Don't Drop Your Mask

I tossed and turned all night long. I had one of those nights where you can’t think about anything but what a failure your life has turned out to be.

I called in sick to work the next day. I’m sure my budget can suffer fifty dollars. Especially with the party I did earlier this week.

I wrapped myself up in blankets, sick from not sleeping, and watched cop dramas all day long. I heard a heavy wind and my door flung open. I sighed and went up to close it.

“You look awful, babe,” he said. I half expected to him to be there. No surprise.

“Thank you. That’s what a girl wants to hear.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to shut the door. He opened it and walked in.

“You sit down, I’ll make you some soup.”

“I don’t have any,” I said, putting my hands against my nose, attempting to warm it up.

“Well, I’ll be right back, then.”

He left through deck again and was back in a matter of minutes.

“The nearest store is like, ten minutes away, if you run.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Sit down.”

As he coaxed me into sitting down and made me some soup, I wondered why my life couldn’t be normal. I have a degree that I can’t use. I have a job that’s keeping a roof over my head and keeping me fed, and I hate it. To top it all off, there’s a guy in my apartment who came in through the deck and is currently wearing all black and a mask while making me soup. I don’t know his name.

He set the soup down on the table in front of me. My eyes glazed over staring at it. “It’s going to get cold if you don’t eat it.”

“Why me?” I asked.

“What?”

“Why are you following me around? There are thousands of younger, prettier women in this city who probably get in a lot of trouble all the time. Why me?”

“Because they don’t catch my interest like you do. Now eat up.”

“So you’re interested in me?”

“That is not what I said. Eat your soup. Soup is good food.”

“Shove it, jerk.”

“While jerk is a very popular, recognizable word, I don’t think that one will do, either.”

God, I hate how he remains calm all the time now. Like he has this stupid confidence about him that he knows everything. Like he’s the master of the universe because it revolves around him.

“I think I hate you,” I said.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Still calm!

“Shut up. Why are you doing this? Following me around? This is creepy. You have a job and a real life, right? Why do you dress up every night? It’s stupid. One person can’t make a difference. Just give it up already.”

His smile faltered, then he said, “eat your soup before it gets cold.”

I stood up from the couch, straightened out my tank top, and walked out the door.

He quietly followed me, whispering, “Layla, where are you going?”

I looked at him and glared. “None of your damn business.”

I rapped on Charlie’s door. “Hey, Layla, what are you—mmm.”

I kissed him. It was totally different from last time. I could hear the stairs creak slightly. They creaked again, and my door shut quietly. Charlie pulled me into his apartment and shut his door.

“Is your brother here?” I asked.

“He’s gone for the night,” he said, carrying me into the bedroom.

“Good.”