
“Save your confidence. You’re lucky I haven’t been here in a while, and I’m desperate enough to see it again.”
“I know all about being desperate to see something again.” He replied, his presence close behind, noticeable only through the scent of cherry smoke. He was talking about me. His unapologetic pursuit typically made me shy, but in the dark, we were invisible, which helped. He couldn’t read me, and I couldn’t read him. It was safer in the shadows, a realization I knew early as a child.
“This isn't the only bad thing I’ve done.” I announced, attempting some form of credibility.
“I don’t believe that.” He suppressed a laugh.
“It’s true. You may have a reputation, but that’s only because people know you. I’ve been wild, I’ve broken the law.” It sounded as lame out loud as it did in my head, but Alejandro entertained it.
“What could you have possibly done?” He questioned as we left the hall, entering an expansive room of marbled statues.
“In eighth grade I found a box of pants in the school auditorium. They were just sitting there, folded neatly, completely unattended.”
“And what did you do?” He asked, stopping below the windowed dome above our heads. The pouring rain tapped along the glass, twisting the moonlight that fell upon his handsome face. I stared at him, contemplating how he made me feel. I wasn’t certain if it was good or bad, I just knew it was different.
“I took them.” I confessed.
“So you’re a thief?”
“Yes, well at least I think so. Are you still a thief if you bring them back?”
“I don’t know, I’d say not,” he replied, amused and not the slightest bit convinced. “Why did you bring them back?”
“I didn't realize until I was home that the box was for our marching band. I had thirty pairs of pinstripe pants, all with the school logo on them.” It was a shameful confession, especially for what I needed at the time. Outside of Parker, no one knew I grew up poor. That fact alone I wasn’t embarrassed by, but the fact I was forced to wear the same clothes for three consecutive grades made me self-conscious. Not only did the clothes grow out of style, but I grew out of them. It hurt to wear the things I had, but I had no choice, which is why I stole the box. “I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even carry them back to the auditorium, so instead, I left them on the football field. It got even worse when maintenance accidentally mowed over them, shredding them into pieces. Principal Sanders held a school assembly about how awful we all were, but really it was just me.” Alejandro dug his teeth into his bottom lip, horribly attempting to conceal the humor he found in my story. “Are you laughing?” I asked.
“No.” He corrected, “Just second guessing bringing the pants thief to an invaluable museum.”
