Page 70 of Levee

I was going to do what the message on my whiteboard demanded. I was going to mind my own damn business.

Staying in my apartment all but assured that.

I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t going to become a shut-in, that I wasn’t going to let the fear rule my life, that I really just needed to hunker down and get some work done. Especially with all these commissions coming in.

I knew, of course, that the fear was the driving force that was making me plan to place a grocery delivery order instead of walking around the store to browse like I always did, loving to get inspired by the sights and scents.

Or why I was calculating how many days I had left of clothes before I would need to brave the isolated laundry room.

I wondered if I could find my savior kid and invite him to hang with me while my laundry washed, giving him a one-on-one art lesson while things washed and dried.

But, for God’s sake, that meant I was relying on a literal child to feel safe. I didn’t care if he carried a switchblade. It was still wrong. Cowardly.

So maybe I could just wash my clothes in the sink instead.

These were the things still on my mind as I found a prime parking spot right out front of the building; I would actually be able to watch my car from my window if I wanted to.

I yanked my purse up on my shoulder, took a steadying breath, and climbed out of my car. I made sure to bleep my locks before taking long, purposeful strides toward the building. I hoped I looked like I was in a rush, not like I was running.

I imagined the worst thing I could do was come off scared. So I tried not to, though I did duck my head to avoid anyone getting too good of a look at my black eye and cut cheek.

I didn’t want to have to lie to neighbor-friends about it too. I’d been doing too much lying already. It was making my stomach hurt.

I was going to need to come clean to Levee eventually if I wanted things to keep progressing with us. And I did.

Maybe after I cooked him dinner. That felt like a good time to tell him something like that.

“Look at you go,” I said to William as he buzzed past me too quickly to possibly get a look at me.

He made some sort of harrumph in response to that but said nothing else as I turned to see him whip into the elevator.

Well, Levee would be glad to know he was using the chair he’d bought him and was able to do more for himself now. Maybe once I got a little makeup on my eye to avoid questions, I could drop over and make sure his hand was alright.

I stuck my key in my lock.

But I didn’t get a chance to turn it.

Because my door just… pushed open.

Panic was a rope around my neck, pulling tighter as the door slid open to reveal my apartment.

My completely wrecked apartment.

A whimpering sound worked its way up my throat and out from between my lips as I stared at the scattered contents of my kitchen drawers and cabinets, at my flipped couch cushions, at my books and trinkets littering the floor.

I stood there for a long moment, listening, trying to hear if anyone was still there. Even if, logically, the person who broke in likely did it at night when no one would see them.

I inched forward, grabbing a knife off of the floor, and leaving my apartment door slightly open in case I needed a swift exit.

Then I inched down my hallway, slipping into the bathroom to check for someone hiding. Behind the shower curtain that was mostly see-through. In the linen closet and under the sink, spaces that were far too small for any adult. But fear was making me paranoid.

I went into my bedroom, yanking open my closet, glad I didn’t have a big pile of clothes someone could hide under, so it was easy to tell there was no one there.

I eyed the bed next, the only place left in the whole apartment to hide.

My anxiety had me rushing forward and just shoving the mattress off of the frame, not caring that it slammed into my nightstand and sent it, the lamp, and the contents on top flying and scattering to the floor.

What was one more mess when the whole place was wrecked?

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