Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
But I couldn’t make myself move. Not yet.
What if they came back?
If they saw me?
If they knew I’d heard their voices? Knew they worked for some guy named T?
I stayed there, trying to breathe deeply so I didn’t hyperventilate, listening to the neighbors on the other side of the wall who were having a screaming match over the husband turning off his location on his phone. The neighbors above had a child trying—with not much success—to learn to play something on a flute.
Doors out in the hallway opened and closed, making my whole body jerk each time as I tried to count to sixty slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
When I was at fifteen, feeling that no one would hang in the hallway for that long where they didn’t belong in case they might be overseen, I slowly started to slide out from under the bed.
Just my head at first, looking around, some paranoid part of me sure that someone was going to rush back in, grab me, and strangle me to death.
To be fair, my own fear seemed to be doing a sufficient job of that.
By the time I got onto wobbly legs, I was feeling lightheaded from the adrenaline surging through my system.
But I had to move.
I had to get out of there.
Down the hall, into the elevator, then into my own apartment. Where I was—relatively—safe.
I wiped the back of my arm across my sweaty brow then inched my way back out of the bedroom, my back hugging the wall.
I stopped at the end of the hallway, glancing into the living room. Seeing nothing, I moved forward, stopping only when I saw a big butcher’s knife sitting on the floor.
I wasn’t really even thinking very clearly as I reached for it, holding it tightly in my palm as I made my way to the door, then as I peered out into the hallway.
Seeing no one, I carefully slid the knife into the waistband of my skirt, then made my way out of the apartment as quietly as possible.
My nerves jangled together as I waited for the elevator, my head on a swivel, looking for anyone who might be hanging around waiting for me to exit the apartment.
There was no one, though.
And when the elevator doors opened, there was no one inside to see me as I collapsed back against the wall, gasping for breath and clutching my slamming chest where my heart seemed seconds away from breaking out of the confines of my ribcage.
The elevator dinged too soon for me to pull myself back together. So after a quick glance to make sure no one unsavory was hanging around, I grabbed for my key hanging from a coiled band on my wrist and ran to my apartment.
My hands shook so badly that I dropped my key twice before it finally went in, unlocked, and let me inside.
I slammed the door behind me, sliding the lock, deadbolt, and chain, then reaching for the little doorstopper thing that had an alarm on it if the door was pushed open, and shoved that in for good measure.
Pulling the knife out of my skirt, I held it high as I moved through my apartment, flicking on every light and looking in every possible hiding spot before I finally collapsed down on the floor of my bathroom and let the sob that had been building escape me.
I couldn’t say how long I sat there crying, it being the only outlet for my fear and adrenaline. But by the time I pulled myself back off of the floor, my face was raw from the tears and my eyelids were puffy.
I made my way back out into the living room, creeping over to the windows to glance outside.
There weren’t a lot of working lights outside of the building at night. So while I could see a bunch of people hanging around, it was impossible to tell if any of them were the men from the apartment, or if they were just the usual shady characters that were always out at night.
Paranoia had me yanking my curtains shut, not wanting anyone to be able to look up and see me.
I was suddenly glad that the building didn’t have fire escapes. It had been something that worried me when I toured the place. But the super had insisted that the stairwells were built to, I don’t know, prevent fire from going down them or something. And that fire escapes in a building like this would only encourage break-ins and other crimes.
Feeling shaky as the adrenaline drained, I moved to sit down on my couch, wrapping my blanket tightly around myself and setting the knife on the cushion just to my side.
I didn’t sleep.
I didn’t turn on the TV or some music.
I just sat there staring at the door, terrified that someone was going to come and kick it down for the whole night.