Page 47 of Man On

"Lane?"

I beat on the door harder when he continues to ignore me.

"Look man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop; I was just curious about the records. It won't happen again. Please, just talk to me."

Nothing.

I keep knocking, trying to coax him out, but he's giving me nothing. I peek under the door to see if he's walking around, but the light is off.

Keeping my door open so I won't miss if Lane comes out of his room, I tug on a pair of shorts and grab my phone. We seem to communicate better through text, anyway.

Noah: Hey.

Noah: I meant what I said. I'm sorry.

Noah: Can we talk?

Noah: I have an idea that could help us both. It might sound a little crazy, but it could work...

I decide to sit on the floor outside his bedroom door, so if he decides to escape, he'll have to get through me. I'm an asshole like that.

Noah: You can't ignore me forever, Lane.

From my place on the ground outside his door, I hear his phone chime.

Noah: Just talk to me, please.

Noah: Lane

Noah: Lane

Noah: Lane

Noah: I can do this all night...

After a half a dozen more texts like that, I'm feeling pretty pissed off. I thump on his door some more, and then stand up.

"I will break down this door, Lane!"

Will I actually break down the door? Probably not. But I wouldn't put it past Lane to believe I would. I don't have to, though. Because when I grab the handle, planning on jiggling it as a threat, the knob turns. When he doesn't scream at me to get out again, I push the door open.

He's not even here.

I've spent the last half hour beating on his door, yelling and begging, and he's not even here. His phone is, though, so I’ve also been texting no one. It's blinking on his nightstand, with twenty or more notifications from me being a jackass. I consider trying to delete the messages from his phone so he'll never see the evidence of how pathetic I am, but I really don't want to get caught snooping in his room again. Not only am I likely to get on his good side by doing so, but he can actually be a scary motherfucker when he's angry. I thought he might Hulk out on me earlier. It was pretty hot, actually.

Where did he go?

I was so distracted by my own shit, I didn't even consider that Lane is probably losing his.

It's been almost forty-five minutes since I got in the shower. Staying in the doorway, I flip on the light and do a quick scan of the room. He left his towel on the ground and his bed is still mussed up.

Shit. That's not a good sign.

After throwing a shirt on and slipping my feet into my slides, I pull the doorstop in to prevent the door from latching in case Lane comes back and doesn't have his keys. I'm hoping he's downstairs in the lobby, maybe reading or working out in the gym. I'm sure he'll get a good laugh out of me coming to check on him like a mother hen, but I can play it off like I'm visiting the vending machines. I didn't bring any money, but maybe he won't notice.

There are only a few people in the gym, and the lobby is empty. The rain is coming down so hard outside, I can't see past the lawn to the parking lot. Jesus, I hope he's not out there. I think back to just a couple of weeks ago, when he was having a panic attack or something. What if he freaked out and went to burn it off, and is stuck out there?

I march towards the doors, ready to run out into the rain to find him.

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