Just for a Night

Chapter 2

I waited for half an hour. Thirty minutes, two phone calls, and finally, one voicemail saying I'm leaving, with or without him. And the best part? This isn't even the first time, and it probably won't be the last.

I let out a quiet huff, get off the bench by the front of the school, and start the short walk home. If I stall any longer I'll be late to work. I'm sick of waiting anyways. I look around one last time, as if he'd suddenly appear, summoned only by my thoughts. Wishful thinking.

I watch my feet as I walk down the side of the road, planning each spot where I would next lay the sole of my shoes, trying to get each stride perfect. The soft swishing of my pants is the only sound that keeps me company besides the occasional hum of passing cars. The cold air makes the tips of my ears and my nose burn, and I pull the sides of my jacket closer together.

I wonder if he was running late, or maybe his phone died. Maybe he forgot.

I shake my head. Why am I making excuses for him? As long as he calls me back later, explaining what happened, it's fine. All of it will be fine.

The screech of skidding tires pulls me from thoughts. The flaps of my jacket gently slaps against me and some flyaways that probably pulled loose from my braids plaster themselves onto my face.

The air catches in my throat as I can almost see the blur of my reflection in the gray car that swerves away from me. It slows down about twenty feet away and someone yells from inside it, "Watch it!"

"Sorry," I breathe out tightly. I look around in a daze but the sun was too bright. Looking down, I realize I was a couple feet into the road. I walk over to the curb and almost trip when my toe catches the corner. A cough forces its way out as I choke on my own breath. I need to get it together.

I slowly suck in some air and grit my teeth. I can't be late to work just because a gray car almost swerved into me. I clench my fists to stop the pins and needles that trace their way from my head to my fingertips and toes. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, right?

By the time I reach the apartment building, any skin not covered by fabric burns slightly from the cold. I trudge past the front desk, nodding briefly to the front desk clerk that works Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. The air conditioning was on, as usual, despite the practically freezing weather. I take the stairs, fumbling around in my bag for the key.

As I jam the key into the lock, I pause. There's a light under the door, which either means I'm being robbed or someone's in my house. I shove the door open.

The intruder turns around, revealing my brother, Jacob, with a surprised look, and his arm elbow deep in a bag of chips.

"Oh," I mutter. "Hey."

"Hey, you scared me," he says with a short laugh. "I wasn't expecting you." I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.

"You weren't expecting me to enter my own apartment?" I scoff. I slide my bag off my shoulders and toss it to the floor.

"My apartment," he counters under his breath. I roll my eyes and walk past him, heading for my bedroom.

"What do you want?" I ask flatly. He shoves another handful into his mouth.

"What makes you think I want something?" he asks defensively.

"Maybe the fact that the last time you visited, which, by the way, was three months ago, you only wanted me to make you a turkey for Thanksgiving," I reply. I grab my work clothes out of the closet and slam the door.

"What? I don't remember that," he insists. "I visit all the time!"

"Sure you do," I grumble as I lock my bedroom door. I pull on the red polo shirt and black pants. I slip on my jacket and wrench open the door. As I stalk to the door of my apartment, I grab my bag and a granola bar.