Page 37 of Avoiding Temptation
By the time I push the main door open, I’m breathing like I’ve just run a marathon. I jog up the stairs, using the last of my energy before pushing the key in the lock and triple-checking that I secure everything behind me.
This place might not be much to most people, but it’s become my sanctuary. Do I wish I had more? Of course. I’ve worked my whole life and saved every penny I could. I never imagined a time where I’d be forced to leave all of that behind. All I can hope is that when this is all over, I might see some of it once again.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’ve not eaten all day. Turning to the fridge, I pull it open and groan. I could really do with a little comfort food tonight, but all I’ve got staring back at me is a half-eaten tub of soup, stale bread, and a block of cheese. Not exactly what I’m craving.
The knowledge that my first paycheck hit my bank today rattles around my head, but I fight the urge to pick up my phone and order a takeaway. I’ve got more important things to buy.
In the end, I begrudgingly pull the soup from the fridge with a sigh.
The steaming bowl in my hands almost crashes to the floor when the buzzer rings out through the silent flat.
“Fuck.” My chest heaves, my breaths racing past my lips.
I place the bowl down with trembling hands and hesitate. After debating whether to answer it or not for a few seconds, I eventually walk over on unsteady legs and press down the button. I figure if my past were to come knocking, then it’s not likely to be so blatant as to ring my buzzer.
My assumptions are proved correct when Joe’s voice fills the tiny space around me.
“Quinn, you there?” The concern is evident in his tone. I must have done an even worse job than I thought of appearing normal yesterday evening.
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“I was kinda hoping you’d invite me in and I could tell you.”
“Oh, um…” I should say no. I should find out what he wants and send him on his way to enjoy his Friday night. I’ve already experienced his kind of night out, and I know he wouldn't be satisfied with two-day-old re-heated soup in my tiny studio.
No matter what my brain tells my body to do, it seems my arm has a mind of its own because I don’t even realise that I’ve pressed the button down to unlock the front door and allow him entry into the building until he thanks me.
Before long, I hear his footsteps thundering up the stairs. The louder they get, the harder my heart beats.
You’re playing with fire,the little voice in my head says.
Seconds before I know he’s going to be standing the other side of the door, I rush towards my mirror, wipe the stray make up from under my eyes and run my fingers through my hair.
Even after all these weeks, I still hardly recognise the woman staring back at me. A little rush of excitement tingles through my veins at the reminder that I’m living my own life at last, even if I am waiting for it to come crashing down around my feet at any second.
My stomach tumbles when his loud, manly knock sounds out.
“Get it together, girl.”
I shake out my arms and hope my paranoia vanishes along with my nerves.
I quickly unlock all the locks and in mere seconds I’m pulling the door open to reveal the man I can’t get out of my head.
Only I’ve not met this version of him before.
Gone are the braces and crisp white shirt, and there are no dirty work clothes in sight. Tonight, he’s dressed more casually in a pair of skinny dark jeans and a white polo shirt, although his glasses remain.
“You approve?” he asks, and my cheeks heat.
“Shit…I…” I stutter, my body frozen solid as his eyes burn into mine.
“Don’t apologise. I like knowing what you’re thinking.”
His words immediately get my back up. I’ve been controlled my entire life by men who ‘think’ they know what I want and what I think.
I’m so done with that.
“You don’t know me,” I spit, much to his surprise if his raised eyebrows are anything to go by.
