So Not Meant To Be

I head out of my room and down the hall to the kit‍­chen, de‍­bat‍­ing if I should start a new show, such a com‍­mit‍­ment, or find a movie that ap‍­peals to me, also a com‍­mit‍­ment. If I choose a show, that means I have some‍­thing to watch for—

“Errrrrrrrm.”

I pause.

What was that?

I don’t move.

I hold my breath, wait‍­ing to hear the noise again.

The way the build‍­ing is mapped out, you wouldn’t hear the pent‍­house on the other side, and I know I’m alone be‍­cause JP said he was going out. So, does that mean . . . is someone in here?

My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I creep for‍­ward, listen‍­ing, wait‍­ing . . .

“Urgggh‍­hh.”

There it is again.

This time, the sound sends a chill down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

That isn’t a nor‍­mal build‍­ing creak‍­ing sound. That’s a sound that comes from a human. Or a suf‍­fer‍­ing an‍­im‍­al.

Or a suf‍­fer‍­ing human.

Some‍­thing is suf‍­fer‍­ing.

Creep‍­ing for‍­ward, I try to stay as quiet as I can so I can loc‍­ate the sound.

“Uh‍­h‍­h‍­h‍­h‍­h‍­hrrrrrr.”

My head snaps to the right, down the hall‍­way to‍­ward JP’s room.

Since the only light on in the main liv‍­ing space is in the kit‍­chen, I can see that there’s no light show‍­ing through the crack under JP’s door.

So he’s def‍­in‍­itely not home.

Which means . . . there’s either a mur‍­der‍­er in there, a suf‍­fer‍­ing an‍­im‍­al, or a ghost.

I shuffle to the kit‍­chen, keep‍­ing my eyes on his door the en‍­tire time as I haphaz‍­ardly reach for a wooden spoon from the utensils crock on the counter. Spoon in hand, I creep to‍­ward his hall‍­way, only to stop when I hear the noise again.

“Frrrrrrrreeerm.”

Oh God.

Oh God.

OH GOD!

I can prac‍­tic‍­ally taste my heart‍­beat as I move closer. My pulse zaps against my neck, stiff‍­en‍­ing my shoulders. Why am I doing this alone? I should wait for JP to get home.

“Uh‍­h‍­h‍­h‍­hh.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and nervously run in place, my feet lightly pad‍­ding on the floor.

Turn around, you idiot, this is how people in scary movies die. They in‍­vest‍­ig‍­ate the sound. But just like every other moron in a scary movie, I don’t run to my room and call for help. I don’t even grab a freak‍­ing knife.

Nope, manned with a wooden spoon—the worst it can do is toss a salad—I slide closer and closer to his room until I hear it . . . a con‍­stant pump‍­ing sound. Like . . . oh God, like someone is get‍­ting stabbed.

“Fuuuuuu.”

Stabbed!

They’re get‍­ting stabbed in his room right now. Wait . . . what if JP is get‍­ting stabbed and I’m just stand‍­ing here, out‍­side of his door with a wooden spoon, doing noth‍­ing? What if he came home without me know‍­ing and was at‍­tacked?

My nipples grow hard in fear.

I nearly choke on my saliva.

And be‍­fore I can stop my‍­self, I pull down on the doorknob, then kick the door open and ac‍­com‍­pany it with a war‍­ri‍­or scream that nearly deafens me.

“EEEEEEE AH‍­H‍­H‍­H‍­H‍­H‍­H‍­HH!” I yell, wield‍­ing my spoo

while back, how they have the best Dim Sum, and then I’m going to take her to the rooftop for dessert.

Breaker: Smooth. I like it. After dessert, are you going to tell her how you feel?

JP: Yeah. Call me crazy, but I truly think she has the same feelings for me.

Breaker: I think you’re ready.

JP: I know I’m ready. Fuck, I’m excited. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before.

Breaker: You haven’t, at least you’ve never told me. I can tell . . . you really like her.

JP: I do. And I don’t want to fuck this up. I’d never forgive myself.

Breaker: Well, you’d know if she’s ready for you. Do you think she is?

JP: I do. After the hug last night, I think she’s ready for me.

Breaker: Then you need to use your words, JP.

JP: What do you mean? We’ve been talking about lots of things.

Breaker: You need to use words and tell her how you feel. So far, you’ve tried to show her what you feel. Now it’s time to speak, man. Give her your truths.

JP: I will. Fuck . . . okay.

* * *

Kelsey: Lottie, things are not going well.

Lottie: What do you mean?

Kelsey: You have to swear you’re not going to tell Huxley.

Lottie: Of course I won’t. It’s a form of foreplay, keeping innocent things away from him. Drives him nuts. So, please, more secrets.

Kelsey: JP almost made me come.

Lottie: WHAT?

Kelsey: I know. God, too much backstory, but before I knew what was happening, he had me pinned against the wall, forcing me to massage my clit. I did it and then he sucked my fingers.

Lottie: What in the holy hell is happening over there? Plus, Huxley did that to me once, when we hated each other, remember? I told you about it. It’s the sexiest thing ever.

Kelsey: I nearly came when his mouth pulled on my fingers. Why . . . why is this happening?

Lottie: I told you not to wear those pajamas

though, now that’s an accurate description.” When she turns away, I push her a little more and ask, “What did he think of your dress?”

She glances at me over her bare shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“When Edwin saw you tonight, did he wax poetic about how you reminded him of his favorite chickadee perched amongst a field of flowers?”

“He did not.” She lifts her chin.

“Okay, so then what did he say?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you say you’re looking for love. A simple reaction to your appearance tonight would warrant you an answer on where he stands with you. What did he say? A simple you’re beautiful? Maybe a shy . . . wow?”

Her clenched jaw works back and forth as she stares at the dance floor. “He said I was wearing a nice colored dress.”

“And?” I ask.

“That was it.” She picks up her glass of water and takes a sip.

“Wait, that’s all he said? That you had on a nice colored dress?”

She carefully sets down her glass and I can see her bitter movements, the way she clenches her fists, and the longing in her eyes as she stares at each couple on the dance floor.

I don’t know how long she took to get ready tonight.

I can’t imagine what she went through picking out the perfect dress.

Nor could I imagine the excitement she felt about her date seeing her—because she’s a vision.

But I’ve watched Kelsey for several months now, and I know when she’s annoyed, and probably when she’s hurt. So I’m sure about one thing—the time she spent getting ready for tonight was enough time to warrant a better reaction than nice colored dress. And it makes me feel even shittier for telling her I’d seen better. Shit.