May Kill Me

Seventeen

"You should have called the police," Andrea whispered to me as we were sitting in Intro to Online Marketing class. 

"They're already not taking me seriously. If I told them someone was shaking the door handle and ran away... I don't know. I'm pretty sure they will think I'm making this up to get attention." I whisper back. 

 Andrea makes a knowing 'hmm' like she understands where I'm coming from. 

When the jiggling of the doorhandle woke me up, I set there in complete and outer shock staring at the thing as if that will stop whoever is on the other side. 

"I'm going to call the cops!" I yelled as I jump up from my seat behind the desk. 

My voice surprised me: it was strong and booming - not the shakey mouse squeak I expected it to be. 

I stood still for what felt like an eternity. Or maybe it's not eternity, but rather some kind of time warp when things move very fast and very slow at the same time. I could picture whoever it was standing on the other side of that door, breathing very quietly, very slowly. The guy, the Outlander dude. 

I was rooted in place, waiting for the door handle to move again, or to hear any kind of footsteps. The apartment might be fully renovated and brand new, but the steps up to it are creaky because the building itself is old. You can't go up and down those steps without making some kind of noise. 

But there is nothing. 

I grabbed my phone and rush to the front door, swinging it open with the camera ready to take a picture of my stalker. 

There was no one there. 

That's impossible: no one can take those steps and not make a noise! 

When I turned the light timer by the door to see better, the stairwell was empty. 

Was I hallucinating the whole thing? Was I that scared that I was beginning to see and hear things now? 

Of course, I didn't want to mention the part about opening the door to see who was on the other side. Andrea would have called me insane, which I was at that moment. 

"That's really so messed up," Andrea shakes her head, "If you were some rich girl, I'm sure there would have been several squad cars patrolling the building nonstop." 

"If I were a rich girl, I would have hired a PI," I mumble back.   

Neither of us is paying attention to what is going on in class. I took this class because I thought it was going to be interesting, but even before the whole stalking thing started, I sort of disliked social media, and now that I was taking classes on it, I was starting to care for it even less. If I kept this up, I might as well fail this class. Not that any of this mattered on the grand scale of things. 

"Well, maybe now that you have an idea what he looks like, maybe the police will take you more seriously." 

"Maybe," I shrug, although, I doubt it. 

What I have is a picture of an actor. 

"Actually," Andrea shifts closer to me, "I have a bit of a weird thing to ask of you." 

"What is it?" 

"It'll have to wait till after class," Andrea whispered back and moved away from me, refocusing her attention on the notes on the smartboard. 

***

Andrea takes her time shoving things into her leather backpack. 

I lean against the table, waiting for her to finish as people funnel slowly out of class. 

If everything about Abigail is pastels and colors, Andrea is all about expensive minimalism and muted tones. Her leather backpack is MCM, her laptop is the latest MacBook, and her jacket is Canada Goose. I never really paid that much attention to how Andrea was dressed or what brands she owned, usually because Abigail was around to distract me. But with the two of us together and alone for so long for the first time, I have the opportunity to take her in. 

"You probably noticed that Abigail is still missing." She finally speaks, zipping up her backpack. 

"Yeah..." I say slowly. With everything happening to me in these past few days, I sort of forgot about Abigail. 

"Well," Andrea exhaled, "There's a reason behind it. Do you remember the Halloween party?" 

"Yeah." 

I sound like a parrot. 

"Her boyfriend knows it was her. He called her and told her that if she doesn't stay the fuck back away from him or his friends, and this is a direct quote, or pulls another stunt like that, he will go after he with all the lawyers his family has on retainer and they will make her life a living hell." Andrea breathes out, swinging the backpack over her shoulder. 

"That seems a bit excessive," I say as we walk out of the classroom. 

"Well... There's a story behind it... But, the reason why I'm telling you all this is because I need your help. Do you have time for coffee?" 

***

The coffee shop we go to is a local Starbucks across from campus. 

Even though a weekend has passed since the handle jingle thing without any further incidents, I try to keep my vigilance, eye peeled for anyone who might resemble my stalker. 

Andrea gets two London Fogs for us, placing them on the small round table by the window. 

"I got a call from Abigail's mother: Abigail is depressed again like she was that time she was kicked out of Babson. And her mother wants me to go and talk to her, just like last time. But honestly," Andrea sighs heavily, "I don't think I have it in me to do it again." 

"Talk to her? What do you mean?" 

"Abi gets into these moods when things derail. And honestly, it's fine to get depressed. I get depressed too from time to time. But it's like she doesn't know how to handle it. She just stops functioning." 

"Sounds like they need to have her talk to a therapist." I take a sip from the cup. It doesn't taste good: I don't like black tea, and I just realized that London Fog is a fancy name for black tea with milk.   

"Yeah, they can't afford one; they're still paying for the one from the Babson incident. Her parents are nice people, but I think they put so much pressure on her to do well and succeed, that she just ended up having a breakdown, you know? Instead of graduating and going off to work at Goldman Sachs she gets expelled and loses her scholarships." Andrea blows on her steaming tea. 

"So her mom wants you to talk to her? How is that going to help?" 

"I doubt it even will, but I've been friends with Abi since we were twelve, and her parents have always been so welcoming to me, even with everything..." Andrea doesn't finish the sentence, appearing lost in thought, a memory that might have been too unpleasant to bring up, "I could have said no, but what kind of a friend does that make me?" She finally says. 

"And you want me to come with you?" I ask doubtfully. 

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask for. However, I think it'll be very beneficial for her and her parents to see that she has people who care about her and want her to get better." 

"What about Kritsa?" 

"What about her?"

"Well, you don't think we should ask her to join us?" 

"Krista has been super hard to get ahold of. It takes her FOREVER to answer my texts and forget about getting her to answer phone calls. She said she's busy with school work, and frankly, I lack the mental energy to chase her down." 

I watch Andrea as she appears to get lost in thought again, sipping her tea, looking sad and somewhat exhausted. 

"I'll come with you, but on the condition that you tell me exactly what happened at Babson and why her boyfriend is so freaked out." I say, wondering if I opened a door that I should have left closed.