“You can come out of there now, sweetheart.”
No. No. No. My brain screams when I suddenly collide with a wall of man. My body jolts from the impact. Jerking back, my ankle twists onto its side, almost tipping me off the curb. Two firm hands grip my arms, stopping me from falling at his feet. My instincts are to disengage his hold, but I find myself mesmerized. Beard, full lips, those eyes. “It’s you,” I say dumbly, breathless. Can a person steal the air from your lungs?
“It’s me.” He smiles. It’s the first time I’m hearing his voice, and it strokes places inside that haven’t been touched by another in a long time.
It’s awkward. He’s held on to me longer than necessary, and I haven’t pulled free. I’m clumsy when he does release me. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I plant them on my hips, sucking oxygen into my lungs. “Well,…thanks for not letting me fall.” I smile tightly, dipping my eyes to his feet, my cheeks heating a hundred degrees. He reaches out, tipping my chin up with a brush of his fingers, making a gasp wisp past my lips. It’s intimate—too intimate. The simple touch sets a blaze over my skin. I step back from his touch, feeling vulnerable and confused. “I should go.” I shake my head to clear it. I don’t say goodbye as my legs start moving away. Pain shoots up my ankle, begging me to take the weight from it, but I carry on running, sneaking a look over my shoulder every couple seconds. He hasn’t moved. He's just watching me, his silhouette lit by the streetlight like a painting, a beautiful piece of art that should be on display in galleries.
I almost fall into our pitch-black apartment, slamming the door and resting my spent body against it. My chest heaves, trying to drag air into my lungs. I feel exhausted and alive at the same time. “You okay?” Charlotte asks from the couch, making me screech.
“Why the hell are you sitting in the dark?” I scold, walking over and flicking on the lamp.
“I swear I saw movement in her apartment. It’s better to see with the lights out. Why are you all sweaty and gross?”
“You know I went for a run. She may have company and doesn’t like the lights on—not everyone is as confident as you.” I wave a finger up her body for emphasis.
“You went for a run ages ago and she’s always half naked waltzing around, there’s no way she’s shy.” Rolling my eyes, I head over to the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it twice. The cold water swills in my stomach, reminding me I haven’t eaten. Opening the fridge, I pull out old pizza and stuff half a slice into my mouth. My insides groan, protesting the intrusion. “That’s hideous. You live like a student,” Charlotte gags.
“I am a student.”
“You go to classes three times a week, Liz. You’re hardly a scholar.”
“I’m sorry, what was your degree in again?” I taunt with a narrowed glare. I want to say cock doesn’t count, but refrain.
“I’m going to marry into money or just sponge off you when you use your college degree to get a high-flying job.” Don’t count on that. “Did you see that?” she gasps, and my heart skips.
“What?” I follow her to the window.
“Something moved in there, I’m telling you.”
“I don’t see anything.” I focus, narrowing my eyes. “It’s your imagination.”
Tick, tick, tick.
Something darts at the window, making us both scream and jolt back. My ankle smarts. Motherfucker. One of her cats walks across the windowsill like it’s on a model runway. “I nearly just had a heart attack.” Charlotte chuckles, a hand to her chest. “Is that thing safe with the window open?”
“Cats always land on their feet, right?” I cringe. “I can’t watch.”
Peeling the clothes from my sweaty body, I test the shower and groan when only cold water pours from the head. Charlotte drained the hot water. Taking a brave breath, I move under the spray, yelping when the icy blast explodes over my skin. I manage one minute before I get out, stuttering, my entire body shivering.
Collapsing on my bed, my ankle prickles, reminding me I injured it earlier tonight. Blue bruising is already blooming across my foot, and the ankle is two times bigger than the other. Perfect.
Rummaging through a pile of half dirty and half clean clothes, I pull out a pair of shorts and a tank top, tug them over my body, and crawl under the covers. The moon glows through the window. Feet overhead stomp around, drawing my eyes up briefly. I stare out at the moon, imagining the guy above me is doing the same thing. It’s not long before my interaction with the guy from earlier begins replaying in my head. The way he touched me like I was his… What would have happened had I not ran away like I always do? Maybe he would have kissed me, two strangers in the night sharing a moment. Am I just thinking the finger under my chin was too personal? Charlotte meets people on her app and an hour later shares her body with them. Maybe it’s normal.
I’m so lame. He was probably making sure I was okay, wanted to see my face to gage if I was in pain. Punching my pillow, I turn on my back and look up at the ceiling. I need to start pushing myself out of my comfort zone or these nights alone with my fingers and images of
