I Won't Call This Hell

The noise begins to pull me, little by little, from sleep. At first it's a soft knock, three slow raps on the heavy wood of the door. I'm aware of the noise, but not interested in it. I drift again for a second, before the noise comes again, the same rhythm and sound. My eyelids flutter open against my will and I squint at the wall across from me.

"I didn't call for anything; please go away!" I call, my voice slightly dry from sleep. I wait for a moment; no knocks follow this. I smile to myself, burying myself deeper into my pillow.

A heavy hand falls onto the door, louder than before; quicker. I groan, sitting up right. My feet fall heavily to the ground, my footsteps fast on my way to the door. "People are trying to sleep in here, so if you would please, fuck off!" I spoke quickly and loudly, my fingers moving over the locks as I swung the door open.

White t-shirt. It was the first thing that caught my eye. Then it was the sunburned skin, the curves of the tattoo peeking out under his v-neck, the long legs, the mess of hair atop his head, the fine line his mouth was. My stomach plummeted, flopping somewhere on the ground beside my pink-polished toes.

I wasn't saying anything, but my mouth was open. My tongue lolled in my mouth for a few moments, trying to find words that I didn't know to say. He stared down at me, not bothering to say anything. I felt naked under his stare suddenly; it had been such a shock for him to show up here. I hadn't wanted him to find me; I just wanted him to know.

I just wanted him to know that he had done it; he had changed me, affected me, whatever. He was the boy, the person who had broken me down, made me happy, and then break me down to my lowest point. He had done it. He'd broken Lynnette Bryant.

No one had ever done that before.

Just like no one had ever chased me down before. He'd not only done it once, but numerous times. This wasn't right, I thought. He wasn't supposed to come find me. He had always chased me, now it was my turn. But here he was, doing exactly what in my mind he would always be infamous for.

Making my heart beat too fast, my stomach tumble, my fingertips warm and my face flush.

My hands wrapped around the door, pushing it closed. My eyes closed with the door; I pushed against it with all of my strength. I didn't realize that I was stumbling backwards until I fell hard on my bottom, my head snapping back quickly. Lights flashed behind my eyelids.

The air conditioning buzz slowed, whirred and choked for a moment, before stopping completely. The door clicked shut quietly, the automatic lock clicking in to place.

John stood in front of the closed door, taller than I could remember as I looked up from the ground. He padded slowly toward me, his eyes never leaving my face. He stretched his hand toward me, his fingers flexing. I stared. Finally, he reached down and took my hand in his, pulling me up. He didn't seem agitated, I somehow thought, as his hand rested on my back carefully, guiding me toward the bed.

He moved the chair at an angle, inched it closer to me, and settled into it. Not settle exactly; he was technically perched on the edge, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together so he could rest his chin on his knuckles.

"I, uh," he started to say, his voice lower than I was used to. Different, somehow, from what I remembered.

"No," I choked. I could only imagine what he had to say. I didn't want to hear it. I was here for one reason; my mission was done. I was going to catch a bus to Jeremy's tomorrow and John wouldn't have to bother with me ever again. He could go on, back to his hotel or the bus or wherever he had been previously, eat some foor or hang out with the guys and just leave me to, to, to..

"I'm sorry," I looked up. He was looking down, his hands pushing through his hair. He yanked, slightly, at the root. "I'm sorry, Lynn."