Page 2 of Keep Me

“Yeah, and it’s probably locked,” he replies, coasting the car to a stop.

Just then, the door pops open. Aaron and I both gasp and duck at the same time as we watch a woman emerge. She’s wearing a black miniskirt and a white shimmery blouse missing a few buttons in the front.

One step out the door, she suddenly realizes it’s raining. Instead of pulling an umbrella out, she covers her head with a black jacket and gazes around the yard as if looking for something.

Then, she’s jogging in the mud and rain with her shoes hanging from her fingers instead of on her feet. And she’s running straight towardus.

“What the…?” Aaron murmurs.

She stops by his driver’s window and waits as he slowly rolls it down a few inches.

“Are you my lift?” she asks with her thick Scottish accent. There is black makeup streaking down her face and her lipstick is smeared around her mouth.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume this woman is doing the quote-unquotewalk of shame.

“Uh…no,” Aaron stammers.

Her head pops up as she stares down the drive we just came from. “Och!” she chirps, then takes off in a jog through the mud toward another car slowly crawling up toward the house.

Aaron rolls the window back up and turns toward me in astonishment.

“Can we get out of here now?”

“What?” I reply. “No. The door is totally unlocked!”

His eyes widen further. “It’s someone’s house, Sylvie! Did you not just see the woman walk out of there?”

“Even better,” I reply as I unclip my seat belt. “I can claim I’m her friend if someone sees me. I came all this way, Aaron. I’m getting in that fucking house.”

“You’re unhinged,” he mutters as he faces forward and stares in shock. “People tried to warn me that you’re a loose cannon, but I figured that would mean you’re fun and unpredictable. I didn’t think they meant it in a criminal way.”

“Wait, who said I was a loose cannon? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

It really doesn’t matter. I can think of a handful of people off the bat who I know would say that to my boyfriend. People in our social circle definefun and entertainmentas tearing down other people and talking shit as if they’re so much better than anyone.

The only way I’ve figured out how to avoid that is to beat them at their own game.

They want to call me irrational, then I’ll show them irrational.

With that, I smile at Aaron and snatch my phone off the center console, shoving it into my pocket before throwing the hood of my rain jacket over my head.

“Be right back,” I say as I open the car door and jump into the downpour.

“Sylvie!” Aaron calls from the car, but I cut him off by slamming the door shut and sprinting toward the place we just watched the girl emerge from.

There’s a moment somewhere between the car and the door when I realize that this is, in fact, a bad idea. I’m walking into someone else’s home uninvited. I could just knock and ask nicely to see the library, but where’s the fun in that?

This is the moment when the adrenaline kicks in. It’s invigorating. Fear, anticipation, and excitement all blend into one as I reach for the door handle without a clue as to what’s on the other side.

It’s an antique brass doorknob on an old wooden door. Theforest-green paint is chipping away at the edges, and the knob squeaks as I turn it. As expected, it opens without an issue.

Once inside, I pull the door to just an inch from latching closed. It’s my idea of a quick escape plan just in case these particular Scottish homeowners are the kind that like to pull an axe on their intruders or have large wolfhounds to protect the residence.

Shit, dogs. I didn’t think about that.

The house is seemingly quiet from here. I’m standing in a large entryway, although, to be technical, this is the back of the house. So maybe it’s called an exit way?

The floor is all hardwood, and the walls are painted. It looks as if it was recently renovated instead of featuring the stale, dated decor I was expecting. It smells nice, as if there’s incense burning somewhere or men’s cologne sprayed nearby.

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