What Little Worlds

Six

Present Day

He wouldn't leave. Again.

Amelie had worked out after work to blow off steam, but could not seem to shake off the rough day. Finally, she had called Jake to hang out and take her mind off of things in another way. It had worked for a few hours, but now it was ten PM and she was ready to kick back on the couch by herself. She should have known he wasn't the best solution to distract her from her grievances. He was one of them.

She had chosen him because Charlotte or Maggie would want to talk about what had happened with the strange man or pick apart her boss some more and Amelie was not in the mood to dissect her feelings. She wanted to shove feelings behind a door while her mind focused on other things. But now, she was stuck with a man in her bed who clearly had plans to spend the night. How could she politely convince him to leave?

They lay in her bed in soft silence gently stroking each other's arms. She turned to face him and smiled at his still-flushed cheeks. He always looked so young in bed. He leaned down and kissed her forehead and she put her hand on his chest. "I have to get up really early for work tomorrow," lie, "do you mind staying at yours so I can get a really good night's sleep?" She looked down at her hand shyly and tried to look sweet.

He tiled his head a little in confusion but said, "sure."

"Thanks, Jake. It's just kind of dangerous if I'm not on my game when I'm in the lab. My project right now deals with explosive reactions so I have to be cogent enough to check all my work so they stay controlled." She explained, trying to make it seem incredibly reasonable.

"Yes of course," he smiled sweetly. Maybe he really did understand. Sometimes Amelie thought he was too nice to have as just a friends-with-benefits.

Once Jake left, Amelie grabbed the box of Oreos and a glass of milk from the kitchen. She placed them on her coffee table and plopped down on the couch to watch some TV.

_____________________

She awoke to the sound of someone knocking at her door. Disoriented, she sat up and looked around. She was on the couch, with an untouched glass of milk glowing a soft blue from the TV light. She checked her watch. 11:30. Who the hell would come over at 11:30? She looked around for her phone to see if anyone had texted while she was asleep announcing their visit. When she finally found the phone wedged between the couch cushions, all she had was a notification from The New York Times. Strange.

She couldn't help but think about the man from today. There was no way he had found her. But anyone she really knew would call or text. She decided to stay silent.

The knocking started again, this time louder and more rapid. Amelie was starting to panic and looked around for something that could be used as a weapon. She kept into the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan. Best she could do. In her other hand she dialed 911 on her phone and let her thumb hover over the call button.

She tip toed over to her door and waited in a defensive position. She didn't have a peep hole in her door so she could not tell who was going to walk through and she was not about to ask and confirm that she was indeed inside.

The person continued to knock for five minutes. Her neighbors would be waking up soon as well from all the racket. Then suddenly it stopped. She heard a thump against the door and then a sliding sound as the person slid down to sit in front of it. She was being stalked.

Still too afraid to make any noise, she switched her phone to texting mode and wrote out a text to Charlotte to call the police and tell them to come to her apartment. She was about to press send when she heard a familiar male voice whisper. "Amelie, please be in there. Please be safe," almost like a prayer. The voice reminded her of the crisp colorful leaves of fall and the smell of a fireplace.

Why was his voice familiar? It was not the strange man from today nor was it Jake, but she absolutely had heard that voice before. She glanced around the apartment, searching for inspiration for what to do, when, her eyes landed on the Oreos. Memories of teaching a boy about Oreos for the first time flooded to her head. Adrien.

It had to be him. It had been eight years but that voice sounded so much like how she remembered it. But she was in Boston now, not some Philly suburb. How could he have found her? Speak again, she pushed at him with her mind. She needed to confirm what she thought before she did something reckless like open the door.

She stood paralyzed for ten minutes but heard no more sounds from outside the door. Meaning the man still had not moved. She went back to the calling mode of her phone and poised her thumb over the call button. "Who is that?" she asked cautiously.

She heard a scuffle from outside as the person stood up abruptly. "It's Adrien. Amelie is that you? Are you okay?!" He asked.

"What!? What are you doing here? Are you alone?" she started moving around the apartment and turning on the lights.

"Yes, I'm alone. It's a long story. May I come in?" Amelie immediately started undoing her locks and threw open the door for him. His sandy colored hair had been buzzed short, and he was now about six or seven inches taller than her 5'9". Even more different were his arms and shoulders. They were now bulging with muscles and pulling at the fabric of his navy T-shirt.

"Hi," she said breathlessly. It was really Adrien. Eight years later here he was on her front door. Eight years of silence...she held that thought for a minute but before she could begin berating him, he rushed forward and took her into his arms. His hand came up to cup the back of her neck and she rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled nice. Had he always smelled so nice? Like pine and citrus.

"Hi," he said, like a sigh of relief.