to be quiet; when I need to take time and sort my thoughts, but don’t want to be alone while I do it.
I take the last bite of my noodles when Rooter’s bike comes roaring into his driveway. After dismounting the motorcycle he stands, helmet in hand, staring at me as though he’s debating coming over. Again, I’m both relieved and dismayed when he opens his back door and goes into his house.
“You want to talk to him,” Miranda says. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “but not yet. I’m not ready.”
“Well, when you’re ready, I have a feeling he’ll be waiting.” She gets up, takes our bowls to the kitchen and places them in the sink while I continue to stare at Rooter’s house. “Want to watch a movie until we fall asleep?”
Mike walks into the living room and plops onto the couch and turns on ESPN. It’s the only television with cable in the house. He pays for it so he can watch Sports Zone, so we can’t very well tell him to go away. He may not be reliable on the rent every month, but he makes sure to pay the cable bill on time.
“We can watch a DVD in my room,” I propose.
After changing into our pajamas and popping in a DVD we’ve watched a thousand times, we crawl onto my bed with a bag of microwave popcorn and two sodas. Twenty minutes into the movie, the light in Rooter’s room comes on and grabs my attention.
He sits at the edge of his bed, arms on his knees, head in his hands. When he looks up his eyes meet mine. I watch as he pulls out his phone and types something. In an instant, my phone pings with his motorcycle ringtone. I pause the movie and grab my phone from the bedside table.
Rooter: I promise to leave u alone, but I want to tell u I’m sorry. For everything.
I stare at the screen, trying to process the myriad of thoughts coursing through my mind. I glance at him. He’s looking at his phone, perhaps awaiting my response.
“Is it him?” Miranda asks and I nod. “What does it say?”
I hand her the phone. She reads the text then hands it back.
After a long minute and a half, I decide how to respond. I look to his window and he’s still sitting on his bed, but this time, looking at me with a forlorn expression.
Me: Thank you for your apology. I haven’t decided whether or not I want you to leave me alone (and I will be the one to make that decision). I’ll let you know when I do.
I hit send and watch as he reads my text. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. He shakes his head and types again.
“What did you text him?” Miranda asks and I hand her the phone. It pings again, and she gives it back.
Rooter: That’s fair.
Assuming our conversation is over, I lay the phone next to me and we resume the movie. Although the movie is one of my favorites, I can’t concentrate on it. All I can think about is the way Rooter’s lips felt against mine, and the somber, sincere expression he wore when he was sitting on his bed texting me.
A half hour later, Rooter’s bedroom light goes out. My window is open, allowing in the cool evening air. His bed faces his window so if he’s in it he can see me. I wonder if he’s watching me. My phone pings.
Rooter: Good night Sophie.
A warm feeling falls over me and I smile. I bet he’s watching me.
Me: Good night Rooter.
I’m in a deep sleep when I’m abruptly torn from my bed. A deafening scream escapes my lips and a large hand covers my mouth to quiet me. I bite down on the skin until I taste blood. A man curses and I scream again.
“Let me go!” I thrash about, trying to pry myself from his grip, but it’s useless. He’s too strong.
I try to remember the instructions my self-defense teacher gave me, but I draw a blank. Not knowing what else to do, I continue screaming and writhing, terrified, trying desperately to get away.
“Shut up, or I’ll kill you right now,” the man snarls and hauls me from my room.
Miranda is screaming as I’m being dragged down the stairs. She and her
I take the last bite of my noodles when Rooter’s bike comes roaring into his driveway. After dismounting the motorcycle he stands, helmet in hand, staring at me as though he’s debating coming over. Again, I’m both relieved and dismayed when he opens his back door and goes into his house.
“You want to talk to him,” Miranda says. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “but not yet. I’m not ready.”
“Well, when you’re ready, I have a feeling he’ll be waiting.” She gets up, takes our bowls to the kitchen and places them in the sink while I continue to stare at Rooter’s house. “Want to watch a movie until we fall asleep?”
Mike walks into the living room and plops onto the couch and turns on ESPN. It’s the only television with cable in the house. He pays for it so he can watch Sports Zone, so we can’t very well tell him to go away. He may not be reliable on the rent every month, but he makes sure to pay the cable bill on time.
“We can watch a DVD in my room,” I propose.
After changing into our pajamas and popping in a DVD we’ve watched a thousand times, we crawl onto my bed with a bag of microwave popcorn and two sodas. Twenty minutes into the movie, the light in Rooter’s room comes on and grabs my attention.
He sits at the edge of his bed, arms on his knees, head in his hands. When he looks up his eyes meet mine. I watch as he pulls out his phone and types something. In an instant, my phone pings with his motorcycle ringtone. I pause the movie and grab my phone from the bedside table.
Rooter: I promise to leave u alone, but I want to tell u I’m sorry. For everything.
I stare at the screen, trying to process the myriad of thoughts coursing through my mind. I glance at him. He’s looking at his phone, perhaps awaiting my response.
“Is it him?” Miranda asks and I nod. “What does it say?”
I hand her the phone. She reads the text then hands it back.
After a long minute and a half, I decide how to respond. I look to his window and he’s still sitting on his bed, but this time, looking at me with a forlorn expression.
Me: Thank you for your apology. I haven’t decided whether or not I want you to leave me alone (and I will be the one to make that decision). I’ll let you know when I do.
I hit send and watch as he reads my text. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. He shakes his head and types again.
“What did you text him?” Miranda asks and I hand her the phone. It pings again, and she gives it back.
Rooter: That’s fair.
Assuming our conversation is over, I lay the phone next to me and we resume the movie. Although the movie is one of my favorites, I can’t concentrate on it. All I can think about is the way Rooter’s lips felt against mine, and the somber, sincere expression he wore when he was sitting on his bed texting me.
A half hour later, Rooter’s bedroom light goes out. My window is open, allowing in the cool evening air. His bed faces his window so if he’s in it he can see me. I wonder if he’s watching me. My phone pings.
Rooter: Good night Sophie.
A warm feeling falls over me and I smile. I bet he’s watching me.
Me: Good night Rooter.
I’m in a deep sleep when I’m abruptly torn from my bed. A deafening scream escapes my lips and a large hand covers my mouth to quiet me. I bite down on the skin until I taste blood. A man curses and I scream again.
“Let me go!” I thrash about, trying to pry myself from his grip, but it’s useless. He’s too strong.
I try to remember the instructions my self-defense teacher gave me, but I draw a blank. Not knowing what else to do, I continue screaming and writhing, terrified, trying desperately to get away.
“Shut up, or I’ll kill you right now,” the man snarls and hauls me from my room.
Miranda is screaming as I’m being dragged down the stairs. She and her
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