sharing.”
“Effective immediately, you’re cut off.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
A text chimed its arrival on my phone. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Don’t you want to find out if it’s another one from your secret admirer?” Jon asked.
I sighed and strolled over to retrieve my phone from my purse. I hadn’t received a text message, but a photograph. One taken inside my apartment. In my bedroom. “Oh my God!”
That day’s newspaper lay on my bed next to one of my thongs, its matching bra, and an unopened condom. I dropped the phone like it was radioactive and backed away, hyperventilating.
“Doug’s in my apartment!” My hysteria sprang from equal parts panic and fury.
Jon ran over, picked up my phone and grimaced. “Stay here.” He tossed the phone to the sofa and raced out his front door.
I took a moment to recover, but when I did, I decided not to stay behind. I was ready to wring the son-of-a-bitch’s neck
The three blocks to my apartment took forever, and I cursed Jon for insisting on driving me to his place.
As I climbed the stairs, my front door stood wide open. One reluctant step at a time, I crept inside.
“Jon?”
No answer, and no sound.
The chaotic site bore no resemblance to my apartment. Fear crept in and took anger’s place. What if I had been home when he broke in?
“Jon?” I called again.
The hairs on my neck and arms stood up until a wave of panic compelled me to turn and flee. I crashed straight into the hard wall of a man standing in my doorway. A scream burst from me.
“Gayle. Gayle! It’s okay. It’s just me.” Jon held me by the shoulders. He ducked lower and made eye contact.
When my panic subsided, I pulled away, somewhat embarrassed by my scream-queen scene. “Did you go inside? The door was open.”
“I did, but it was already open when I got here. You did lock it behind you when you left, right?”
“Yes. I’m sure I did.”
“I checked around inside, then went running around the building in case he was lying in wait. I didn’t see him or his car, so I came back to lock up for you. Have you been in your bedroom or bathroom, Gayle?”
“No. I only got as far as the living room before I had to get out.”
“I told you to stay at my apartment. What if he’d been waiting for you to come home?”
“I want to see what he’s done.” I turned and walked inside.
“Prepare yourself. He trashed every room and wrote all kinds of profanity on your bathroom mirror and walls.”
I nodded and took in the living room first. The sofa cushions lay strewn about. My ancient TV had been kicked in, and my phone was off the hook, emitting an obnoxious alarm.
The contents of my briefcase were scattered over the sofa and coffee table, but my laptop escaped unharmed in the padded pocket.
In the kitchen, milk and Diet Coke coated the floor. Flour, sugar, coffee and cereal formed a second layer and covered the counters. The intruder had thrown raw eggs against the walls and refrigerator.
I moved to my bedroom and gasped. All my dresser drawers were removed and their contents scattered throughout. Underwear and bras dangled from my ceiling fan and from doorknobs.
Condoms lay everywhere—some in the packages, some not.
My battery-operated boyfriend lay in the middle of my disheveled bed. Its disarray would be blamed on my intruder. How ridiculous to be more ashamed I’d not made up my bed than at the sight of my most intimate possessions on casual display.
The bathroom shower curtain had been pulled down off the rod, some hooks snapped off while others were still intact with torn bits of plastic dangling from them. My makeup had been used to create a neo-impressionistic landscape across all four walls. Ribbons of shampoo streaked every surface. Most chilling of all were the words he had written in lipstick and eye pencil. He’d used every derogatory noun his limited imagination had been able to conjure to describe a woman, plus a few choice
“Effective immediately, you’re cut off.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
A text chimed its arrival on my phone. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Don’t you want to find out if it’s another one from your secret admirer?” Jon asked.
I sighed and strolled over to retrieve my phone from my purse. I hadn’t received a text message, but a photograph. One taken inside my apartment. In my bedroom. “Oh my God!”
That day’s newspaper lay on my bed next to one of my thongs, its matching bra, and an unopened condom. I dropped the phone like it was radioactive and backed away, hyperventilating.
“Doug’s in my apartment!” My hysteria sprang from equal parts panic and fury.
Jon ran over, picked up my phone and grimaced. “Stay here.” He tossed the phone to the sofa and raced out his front door.
I took a moment to recover, but when I did, I decided not to stay behind. I was ready to wring the son-of-a-bitch’s neck
The three blocks to my apartment took forever, and I cursed Jon for insisting on driving me to his place.
As I climbed the stairs, my front door stood wide open. One reluctant step at a time, I crept inside.
“Jon?”
No answer, and no sound.
The chaotic site bore no resemblance to my apartment. Fear crept in and took anger’s place. What if I had been home when he broke in?
“Jon?” I called again.
The hairs on my neck and arms stood up until a wave of panic compelled me to turn and flee. I crashed straight into the hard wall of a man standing in my doorway. A scream burst from me.
“Gayle. Gayle! It’s okay. It’s just me.” Jon held me by the shoulders. He ducked lower and made eye contact.
When my panic subsided, I pulled away, somewhat embarrassed by my scream-queen scene. “Did you go inside? The door was open.”
“I did, but it was already open when I got here. You did lock it behind you when you left, right?”
“Yes. I’m sure I did.”
“I checked around inside, then went running around the building in case he was lying in wait. I didn’t see him or his car, so I came back to lock up for you. Have you been in your bedroom or bathroom, Gayle?”
“No. I only got as far as the living room before I had to get out.”
“I told you to stay at my apartment. What if he’d been waiting for you to come home?”
“I want to see what he’s done.” I turned and walked inside.
“Prepare yourself. He trashed every room and wrote all kinds of profanity on your bathroom mirror and walls.”
I nodded and took in the living room first. The sofa cushions lay strewn about. My ancient TV had been kicked in, and my phone was off the hook, emitting an obnoxious alarm.
The contents of my briefcase were scattered over the sofa and coffee table, but my laptop escaped unharmed in the padded pocket.
In the kitchen, milk and Diet Coke coated the floor. Flour, sugar, coffee and cereal formed a second layer and covered the counters. The intruder had thrown raw eggs against the walls and refrigerator.
I moved to my bedroom and gasped. All my dresser drawers were removed and their contents scattered throughout. Underwear and bras dangled from my ceiling fan and from doorknobs.
Condoms lay everywhere—some in the packages, some not.
My battery-operated boyfriend lay in the middle of my disheveled bed. Its disarray would be blamed on my intruder. How ridiculous to be more ashamed I’d not made up my bed than at the sight of my most intimate possessions on casual display.
The bathroom shower curtain had been pulled down off the rod, some hooks snapped off while others were still intact with torn bits of plastic dangling from them. My makeup had been used to create a neo-impressionistic landscape across all four walls. Ribbons of shampoo streaked every surface. Most chilling of all were the words he had written in lipstick and eye pencil. He’d used every derogatory noun his limited imagination had been able to conjure to describe a woman, plus a few choice
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