A bolt of terror shoots through my heart and, for an instant, I truly think Hannah’s talking to me, calling me out in the creepiest way possible because she is a total creep. Then I hear her speak again.
“Just got home…”
Thank God, she’s on the phone. I could die of relief right here. But I still need to get out of here—immediately.
“I thought I’d be back earlier, but I stayed for dinner, so I didn’t leave until four…Good, missed talking to you…What are you doing?”
I raise an eyebrow. Maybe she patched up things with her stale boy toy, after all.
“You could stop by…”
No, you could not stop by. Because there’s another creepy woman in this apartment who’s hiding under the bed and needs to get the fuck out of here!
What’s more, if Hannah’s back together with her boyfriend and he comes over and I have to covertly witness anything that follows, I’ll absolutely vomit and then die.
I glare at the box spring creaking above me.
Hannah sighs, “Fine, guess I’ll just see you at Hildy’s…”
Hannah’s silent for a good minute or so. I can hear the deep, muffled, male voice on the other end of the call, but not enough to make out any words. All I know is that he has a lot to say.
“What? I have no idea,” Hannah chuckles. “For real…Yeah, that’s weird…Well, you don’t throw anything away. I should know…”
A moment later, her laughter fades and she goes silent. The distant voice on her phone continues to speak and the box spring creaks as Hannah shifts her weight. My eyes dart to the edge of the bed skirt as her feet appear on the carpet.
“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs.
The voice keeps going, speaking faster, and even from my cramped hiding place, I can tell the tone of the conversation has changed, and not in a good way.
“But—”
The voice cuts her off.
“I told you, I don’t know. Why are you—”
Whoever she’s talking to isn’t having any of it. Listening intently, all I can pick up are intermittent exhales of frustration, false starts, and uncomfortable shifts on the mattress. A set of tiny feet appear next to Hannah’s as Marco sniffs the carpet and rubs his cheek against her calf.
“I have always been there for you!” Hannah explodes, making me flinch and Marco cower.
“I drop everything to help you,” Hannah’s voice switches from angry to frantic, almost apologetic. “You know I wouldn’t do that. I care about you more than anyone and—”
He cuts her off again. She’s pouring her soul out to this guy, and for what I don’t understand. At the wedding, she acted like she could take him or leave him. Marco pokes his nose beneath the bed skirt. My eyes dart to him, petrified, as he sniffs along the carpet and then looks right at me.
He meows.
I clenched my jaw, my heart pounding against my ribcage, panic building with each twitch of Marco’s cute little whiskers.
“No, don’t—”
Marco crouches down and inches further under the bed skirt, peering at me with curiosity. He takes two steps toward me.
“Hello?”
I hold my breath, my eyes darting between Marco and the underside of the box spring. Hannah goes silent and the voice on the other end of the phone is gone. Something hits the wall with a thud, making my muscles seize in terror. Although startled, I remain motionless, not moving a muscle as Hannah’s phone hits the carpet and bounces into the middle of the floor.
I’m dead. I’m so dead. Why is everything ending up on the floor right here?
Hannah doesn’t move right away. Instead, she takes a series of deep breaths, punctuated by sporadic, muted gasps. A small part of me feels sorry for her, sniveling above me on her bed, having been spurned by her prince in tin foil.
But my sympathy is short-lived. This is also the woman who flirts with my fiancé, went through my house, and stole my shit. She can go to hell. I don’t care about her relationship problems, I just need to figure out how to get out of here before something humiliating happens.
After a few moments, the mattress shifts again and Hannah stands up. I watch her bare feet pace back and forth a few times. Marco is still crouched mere feet from me, halfway under the bed.
My entire body goes rigid as Hannah stoops down and reaches under the bed to take hold of Marco around his midsection. She pulls him out and lifts him up, cooing some gibberish kitten-talk to him.
I’m contemplating throwing up or having a heart attack when I realize Hannah is carrying Marco out of the room, leaving her phone lying on the floor. I listen to her footsteps move down the hall toward the kitchen, where the refrigerator opens, closes, and the pop of a carbonated can echoes through the hallway. Her sparkly crimson painted toes trudge back across the carpet, pausing to pick up her phone, and then continue to the bathroom on the other side of the bed.
I wait, ready to take my opportunity, listening as water begins gushing from the bathtub faucet. The flow pauses for a few seconds when Hannah pulls the lever for the shower. Then I hear water spray out of the showerhead. Still, I remain perfectly still, waiting for the right sound.
There it is.
As soon as I hear the intermittent splashes of water being squeezed out of hair onto the bottom of the tub, I scurry out from under the bed, the lipstick tube still clutched in my fist. It’s probably melted by now. I leap from the room and tear through the apartment on tip-toes as silently as I can. I unlock the door and immediately slow to a normal pace as I step into the arctic blast outside. Making sure to re-lock the doorknob, I smoothly and silently shut the door.
Moments later, I’m nonchalantly floating down the stairs and out to the sidewalk behind the building. Adrenaline still pumping, I keep my guard up until I roll out of the parking lot and I’m safely back on the road as if I was never there.
When I get home, my nerves are thoroughly shot. Bowen is unloading sub sandwiches and bags of chips onto the table.
“Get everything you needed?” he asks, blithely unaware of my dramatic getaway.
