Duplicity [h.s]

62

over 12'000 words ... buckle up

Aven Brooks

"Alright, heads, we go; tails, you stay."

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You won't catch me with that again.."

"That's how I happened to get married.."

My eyes blindly watched the black and white television screen, knees pushed up to my chest and blanket covering my entire body. I was so quietly staring at the fifties sitcom Harry claimed to be one of his favourites. It was cold in his apartment with the air conditioning on my half naked body, beautiful day in Miami Beach but not so beautiful in my heart.

It's been hours since the beach, the day was simply slipping away before my very eyes. Harry brought me back to his apartment so I could feel secure. He set me up on the couch while going to make some phone calls in the other room regarding the man that was stalking me. I don't know who he was calling and what the conversations would consist of, but I appreciated his dedication to solving this.

I haven't moved from the couch, I've been glued to it for hours now. Eleven episodes of I Love Lucy was the exact amount of time for nightfall to begin. I haven't spoken, moved, or shed a tear since laying on this sectional. My brain was so overwhelmed with fear that I couldn't comprehend it like a normal person anymore. I should be pacing, crying, shaking, and full in having a breakdown over the fact someone has been following me on this tour. But—I'm not. Instead I've been watching television, and all my thoughts were quiet.

Harry has noticed my behaviour, but he hasn't questioned it once. Maybe he understands I simply was just in a state of shock. I see him walk by and glance at me, but I don't glance back. He seemed to be doing a hundred different things I couldn't bring myself to ask about, he's been very busy.

I've basically connected the fact that the blood on my hotel wall was done by this same person following me in a skeleton mask—unless I have two stalkers.

I don't know their gender, but from frame glimpses I've seen my subconscious was stereotyping a man. I have nothing to distinguish this person besides the fact they are wearing a skeleton mask. I don't even know if they're taller then me or not.

Harry walks by me, blocking the television for a second before sitting on the couch next to my hip. I flick my eyes to him as he places his hand on my thigh, meeting gaze.

"You haven't said a word." He utters the obvious.

I shrug and flick my eyes back to the television, choosing not to answer. I didn't know what to say, I was on overload at this point. I wasn't in any way mad at him, I just had to much in my head that I didn't want to discuss.

"Av..."

"There's a picture missing in my polaroid camera." I speak in a dull tone, mindlessly watching the sitcom.

A dead air ran between us, my eyes glued to the screen impairing my eye sight.

"What does that mean?" He seems lost.

"There were eight pictures left in the roll, now there's seven," I clarify. "They took a picture while I was sleeping."

I made the discovery not long ago when I double checked my bag. Everything was there, but a picture was taken and they probably have it. It made me physically ill knowing it was possibly of me sleeping. I felt so unsafe, I didn't know what to do to subside this uncomfortable feeling.

I heard him sigh under his breath, not articulating any actual words. He shifted in his seat in my peripheral vision. I kept the blanket tucked under my chin, covering my whole curled body.