Steph
Actually, no. I haven’t really gotten many answers yet
Katie
Why not? What have you been doing all this time? Hmm?!!
I cringe. She’s not going to like my answer.
Katie
Steph
NO
Tell me you didn’t!
TELL ME!
Steph
I did. We did. Fuck, K, it just … happened
Katie
…
…
Shit!
I sigh again and lock my phone. The message alerts keep coming through, but I can’t face her judgment right now. Idrop back against the pillow and scroll absentmindedly through social media for a while, but I’m anxious and distracted. I give it a full thirty minutes, and when Riley still hasn’t returned, I decide I’ve waited long enough. So, pushing down the rising dread in my gut, I go in search of him.
The back door to the building is hanging open, and the hallway is littered with debris—like yesterday, only worse. The door to the apartment where I’d found him last night is closed, so I knock and wait. I’m unsurprised when no one answers. It’s doubtful anyone could hear me over the music that continues to play.
I pound again, harder.
Still nothing.
Then, just as I’m debating trying the knob, it swings open.
“Whoah,” says the unkempt man standing before me. I recognize him as the dark-haired guy snorting powder beside Riley.Lucky.It takes a moment before his reddened, lifeless eyes focus on me, and then they narrow in recognition.
“Heeeey, I know you. You’re that chick Riley disappeared with.”
I nod, biting my lip in discomfort as his eyes slide over me lecherously. He’s even creepier up close and personal. Why would Riley be friends with this guy?
“Niiiice,” he murmurs, reaching a hand out and running it along the strap of my dress. I work to suppress the violent shudder that threatens to escape at his cool touch against the bare skin of my shoulder.
Taking a step back, I manage to croak out, “I-is he here?”
Lucky smirks, continuing to scrutinize me for a long moment, his near-black eyes raising the hairs along the back of my neck.
I shift on my feet, a second away from scurrying back to the basement, when he grunts and waves me inside. Slipping past him, I’m relieved when he moves through the door, leaving me alone in the entry. Stepping cautiously into the living space, I notice the other two men Riley had been with last night, still in their respective wing chairs, passed out. How anyone could sleep in here, with this racket, I have no idea, but then they’ve had some pharmaceutical assistance with that, haven’t they?
I don’t see any sign of Riley, so I push further into the unit and down the narrow hallway leading, I assume, to a bedroom. A single exposed bulb lights the dingy yellow walls as I move towards a door that stands slightly ajar at the end. I pass a bathroom on my right, shuddering as I glimpse the interior, noting the hole seemingly punched into the drywall beside the cracked mirror, and the puke-green vintage sink with rust stains.
The music isn’t quite so overwhelming here, and I think I can make out conversation coming from behind the partially closed door. I pause for a moment, debating whether I should announce myself before pushing it open, but ultimately decide that if whoever’s inside had wanted privacy, they would have closed it fully.
