Emily was surprised at how quickly she fell asleep after the hot shower. She still didn't have any towels. She'd not taken any from the condo. She hadn't wanted anything that Jake had any claim to. Instead, she'd dried off with a faux-vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt and then changed into sweats and another t-shirt to sleep in. She hadn't even realized that she'd gone to sleep until she heard footsteps.
Her eyes snapped open, and she listened carefully to the house. Had that been part of her dream, brought on by what she thought she'd seen last night? Or was it really happening? She lay perfectly still, scanning the room for anything out of place.
The trash bags with her clothes were in the corner of the bedroom, where she'd moved after Leo had left. She could see them without moving. The bedroom door was ajar, just as she'd left it, and she could see a little of the hallway. Her phone was on the floor beside her.
She relaxed a little. She'd imagined it, of course. The house had been thoroughly checked—by her, by the police, by Leo. There were no footsteps in the house because no one was in the house except her. She touched the screen of her phone to check the time. Just after seven am. She shut her eyes again. Maybe she would sleep another hour.
After all, she had no place to be right now—no job, no prospects, no friends. Her eyes snapped open, and she rolled to her back, staring up at the ceiling. This was a crazy thing to do. She had overreacted to things before, but this time really took the prize. It was only two nights ago that she'd caught Jake and Mika in her bed. And, in the space of that time, she'd quit her job, cleared out her things from the condo, found a rental house on the internet in a town that she hadn't lived in for over a dozen years, and then moved there.
She smiled to herself, not sure if it was a girl-you're-crazy smile or an okay-I-accept-that-I'm-crazy smile. Didn't matter. It was crazy, but there was no turning back now. She just had to find a way to keep moving forward. She had already burned that bridge behind her.
Emily traced the pattern of popcorn on the ceiling. She really should get a job. She'd used all of her most recent paycheck plus some of her savings already, renting this place and getting here. And now, here she was, sleeping on the floor with no furniture, no dishes, no towels, no food.
"You didn't just burn the bridge behind you, Em," she whispered. "You set it on fire and then started running across."
She pushed her coat/blanket off and sat up. No sense in laying around all day. She had things to do. She'd have to get some food, for sure. And an actual blanket. And a pillow. And a bed. And her tablet was in a box in the back of the car, but she'd need to get to the library to have internet access.
Then, she'd have to update her resume. Then start the application process. Two weeks before Christmas was about the worst time to be looking for a job. Even at her old job, they had already hired all the seasonal help they needed by November 1. But she would have to find something. She would not be able to make it financially until March, when the market picked up again. If she didn't find a job soon, she'd have to ask her parents for a loan, and that would bring up questions she didn't want to answer.
She frowned and was about to get up when she heard it again—footsteps in the hall. Immediately, she froze and listened. She was definitely wide awake now. And there was definitely someone else in the house. She stood, careful not to make a sound and tiptoed to the door. She peeked through the gap into the hallway, prepared to slam the door and lock herself in to call 911 as soon as she saw someone.
But no one was there.
She carefully, quietly opened the door and stepped out into the hall. No one. Also no one in the spare bedroom, or the bathroom, or the living room, or kitchen. And all the doors were locked. Was she crazy? She'd definitely heard footsteps. But how could there be footsteps when no one was here?
She was crazy. That was the only explanation. She had been stressed out over working so much because of the holidays, not sleeping well, eating worse. And then Jake and Mika sent her over the edge. So now she was hearing things.
There were no footsteps now. Nothing out of place. She turned around slowly, taking in the entire empty house. Everything was fine. Except her, of course. She went back to the bedroom to put some clothes on. She told herself that was just because it was cold walking around in a t-shirt and not because she wanted to be able to bolt from the house as soon as she heard footsteps again.
She dressed quickly, even finding some thick socks that would've been nice to have had last night when she was trying to cover her whole body with her coat. She pulled those on quickly and dug through the bags for a sweater. She was specifically looking for her long grey cardigan with the pockets. That was her go-to comfort sweater.
What she found was Mika's grey sweater.
Emily held it a moment, trying to process. How would she have gotten Mika's sweater in her things? When she'd gone to the house yesterday morning, she'd just started pulling her clothes from the closet and shoving them into trash bags. She'd emptied the dresser drawer and picked up the clothes from the chair in the bedroom.
That's how.
She'd picked up the clothes from the chair in the bedroom. Mika's sweater was somewhere on that chair, maybe under her own clothes. Which meant she'd been in the bedroom before, taking off her sweater and throwing it on the chair beside the bed. What nerve.
Emily clutched the sweater tightly, as if squeezing it could somehow squeeze her anger and betrayal into Mika. Then, she turned and marched to the front door and flung it open. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the sun had still refused to shine. Instead, it was a grey, gloomy world outside. Just like her heart.
She took the sweater to the garbage can, flung back the lid, and tossed it in in one motion. She slammed the lid down and hissed, "Garbage!"
Then she noticed the front door had somehow shut behind her and a cold panic formed in her stomach. She ran to the door and twisted the knob, even though she already knew, deep down, that it was locked.
"No!" She pounded the door with her fist. Then she kicked it for good measure. "No!"
She glanced over at the neighbors' house again and wondered if she should knock on their door again. Even if they just called the police again, at least the police would call Leo to come let her in.
She rubbed her arms to warm herself. It was even colder than last night. The rain that had turned the yard into a muddy swamp had frozen. She could see her iced-over skid marks from last night in the lawn. She frowned. She was going to have to go to the neighbors' house again.
With that thought, Leo's truck appeared on the street. She stood and watched as he pulled into the driveway.
He got out of the vehicle and started toward her with a large, brown paper bag in his hand and a quizzical look on his face. "What're you doing out here without a coat?"
She wanted to say Oh thank God you're here, so I don't freeze to death or Wow, that's good timing for you to show up just when I needed you or even, You're never going to believe what just happened to me. But instead, her mouth went rogue.
"You need to fix this door!" She pointed at it angrily. "This is the second time it's malfunctioned."
"Okay. Good morning to you, too." He handed her the bag and dug her key out of his pocket. "I can't believe you locked yourself out again."
"I didn't!" She fumed as he twisted the door handle. It didn't move. "See? It locked on its own."
"Nope." He raised both eyebrows, as if she had just proved his point. "You have to make sure you're not locking the door behind you when you go out."
"I'm not locking myself out, Leo," She was angry and emphasized the two syllables of his name as a sort of punctuation for her anger. "It locks me out on its own. That's what I'm saying."
"You're saying the door flips its own button and locks you out on purpose?" His face was amused, but there was an underscoring of anger in his tone now, as if he were losing patience. "What would be the purpose of that? You think the door just chooses on its own to lock you out?"
She huffed, "That is definitely not what I'm saying, and you know it."
He smirked as he opened the door with his key and held it for her. "Is it an evil door?"
She frowned deeply, unamused. "No."
"Maybe just a practical joker door?" He pretended to examine the door and lock carefully. "Or a door that just doesn't like you?"
She frowned even deeper.
The smile dropped and he raised his eyebrows. "So maybe you just flipped the knob without realizing it?"
"Stop!" How dare he treat her like she'd done this to herself? "I know how to work a door. This door is just defective."
"It's not defective." He twisted the button from unlocked to locked and demonstrated that the knob would turn. Then he switched it back again and easily turned the knob. "It works fine."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," she said. "Just replace the door."
"No, I'm not. A child could do this." He demonstrated the lock/unlock process again.
"Your stupid door is broken," she growled. "Just fix the stupid door so it will stop locking me out."
He narrowed his eyes in challenge, then turned the lock to the horizontal position. "There. Fixed."
Emily had to take a deep breath to keep the frustration from screaming out of her. She couldn't make her tone less annoyed, though. "Not that I don't appreciate being let back in, but why are you even here, Leo?"
He pointed at the brown paper bag she was still holding. "I brought you some towels."
She stared at him long enough to realize that he was serious. Then she opened the bag, because apparently, she needed the visual smack in the face to show her what an ass she was being. Inside were two new white towels, with the tags still attached.
"Well, I..." she trailed off, trying to think of some way to apologize that didn't invalidate her door anger. "It's just..."
"You're welcome." He frowned, not very gracious at all.
She nodded and tried to wordlessly clear her throat so she could talk without crying.
"Hey." He noticed and his whole demeanor softened. "It's just towels."
"Sorry," she said finally, once she could trust her voice. "Bad day. Week."
He nodded. "It's okay."
"Bad life. And I'm just really tired of people trying to—" she trailed off, just short of spilling her guts. She tried to smile, but it felt forced, and she was pretty sure it just made her look maniacal. "Thank you."
"Just towels," he repeated, then awkwardly looked around while she got her emotions in check.
"I think maybe I just need a good night's sleep," she said. Of course, what she really needed was to just stop dwelling on Jake the Gutter Snake and Mika the Sneak. Or maybe she needed to come up with better names for them? Fake Jake and Benedict Mika? Liar #1 and Liar #2?
"That'll help," he agreed. His eyes went to the empty house once again. "When does the rest of your stuff get here?"
She couldn't stop the crazy laugh, but she did keep it down to just one ha. She tried to act nonchalant, but that also made her seem psychotic. "I thought I would just get furniture once I got here. Makes the move easier."
He was definitely not buying that. "No one moves like that."
"I'm just special, I guess." She frowned.
He gave a half shrug. "Must've been a pretty bad breakup if you didn't even get to keep your bed."
His insight—or maybe her transparency—shamed her. But he was right. It was bad. And she would sooner set that bed on fire than ever crawl back into it. The very thought of it made her stomach turn.
On the other hand, it was causing her anger to return and that was a good thing. Anger kept her from being depressed. She put her free hand on the doorknob. "But anyway, thanks for the towels. I need to go downtown and buy some furniture. A bed, at least."
He nodded. "Gearing's."
"What?" she said.
"It's downtown. Furniture. Good prices." He shrugged. "I know the guy who owns it."
She nodded slowly, trying to decide whether he was a nice guy or just birddogging a sale for his friend. "Thanks. Should I use your name? Will that get me some kind of discount or special treatment?"
"No. Don't use my name. Or whatever. Doesn't matter. It won't get you anything." He laughed. "But don't let them charge you for delivery. I've got a truck. I can move it for you."
She blushed, though she wasn't sure exactly why. "I couldn't ask you to—"
He wouldn't hear of it. "You didn't ask. I offered."
"Well, thanks. I'll head over there once I get settled here." She opened the door wide for him. He was being nice, and she didn't know how to handle nice right now. So, he had to leave. "Thanks for everything."
"Okay, I can take a hint." He laughed. "I'm sure you have lots to do."
"I do. Yeah. Sorry." She glanced at the door again. "I just... bye."
He was already out the door when he called back. "Just call me when you need help carrying the bed. I'm off work at four."
She shut the door and leaned against it while she thought. It was really nice of him to bring her towels. And offer to transport her mattress. But why would he do that? What was his game? Was he one of those creepy landlords, always coming over to check on the tenants?
"Stop thinking that way, Em. He was just being nice," she mumbled to herself on the way to the bathroom with the towels. "Some guys are nice."
Surely, that was true? They couldn't all be cheats and liars like Jake. What a sad world it would be if everyone was treated the way she had been, in every relationship. No, there had to be nice guys out there. Maybe showing a new person in town a little human kindness was proof of that?
She smiled and put the towels down on the sink counter, then looked up at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a rat's nest of tangles and her mascara had smeared down one cheek. All evidence of tossing and turning all night, but still pretty horrifying to look at.
And Leo had just let her stand there like that. She picked up a brush and started working on the mess, her mouth turning down in both determination and anger. What was the point in letting her look like this? Was he being funny? Was he being mean?
"So much for nice guys." She put the brush down and leaned on the sink. Her frightening-looking double in the mirror leaned toward her, too. "That was a good one, Universe."