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The opening credits roll and I settle, letting the sofa consume me whole, the idea of pizza floating through my mind.
And that’s when someone tries to turn the door handle.
CHAPTER5
JOEL
It’s not that I think Ben lied to me, but the key isn’t under the mat so here I am, standing on his doorstep, my hood pulled up over my baseball cap and sunglasses. I totally look suspicious.
What would be worse? Being hunted down at my own apartment or being caught looking like I’m about to break into someone else’s? Trick question. I’ll definitely get disowned if my father thinks I’ve turned to a life of crime.
As if it might make a difference, I lift up the doormat completely again, only to drop it in disgust when I see a worm. Ugh. I hope I didn’t touch a bug.
There’s a plant pot next to the door which to me seems like the next most likely place to hide a key. Cautiously, I peer around it, lifting my shades to make sure I’m not missing any details. Nothing. No key. Not even an insect.
Not wanting to think about insects anymore, I retreat from the pot and whip my phone out. My battery’s running out but at least it connects to Ben’s Wi-Fi without hassle. For the first time in years, I had to take the subway and abusand the connection kept dropping out the whole time. It was traumatic. But Dad has cut me off from our driver and apparently a cab is too high profile and traceable.
I don’t know how normal people live like this. It was so sweaty and hot that for a moment I really thought I was going to die. I can’t wait to get back to civilization.
Ben’s phone goes to voicemail and I swear at the chirpy little message he’s left and hang up. I count slowly to three to give him time to excuse himself from whatever the hell it is he’s doing and redial. Again, voicemail. There’s no way he can actually be that busy. Desperately, I rattle the handle again in case the lock decides to shake free, but it stands firm against my onslaught.
“Hello?” I shout at the door. “Is anyone home?” I thump on the door again, the wood solid against my fist. For a second I consider breaking the door down, but if just hitting it with my fist hurts that much, hitting it hard enough to break it is more damage than I want to do to myself.
Time for plan B, or maybe C. Ben’s place is ground floor, that means I could easily get through a window if the guy was stupid enough to leave one open. Shoulders hunched, I glance behind me in both directions before creeping towards the nearest window. The shades are drawn and the latch is shut.
Methodically, I circle the building, each time finding the same thing: closed curtains and tight locks. One of the windows has got its shades open, and so I return to it to peer into the dark of Ben’s living room. It seems weird to me that he’d have forgotten to close these shades, but I really don’t care about his motivations right now. I just want to be in there.
How much does a window cost, anyway? Whatever. It’s not like I can’t afford it. I’ll reglaze his entire house if he wants me to. What’s that old saying? It’s better to say sorry to someone after you do something than it is to ask them if you’re allowed to?
Before I can think this plan any further through, I take a deep breath, plant my feet, and slam my elbow into the glass. A shockwave goes down my bones and rattles the very core of me.
“Fuck!” I yell, cradling my arm. They don’t tell you it hurts this much in movies.
Grimacing, I look at my handiwork. The glass has cracked, which is a start, but I think my arm might shatter if I try that again. I don’t think I’m cut out to be an action hero. Shaking some feeling back into my arm, I take a step back to look around for a rock or brick or hammer or something. All I can see is some garden pebbles so I rush over to grab the biggest one I can find and go back to the window, pressing my back flat against the wall to scan for people again.
The coast seems to be clear. I roll the rock over in my hand; it’s about the size of my fist and a smooth, polished sandy color. A whole beach of these would be gorgeous. Unfortunately for the rock, I have a more dastardly purpose in store for it. I line myself back up with the window and throw the rock at the crack. It bounces sadly back onto the ground with a thump.
Guess I’m going to have to use some muscle after all. I pick the rock back up and, closing my eyes, slam it into the glass until my hand jars forwards as the window shatters with a way louder noise than I thought glass ever could. I toss the rock away, thanking it for its service, and grit my teeth against the tiny cuts scattered over my knuckles.
I’m glad I had that watch photoshoot last week. I’m never going to be able to hand model again.
Carefully, I reach in and twist my hand up towards the latch, wincing as the jagged edges scrape over my skin. I sigh in relief as the metal clip flips open and I manage to shimmy the window up with ease. Grinning to myself, I take a moment to bask in my success at being a delinquent.
I stick my head into the room and push myself forward, tumbling face-first onto the floor, my cap and sunglasses flying off my head to skate across the floor, leaving me squinting and panting in the dim light of the room. I lie there for a heartbeat, the wind knocked out of me from the effort. I squeeze my eyes shut to try and gather myself, then open them again.
And that’s when I see the lamp coming for my face.
CHAPTER6
ANNA
The man lets out the most undignified wail I’ve ever heard and the shock of it makes me scream back at him, lifting the lamp high above my head as if to strike. I don’t think I will — he seems to be completely nonthreatening. After all, his entrance was the furthest from elegant it could have been. But I’m not willing to give my weapon up yet, even if a small ceramic lamp isn’t the greatest ever tool of self-preservation. It was the first thing I grabbed.
He yells again at my movement and scrambles upright, pressing himself against the wall with his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”
“I don’t have a gun?!” I yell, startled by his own skittishness, then shake my head and frown hard again to try and make myself look angrier. “Who the hell are you?”
“Who the hell areyou?” he snaps back before cowering under his arms again. “Please don’t hurt me!”
