Page 20 of Freeing Ruby

“He seems nice,” I say. “You seemed to like him well enough.”

I thought I’d have a harder time having someone in my apartment, but Miguel’s so nice, he’s easy to have around. There’s something about him. He seems to exude an air of quiet confidence, and that’s really an attractive trait in a man.

I start in on my breathing exercises in an effort to calm my pulse and relax so I can sleep.

I repeat my mantra to myself, over and over.

It’s okay.

Everything’s okay.

You’re safe.

And it works. I feel my pulse gradually slowing and my muscles relaxing. My eyelids start to grow heavy.

* * *

When I wake up, I check the time. It’s just after seven-thirty. It’s the first time I slept through the night in a long time. I didn’t hear a sound. Not the ping of a pebble hitting my window. No thump of something heavy hitting my apartment door. Nothing.

I can’t remember the last time I had a quiet, uneventful night.

I wonder what Miguel thinks. I’m so afraid he’ll think it’s all in my head.

I sit up and turn on the bedside lamp. Pumpkin squints at me and rolls onto his back, stretching his torso.

“I actually slept through the night,” I say. Pumpkin jumps off the bed and walks to the door. “I know, I know. You want breakfast. Just a minute.”

I listen carefully for any signs that Miguel is up, but I don’t hear anything. I need to visit the bathroom, but I’d hate to wake him up if he’s still asleep. That’s the downside to sleeping on the sofa—you have no privacy at all.

But my bladder is insistent, so I get out of bed, throw on my robe, and quietly let myself out of my room. As soon as I step out of my bedroom, I see there’s a light on in the living room. I walk in that direction and find Miguel dressed and sitting on the chair by the sofa. He’s back to reading his book.

“Good morning,” I say.

He glances. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“Actually, I did. It was a quiet night.”

After I get washed up and dressed, I return to the living room to find Miguel in the kitchen making coffee.

I feed Pumpkin, who’s meowing eagerly as he winds himself around my ankles. “I’m making scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” he says.

While I make breakfast, I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking about. Last night was a perfectly normal, perfectly quiet night. Nothing went bump in the night. I wonder if he’s starting to doubt my claims.

As I carry our food to the table, Miguel opens the balcony drapes. “Do you mind if I open the door?”

“Go right ahead.”

As soon as he slides the door open, I feel a slight breeze and hear the birds chirping in the trees across the parking lot.

Miguel brings the coffee pot to the table and pours us each a cup. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Sugar and cream. Sugar’s on the table. Creamer’s in the fridge. I’ll get it.”

Miguel sits and takes a bite of his scrambled eggs. “These are good.”

I nod as I pour some French vanilla creamer into my coffee and offer him the bottle, but he declines.

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