Brodi never understood my appeal to fashion. He said it was a “waste of time,” especially since all he wanted to do was take the garments off me, when we were together. Still, the fiery passion we had in the beginning fizzled out. Intimacy was one-sided, and I was always the one left wanting.
It’s hard to admit that maybe Andrea was right. She has the ability to see things I can’t. When she made up her mind about something, everyone else had better watch out! Early on in myrelationship with Brodi, she made it quite clear where she stood. Only tolerating him for short stints, I could tell when she had hit her limit. I’ve witnessed his puerile sense of humor cause her knuckles to turn white. Somehow, I convinced her to go on a double date with me and Brodi. She brought along a delightful coworker from one of her recent design gigs. We all got along great until Brodi had a little too much to drink. At the pool hall, he made juvenile comments about Andrea's date. Even thinking back to it makes me uncomfortable, I could only imagine what my best friend and her date must have felt. Andrea looked murderous, cracking a pool stick over her knee before storming out of the place with her date in hand. She didn’t come back to the apartment that night either.
Brodi and I fought. I was ready to end things, but he pleaded with me and said it was the alcohol talking. Stupidly, I forgave him. I did that a lot actually, excusing his behavior. Accepting his obvious lies. Who am I trying to kid? Andrea was right. Maybe it is better off that Brodi just vanished off the face of this planet.
I applied for a grand total ofzerojobs. Too bad there isn’t a job in the department ofpoor decision making, because I could be the CEO of that fucking establishment.
After my mug is drained, I head to the bathroom to peel off the duck pajamas. I am looking forward to washing off last night’s sweat that still clings to my skin. After removing my hearing aids, I climb under the hot pin pricks of water, bringing the bar of soap to my skin for a lather. I did feel stronger today but was sure to hold onto the railing while climbing in and out. Steam covers the mirror despite my express shower. I’ll brush my hair at my vanity table. I don’t think I can hold myself up much longer.
Wrapping the towel around me, I carry what I need back to my room. Pushing open the door with my foot, I shuffle to the vanity and dump everything onto the counter, before the mirror.I all but collapse onto the stool and begin to brush my wet tangles from the tips of my hair, working up to my scalp. As I move the brush to the opposite side of my sopping-wet head, my vision shifts from my reflection to what lies behind me.
Springing up from my seated position, the small stool falls over and I back into the nearest wall. My heart hammers in my chest, but I dare not draw breath. Positioned on my bed, looking like he was posing for the centerfold of a magazine, was the man clad in black. My stalker. Is he? Wearing that eighteenth century hat?
Of course he was covered. In his usual balaclava, goggles, gloves, pants, and shoes that kept me from seeing any part of him. The only difference was his hat. The usual helmet sits at the end of my bed since he’s wearing the colonial hat, from Mairead’s crazy Boston bender.
Like an engine finally turning over, I sucked in air and rushed out, “Get your boots off my bed!”
Really, Cindel? That’s the first thing you say to the deranged stalker that’s broken into your home again!
He looks from me to his feet and slowly sits up, bringing his large boots to the floor instead of my comforter. His movements are exaggerated, like a cartoon character unsure if the next frame is going to lead him to something unpleasant. I can’t see his mouth; my hearing aids aren’t on. What if he’s speaking to me? I can’t hear anything, but I know he can hear me.
I clutched my towel, feeling oddly exposed, caught off guard. Even though this man has seen a lot more of me than in this moment, I’m not a fan of surprises. Also, I did those things with him, back when I convinced myself he was Eamon. Now, I know better.
He remains fixed in place on my bed. Studying me, probably waiting to see how this scenario plays out. He’s once again letting me decide. The bedroom door ajar; I briefly wonder if Iam fast enough to make it out. Should I find something to defend myself? He’s never hurt me before… I survey the room, realizing subtle changes around me.
A full glass of water on my nightstand and… did he change my sheets? I can’t help but shake my head at the gall of this man. He has to be a psychopath. Why else would someone they don’t even know go through such great lengths to care for a stranger? Peeking out to the living room, I find long shadows stretching along the space. Could Andrea be walking through the front door at any moment?
The shadowy figure watches my every move. Finally, I pipe up, “Who are you?!” If he said anything, I wouldn’t know. I can’t see his mouth.
He raises off the bed, crossing the room so swiftly, I don’t have time to think let alone respond before he reaches me. Without my shoes, he’s even bigger. He has to crane his neck down just to see my face, when he’s this close. His gloved hand extends, revealing the little purple starred tech within his palm. Peering up to his covered face, I arm my lungs with air before letting out a choppy breath. If I do what he wants, maybe he’ll leave before Andrea comes home.
Reluctantly, I took the offered gadget and nestled it into my right ear. I startle and step back just as he reaches for something. He must take notice of my reaction, because he moves more slowly, as if to tell me not to worry.
The masked stranger pulls a phone from his pocket, then begins pressing its screen. I wish my winter gloves worked on my touch screen devices. I try to peek at the screen, but he quickly hides his phone away into his pocket once again.
Drums kick-off, followed by a catchy guitar solo that could only be one song.“Two Princes”bySpin Doctors.
Motionless, he regards me as I listen to the newest message within. It seems like all his song choices hold some kind ofmeaning. We’re both still, standing mere feet apart in my room, just taking in the other. When the song concludes, the lyrics are still playing on repeat in my head. I know this song like the back of my hand, so I didn't need to hear it a second time.
Memories of my brother and I, jumping around our playroom with the boombox blasting, dancing our hearts out to artists like Spin Doctors, Beastie Boys, and Reel Big Fish. He’s always had impeccable taste in music. After the explosion, we didn’t really dance anymore.
I wish I could see the man’s eyes who stood before me. Even his gaze could tell me so much. His intentions. His truth. I’m at a loss of words.
Nervously I fidget, switching hands to hold my towel closer to my body, when I accidentally drop the whole thing! The towel falls to the floor around my feet. I soundlessly gasp as he steps forward, bending down before my naked body.
Why didn’t I mind him touching me in the women’s bathroom at The Black Sheep? Maybe it’s because I’m feeling unwell or is it due to the fact that I have no idea who he is? I feel exposed and unsure of myself. Uncertain of my ability to make good decisions as of late. Especially when it comes to this strange man.
He stands to his full height with my white towel in hand, wrapping his arms around me to secure my towel in place, all without actually touching me.
“Thank you,” I say on a shaky breath. I can feel the reverberation through my chest.
He nods before moving toward the doorway, freeing up space for me to move about in my room. I opt to sit on the bed. My thoughts waning enough for me to feel the illness still present in my body.
“You’re not Eamon?” It comes out more as a question than a statement.
He shakes his head from side to side.
I knew it! If I weren’t already sitting, I’m confident my knees would buckle. I study the floor while asking the next question; my throat vibrates as I enunciate each word. “Are you here to hurt me?” Slowly, I drag my attention up his massive body, to his covered eyes.
