Drunk

Three.

                                                            Three.

   Once Oliver pulled his car up to Shy’s apartment building, he insisted on walking her to her door. His handsome face and kind eyes were hard to say no to. 

   Shy almost fell asleep while waiting for the elevator to open its metal doors. She swayed on her feet, her eyelids felt heavy with exhaust. She mentally groaned as she remembered she had the morning shift at the bakery tomorrow. Which meant she had to pretend to be happy and cheerful with a hangover. 

   The elevator dinged, making Shy snap her eyes open. She didn’t even realize she closed them. She glanced sideways to Oliver to make sure he hadn’t seen her nod off. They both walked into the elevator and Shy pushed the button labelled, “Floor Three.”

   Neither one said a word as the doors closed and the feeling of lifting could be felt. Shy’s stomach twisted in nausea but then it faded, which she was thankful for. The body warmth that radiated off of Oliver seemed to lull her and she didn’t want anything more to hug him and wrap her arms around his waist. 

   That thought alone made Shy’s body lean away from Oliver. The strong feelings in her heart confused her and scared her at the same time. 

   The elevator’s doors opened and they both walked out. Shy got her apartment key out of her jacket pocket, holding the cold, jagged metal in her hands. When they reached her door, they both stood facing each other. 

   The air wasn’t filled with awkwardness, but tension. Like the moment two lovers are about to kiss but they challenge each other to see who would break first.

   “Uh,” Shy started, staring at her shuffling feet, “thanks for the ride.”

   “Yeah, no problem.” A smile was evident in Oliver’s accented voice.

   When Shy dragged her eyes from the ground, their eyes locked. As he stared at her, Shy’s heart started racing in her chest and she hands became clammy. He smiled at her, showing his straight, ivory teeth. A smile smile twitched at her lips.

   Slowly--before Shy could comprehend--Oliver slowly started leaning in.

   Her eyes slightly widened, anticipation shooting through her veins. Something screamed in the back of her mind, one voice telling her lean in the rest of the way but the other told her to run before she got her feelings hurt like last time.  

   As his handsome face came closer to hers, she decided on the latter. She swiftly took a step back and quickly unlocked her apartment door. But before she could close it, Oliver’s hand shot out to keep the door open the remaining few inches.

   “Wait, Shy,” he said her name, her hands shook and her heart fluttered, “that was a bit forward.”

   She knew he was talking about the almost kiss.

   Her right eye peered around the door to look at him. A look had crossed his face, one of regret. He looked up at her. “Maybe we can, like, exchange numbers or somethin’?” Nervousness was laced in his voice and his hand dropped from the door to lay rest in his jean pocket.

   The offer had her heart soften but her brain told her to remember her last relationship. Unwanted feelings rushed back to the surface and she opened her mouth and said, “I don’t have a phone.” Then, she shut the door and locked it. 

   Regret flashed through her and she wanted to open the door and kiss him. But, she knew it was better not to get involved with him. He looked mysterious and dark, capable of hurting her emotionally and physically.

   He wouldn’t do that, though, she thought to herself. He could be a nice guy and I would never know.

   She was tearing in two, emotions washed through her so quickly her drunken mind couldn’t pick hone in on them. Sighing, she looked out of the peephole on the apartment door.

   Outside, Oliver still stood there, looking like a sad, lost puppy. She could see his sigh as he ran both of his hands into his hair then down his slightly bearded face. He looked at the door longingly, and raised his knuckles to knock, but then he second guessed himself and dropped his hand. He sighed again, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned to walk off. 

   Shy watched him until he was out of view. 

   Turning, her back pressed against to the door and her breathing became heavy. What has gotten into her? Sure, being around guys--especially attractive guys--always made her nervous, but Oliver was different. 

   She was nervous around him, he made her heart beat fast and made butterflies flutter in her stomach. But, she liked it. She liked the feeling. Something about him drew her to him. Maybe it was about his unique beauty or the way he carried himself so effortlessly. He was so mature, not like her classmates back home where they thought farting and burping were the funniest things. 

   Shy sighed and rubbed her hands on her face harshly. “Get over it,” she told herself.

   Reopening her eyes and standing onto her own two feet, she kicked off her shoes. She didn’t bother changing her clothes as she made her way of to the worn mattress on the wooden ground. They only light that offered her view in the darkness was the window that looked over the city of London. Big Ben could be seen in the far distance. 

   Collapsing onto the lumpy bed, she covered herself with the thin blanket. She turned to look around the white walls in the bare apartment. It was small--ungodly small. The only separated room in the whole studio apartment was the tiny bathroom. No walls separated the kitchen, the living room, and the bedroom. It was a square with a smaller square on the side. 

   The floor was all wood, except the tile where the kitchen started. Worn down counters and a refrigerator consisted of the kitchen. At the foot of her mattress, a wooden table with two wooden chairs sat. That was the “dining room,” as she liked to call it.

   The only thing for the “living room” was a couch with multiple burn holes and slashes covered by black duct-tape. She didn’t have a TV, but she had piles and piles of unread books. And that was good enough for her. They gave her hope on pursuing a career as a writer. 

   It was small and the walls were dirty, but it was a place she called her new home. She turned onto her other side to look out the window. Rain had started falling, the droplets rolling down the window.

   Her eyelids slowly closed as she watched the droplets run down the glass, making it seem like a race to whoever got to the bottom first: won. Finally, sleep claimed her as Oliver’s kind blue eyes filled her brain.