Damage

Chapter 17

But what catches my eye is a picture of Luke and Michael, looking a little younger than they are now and sitting by a campfire with cigarettes between their fingers. The date at the bottom of the picture is only two years ago and I think back to Michael’s scathingly harsh words about Luke that he’s said before.  Did they used to be friends? 

Before I can look further, my eye catches the same copy of The Sun Also Rises that I saw the last time I was here, next to Last Exit to Brooklyn and Under the Volcano and Slaughterhouse Five. My finger runs along the covers and I can feel my heart in my throat looking at all the books from the Beat Generation and different literary movements, stacked next to each other – Kerouac, Burroughs, Ginsberg and countless other authors. But as I reach forward to pull one out I remember Luke’s voice and his piercing glare, cutting me off when I brought up the books he had.

 “Do me a favor, and never look through my things again.”

It seems so out of character. But then again, last night seemed out of character too. I want to ask him about it, but I know that if I do, it’ll only make him angry just like last time. What is he trying to hide?

 The thought of Luke seeing me look through his things the way he specifically told me not to makes me increasingly paranoid and I back away from the bookshelf, leaving the room and walking down the hallway and down the stairs that lead into the living room.

 The maid isn’t here yet, and I’m almost glad. Something about the way she wiped away the insidious white lines on the coffee table with an almost routine precision, gave me chills. And something about the way she looked at me the last time I was here, wanting to tell me something but not saying anything, made me even more on edge. 

I pick up my bra from the couch, almost in disbelief of what happened with Luke and I and I absentmindedly run my fingers along my lips and my hips and my neck, reliving every moment and every place he touched me. I can feel the places where his hands harshly gripped my bare skin and goose bumps run along my arms when I think about it. What have I gotten myself into?

 Being completely alone in this lavish penthouse gives me the opportunity to look around and as I search for my shoes I come back to the hallway opposite the expansive living room that I only ventured into once and immediately came back out of. Memories of people pressing their nose to the white lines on the table and inhaling sharply, replays in my mind and I can almost hear the loud, almost dreamy electronic music playing, the bass vibrating through my body and the walls. 

The hallway is unlit and I notice that all the doors it leads to are open except one. It stands at the end of the hallway, staring me down like a judgement, shut tightly like it isn’t meant to be open. Ever. 

It feels like my mind is removed from my body, my feet pulling me closer towards it until I’m standing directly in front of it, my hand poised by the door handle, edged in gold.  It seems like the temperature has dropped significantly and against my better judgement, my small fingers close around the handle, tightening slightly.

The metal is cool to the touch and I slowly turn the knob, wondering what lies beyond this locked door. It inches forward slowly, turning clockwise, without a sound and shining slightly in the light from the living room. I’m suddenly aware of my own breathing as I turn it cautiously but I’m suddenly stopped by the startling sound of the doorbell.

My mind snaps back to it’s rightful place and I shake out my enraptured haze, realizing that the doorbell has probably rung twice already and whoever is on the opposite side must be annoyed.

 “Luke?” someone calls out from behind the door. “Mate, are you here?”

I gasp and quickly let go of the doorhandle, feeling my pulse beat quickly and erratically as I walk quickly away from the door that I never got the chance to fully open and was probably not supposed to even think about opening.