Resting my own palm against the divider, I thrill at the little zing as our fingers touch. The contact is…almost intimate. I shouldnotbe attracted to him. Relationships are dangerous. Just like distractions.
He nods. “Thanks.” A spasm jerks his arm, and he takes a step back. “Been a long day.” Swiping his phone from the table, he says, “Give me your number.”
I rattle off the eight digits, and a moment later, my mobile vibrates in my pocket.
“And now you have mine. Don’t be afraid to use it.”
What am I supposed to say to him? Thank you? Have a good night? See you later? Or…nothing at all as he’s already limping back into his apartment. When he shuts the door, I feel more alone than ever.
* * *
My phone’sclock taunts me. I climbed into bed—after that handful of aspirin—but within ten minutes, I thought I heard someone rattling the doorknob, and I panicked.
Sitting in the living room is worse. Too many memories. I clean up the dirt and the remnants of the cactus pot, but a smear of my attacker’s blood stains the tile, and I have no bleach.
A bath will help. But while the hot water soothes my aching muscles, my thoughts race. Even with the door locked, I jump at every sound.
By the time I slip back into bed, midnight approaches like an unwelcome guest, and I am no closer to sleep.
Picking up the phone, I intend to find a silly game to occupy my time until exhaustion claims me, but then I see the message.
Leo: Heard the vacuum. I’m an expert in sleepless nights. If you need anything, text me.
My cheek throbs, and I rub my swollen eye. “That was a mistake,” I mutter to the darkened room, lit only by the glow from the screen. I should apologize for waking him. Or turn off my phone completely.
But instead of pressing the power button, I read Leo’s message again. And again.
Domina: He broke the door chain.
My fingers tremble, and I hitSendby accident. The message disappears with a quietwhoosh. Shit. I sound like a helpless damsel in distress.
Do not stare at the phone. Turn it off. You vacuumed almost an hour ago. He must be asleep by now.
Yet somehow, I know he’s not. Or if he is, he kept his mobile on. In under a minute, the device vibrates in my hand.
Leo: Wedge a chair under the knob. If you have anything that makes noise—bells or wind chimes—hang them from the chair. If they wake you, call me immediately.
Domina: Bells? Why would I have bells?
Leo: Because you love Christmas? Don’t tell me you hate Christmas.
I laugh, then sink back against the pillows. He may be gruff, but then he says things like this, and I wonder if I have been wrong all these years. Keeping everyone at arm’s length, only allowing a few people in my life to see the real me.
Perhaps getting to know Leo—as a friend—would not be so terrible.
Domina: I do not hate Christmas. I have a whole box of ornaments in my closet.
Leo: The last time I celebrated Christmas was ten years ago. You decorate? Get a tree?
Domina: An artificial tree, yes. But in Panama, we also paint our homes in early December. I will go to the store for the paint in a few weeks.
Leo: What color?
I had not given any thought to the color. Or to how this will be one more Christmas I spend with my friend Mina and her family. Watching them celebrate. Nursing a single glass of sparkling water all evening while her mom, aunt,andgrandmother serve the tamales, fruitcake, and arroz con pollo. Being welcomed like I belong, though I know I do not.
Domina: Nothing special. White or beige. The landlord would not like it if I painted my walls orange.
Leo: Orange? Really?
