"I'm Not Crazy"

XII.

If Riley hadn't answered the door when he did, I would have left. It wasn't his fault, but I was feeling ungrounded, and he would have been collateral damage. Even my elderly neighbor, who waved kindly at me that morning as I left my apartment, fell victim to the way I'd sped up my gate to a light jog in order to avoid her.

Riley lived in an apartment, which I found odd given the fact that he claimed to be a retired actor. When he said that, I imagined high rises or a mansion sized home in the hills, but the address he'd texted me was actually a small strip of apartments in Inglewood. They were quite similar to my own, with stucco walls and plain white doors. Rileys was at the end of the row, with a collection of unruly potted plants lining the path, and a flowered wreath on the door. I stood on the porch and knocked before rocking between the balls of my feet and my heels while I waited for him to answer.

I had knocked rather lightly. He took a while to answer as a result, and I had just enough time to consider that he hadn't heard me before the door was pushed open. By then I'd already taken a single step backwards. I was prepared to take several more until I found myself safely back in my empty hollow home.

Riley looked tired, with dark circles and hair that looked frizzy from sleep, but his eyes were wide and alert. He was wearing a fitted pink floral tshirt that I thought probably belonged to a woman, and black jeans. He was barefoot.

As usual, he looked me up and down like he was inspecting a child for proof of germs.

"You're not even going to say hi to me?" He questioned, a sly smile breaking through. "Pitiful."

He turned to walk back into the house, pausing once to gesture me after him. I caught a flash of his grin again. He was laughing quietly to himself. I couldn't tell if he was laughing at me, or with me, but I smiled back and followed him because that's what I thought I was supposed to do.

I'd told my therapist I was meeting a friend from class that weekend. Afterwards I'd wondered why I felt the need to lie about such a thing. I'd lied about how I'd met Bird/Basil and Riley before, so maybe I just felt compelled to continue the lie. When she'd asked me to describe Riley though, I'd lied about that too. I'd called him quiet. I'd said he was shy. The man constantly poking fun at me was neither quiet not shy.

"Close the door behind you or the cat will escape," he added without looking back. "If she dies I'll probably smoke meth or something insane. You also need to take your shoes off."

I closed the door so hastily that I caught some of my hair in it. Riley didn't bother to look back, so while I scrambled to ammend it, he kept walking in through the entryway. When I managed to kick off my worn sneakers, I felt the bright rainbow rug underneath my feet. It was soft and clearly well walked on.

"Meth?" I questioned, my voice slightly higher than intended.

"That's a lie," Riley promised, turning around to gauge my progress. He'd made it through to the end of the entryway, but upon noting that I was still by the door, he stopped completely and crossed his arms. I tried not to look too closely at all the pictures hanging on the wall behind him. I made a note to look closer before I left. "I've never done meth. It's like one of the few things I haven't done."

"Oh," I said with a polite nod. "That's good."

Riley stared at me critically for a moment. I didn't realize it in the moment, but he was choosing his next words carefully. He hid it well. When he spoke again, his tone was just as casual as before, giving very little away.

"Basil says you aren't actually a pill popper," he informed me matter of factly. "I'm going to trust that they're right, but in case there was any question: this is a drug free home. I don't care if your name is the one on the bottle. Keep your pills at home. Okay, Charlie?"