“Wait, hang on!”
I hang up, cutting her off, and lean back in my chair in frustration. I go to drink my coffee and realize the cup is empty. Damn, I’ve been distracted.
I rub my face, cheeks gritty against my fingertips. I can’t remember the last time I showered.
I scuttle to my front door again, this time flipping my hood over my face and hugging my chest tightly. I have to risk another trip to the coffee shop. The sun is peeking through my window now, so I know more people will be out. But I’m addicted to this coffee. I think I like to punish myself with how strong it is.
I walk out of my apartment and close my door inch by inch so it doesn’t make a noise. I wince when the latch catches. Don’t let Jason hear, don’t let Jason hear, don’t let Jason hear.
But when I tiptoe past my door, the familiar jingle of Jason’s front lock sounds in the hallway.
Fuck. My flip-flops don’t allow me to run—I’ve tried before and ended up wiping out on the cold white industrial tile in the hallways.
“Hey, Jules!”
I stop dead in my tracks. He’s up. He’s out.
Then, fuck it, I keep walking. But he calls my name again.
“Jules! Hey!” He barks at me like I’m on a football team with him. “Did you hear me?”
Ugh.
I turn around slowly, sure to have the worst scowl on my face I can muster. How ugly can I make myself? How much more unappealing? I haven’t showered, so while still thick, my blonde hair is getting a little on the swamp-witchy side. I also haven’t washed my face, so my skin is gritty. And my clothes? The sweatpants with the spicy ramen noodle stain on the thigh. The sweatshirt that has a hole in the shoulder and surely sweat stains in the armpits by now. Haven’t done laundry in weeks.
Not to mention the flip-flops forced over the mismatched socks.
The message I’m clearly sending to the world: Back off. Don’t get close. No looking.
But, of course, that doesn’t deter Jason. He’s always looking.
Still, when he approaches, a weird smile on his face, my fingers tighten around my keys, and my mind introduces a million scenarios in which I have to stab him in the side of his neck.
“Almost missed you. Like you were trying to run away from me or something,” says Jason as he leans against my doorframe, chewing gum.
He doesn’t have a shirt on, and his chest is smooth, rippling abs down his front side. His hair is cropped close. Usually, he’s got a gun clipped to his hip, which trips my pulse every time I see him. He’s a cop, so that’s why.
He’s probably in his late twenties, about the same age as me, give or take. But we couldn’t be more different.
“I’m heading downstairs to get coffee.”
He smiles and points to his door. “Coffee? I’ve got coffee. Come in. I’ll make you a cup.”
I stare at him blankly, hoping to make him uncomfortable. Most people can’t stand to be under my stare for too long, but it doesn’t seem to be working.
“I’m good,” I deadpan, but when I pivot around, I freeze in place when his hand grips my shoulder, spinning me back around.
“You should smile more. You’d be really hot if you smiled, has anyone ever told you that? It’s not that hard, just lift the corners of your lips. C’mon, if you smile, I’ll get you that cup of coffee you want.”
His fingertips tighten ever so slightly when I move away, and my body recoils involuntarily. Although he’s smiling, I don’t like the glimmer in his eye. I don’t like it one bit.
I jerk my shoulder from his grasp. “No thanks!” I shout awkwardly, then before he can say any more, I turn and jog away.
I must look crazy, but I don’t care. When I hit the stairwell, I think I may have made a tactical error. He could chase after me here, and I’d have no place to go.
He could push me, and I’d fall to my death right down the center hole. Flushed like a goldfish down the toilet.
I’m rushing now, panting because I’m pushing my legs to trot down each step so quickly. My hand slides along the railing. Don’t fucking trip.
By the time I reach the bottom, my legs jiggle like jelly and my lungs heave.
But I welcome the air outside. He didn’t follow me.
Of course he didn’t follow you. As always, you’re scared of nothing.
I’m annoyed with myself for acting like such a victim.
I step into the shop and nod at the owner.
One simple interaction with Jason has my parasympathetic nervous system on fire . . . or that’s what my old therapist would’ve said. Flight or fight.
And I fled.
It’s a good lesson. I don’t need to be curious about things.
My apartment is safe, and that’s where I’ll stay.
When I step outside the confines of my safe spaces, bad things happen.
