Life in the Shadows

32.

I'm doing better.

Jack is still annoying as fuck, but that's not new information.

I've been able to get up and down the stairs a by myself, and I'm slowly (but surely) getting back to health.

I've had this cast on for about three weeks, and I'm basically an expert on it. I know what to use when my leg itches, and I could be in the stair-climbing Olympics.

Other than that, I've been struggling with some other things, like finding a job. Since I fucked up my foot, I can't exactly do umpiring like I had originally planned. I've also fallen slightly behind on my Jane Doe videos, and that isn't good.

I posted a cover of Ed Sheeran's Cold Coffee about an hour ago on YouTube, and I feel like it's a job well done.

This past week, I've been working on trying to get back in the gym, and it's surprisingly going as I hoped it would.

I've been lifting, being spotted by Jack at all times, and a little bit of walking, but not much.

I'm allowed home alone, which I am now, and I'm getting used to relaxing by myself.

I hear a door open downstairs, and I snap my head over towards my alarm clock.

Jack's not going to be home for another two hours, and mom and dad are in Lincoln until the day after tomorrow.

I let out a shaky breath.

Someone's in the house.

I begin to panic, thinking of how pathetic it would be if the person found me: a crippled, scrawny teenager against a muscular robber, who could probably take me out with one punch.

Where is my phone?

I crawl across my room as quietly as I can, so I'm not heard downstairs, and sigh frustratedly as I remember that I had left my phone downstairs.

This is great.

I hear the person downstairs, loud footsteps and the opening of doors breaking the deadly silence in the house.

I look around in my room for something to hit them with if they were to come in here, and I crawl over to the closet and grab a tennis racket that was on the floor.

How did this get in here?

Not important, Maggie. There's someone in the house, remember? My subconscious scolds me.

I hear their footsteps, coming up the staircase, and the noise of their heavy steps coming closer.

I stand up, ignoring the shooting pain in my foot, and stand behind the door.

The door swings open, and I smack them square in the face, pretty hard I might add, with the tennis racket.

"What the fuck?" the familiar voice yells.

"Gilinsky?"

"God damn it," he hisses, whipping his shirt off to soak up the blood pouring from his nose.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry,"

"Why did you hit me?" he murmurs, glaring at me.

"I thought you were a robber,"

"Yeah, I'm a robber with a key to the fucking house," he says sarcastically.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim. "I didn't know it was you!"

"Let's go talk to my mom. She can fix my nose,"

"I'm sorry," I murmur, feeling guilt wash over me.