Chapter 10: James

The next morning, for the first time, I didn't check for messages from Steve right away. Instead, I got up, ate a small breakfast, and used my computer to register for my next semester of classes. I was pretty excited to start Biodiversity and Cellular Biology. I then aimlessly clicked around on my laptop, trying to ignore the scrap of paper sitting on the counter.

I just couldn't get the image of that sketchy couple out of my mind. What if they had followed him home? What if they had robbed him?

Too soon, I put his number into my phone, adding the local area code. I typed out a message and stared at it for what felt like minutes before hitting send.

Me
Hey it's the girl from yesterday. Did you get home okay?

I bit the inside of my lip. I had to admit I was a little intrigued by him. I recalled the moment when he refilled my water glass without me even asking.

He's too nice to be a stalker.

As I set my phone down, I caught sight of the dark red bruise on the inside of my wrist. I ran my thumb across it, feeling a slight sting. Maybe not the nicest guy…

Minutes passed before I calmed down a little. I decided to call Lacy to tell her about my wild night out, omitting some embarrassing details, especially James. She apologized for not going with me and promised to partake next time. I told her it was very, very unlikely to happen again.

I sent him another text around noon, and by 2 PM I started to worry.

After overthinking it for a while, I tapped the button to call him. My stomach clenched when he picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh, James?" I swallowed down my nerves. "This is Kate. Er, from yesterday."

"...Yeah."

A slow wave of regret rolled over me. "Uh, you didn't answer my texts and I just wanted to make sure you were okay," I said in a rush.

"Texts?" He seemed confused. "This is a landline."

"Oh." I breathed out an airy laugh. "What's your cell number?"

"Don't have one."

"Oh." My brow furrowed, and a long, awkward silence arose. I desperately tried to think of a segway to end the conversation. "Well—"

"Do you wanna come over here?" he asked suddenly.

I immediately shook my head. Why would he think that? "I mean, um, I just wanted to check on you," I explained with a wince.

"Alright, then."

Another uncomfortably long silence began. For a moment, I thought that he might have hung up the phone, but then I heard some noise over the line. I blinked. Why am I not hanging up?

"Um," I started. "Why don't you come over here?"

A brief pause. "'Here'?"

"My apartment," I clarified, holding my breath.

He cleared his throat, barely audible with the poor call quality. "Don't you have a boyfriend?" he asked.

I felt a guilty pang in my chest. "Yeah. He's out of town."

He hummed, and I couldn't tell whether it was condescending or not. I narrowed my eyes as I listened to the static. Then: "What's your address?"

Relief and fear battled inside of me as I told him. "1100 Harper Street. Apartment 202—I mean, 201."

"...Alright." I heard the sound of sliding paper as if he was writing it down. "So, the A train?"

"Yeah—" I paused, unable to remember the last time I had given someone directions to my apartment. "Take it to the bridge station. Use the Harper Street exit and keep walking towards the river."

"Got it."

Before I could say another word, the call ended with a clunk. I pulled the phone away from my ear; it had only lasted one minute and five seconds. I covered my eyes, feeling sudden anxiety come over me.

What if I just invited a serial killer to my apartment? My eyes snapped open when an even worse thought occurred to me. What if he thinks I want to hook up?

Throwing myself into the bathroom, I pulled out a makeup wipe to remove my eyeliner and mascara. I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail without pulling any baby hairs out, and I put on the biggest t-shirt from my closet and some baggy jeans that had paint stains on them. I looked at myself in the floor-length mirror in the bedroom.

Disgusting—perfect.

By the time I heard a knock at the door, I was practically buzzing with adrenaline. I clutched my phone inside my oversized pocket as I looked through the peephole.

He looked even taller than before. Though it was freezing outside, he wasn't wearing a coat or hat. He glanced down the empty hallway as I creepily watched him. I breathed out a short, anxious breath and turned the doorknob.

The briefest look of curiosity crossed his deadpan face. "Hey," he said.

"Hi," I replied, my voice shaking. I stiffly waved him forward. "Uh, come in."

He entered with his hands in his jean pockets. As he passed me, I detected the scent of cigarettes and the outdoors. I watched him inspect the apartment as I ran my sweaty palms together, wondering why on Earth I had done this to myself.

"I wanted to talk to you about last night," I said, joining him by the bookshelf. "I…I don't know what I would've done if—"

"Why do you have all this old stuff?"

I laughed as I recovered from the odd interruption. "I like old stuff."

He grunted, running his finger over the spines of books and VHS cases. Eventually, his attention settled on a framed picture of Steve and me—it was a selfie from Thanksgiving that I thought was cute. James picked it up.

I gulped. He might recognize him from the news.

"My boyfriend," I explained, reaching for it.

His eyes remained on the picture as I returned it to the shelf. "He's big."

I laughed softly. "Yeah."

Hoping he would follow me, I crossed my arms and walked into the kitchen. He did, but his eyes continued to wander around the apartment.

"Did those people give you any trouble last night?" I asked.

He shook his head, looking over my closed laptop and the assortment of textbooks on the island. He's oddly nosey. He reached for an open book and turned a page. "What is this crap?"

I leaned across the counter and eased the two-hundred-dollar textbook shut. "Advanced cellular biology," I muttered, looking up at him.

His wide eyes, curtained by dark bangs, reminded me of a lost puppy. Despite his rough exterior, he had a strange vulnerability about him.

"Let's sit," I suggested, gesturing to the kitchen table by the window. He sat wordlessly as I took a seat on the other side. I leaned my chin in my hand and watched him pull a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket.

I forced myself to stay quiet. Steve would hate someone smoking in here.

After lighting one up, he offered the open pack to me. I shook my head. "No, thanks." I couldn't resist the urge to add, "Smoking is bad for you."

He hummed indifferently as he took a long drag. The cloud of smoke that inevitably followed made me want to crack a window. I clenched my teeth in annoyance. His cockiness really got on my nerves.

"So, tell me why you were following me last night," I said firmly.

He tapped his cigarette, letting the ash fall onto the open newspaper in front of him. His eyes tracked across the page. "I wasn't following you," he finally stated. "I was walking to the store."

"Oh. Okay." I wasn't convinced. "So how did you know those people were following me?"

His head tilted to the side. "They were acting weird."

"Why didn't you call the police?" I pressed on, brow furrowing.

Finally looking at me, he narrowed his eyes. It almost felt like he was trying to read me. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Just say 'thank you,'" he said, sounding annoyed.

I almost groaned. "I mean, thank you," I ground out. "I just—you're…" I took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and collected. "You seem very capable."

He just shrugged. I was genuinely pissed off by that point.

"Are you…law enforcement?" He shook his head lazily. "Military? CIA? A Russian spy?"

"What's it to you?" he snapped.

"Nothing!" I exclaimed, crossing my arms. When I realized just how worked up I was, I sat back and sighed. "I'm just curious, I guess."

He held my gaze as the ash built on the cigarette between his fingers. The sudden look of concern on his face was the first real emotion I had seen. As I struggled to maintain eye contact, I wondered what he was thinking.

His lips pressed together to form a line, and then he spoke. "How would you defend yourself?"

I balked at the randomness of the question. "Uh…"

"If you were alone," he continued, leaning forward, "how would last night have gone?"

I shook my head slightly. I'd rather not think about it.

His eyebrows drew together. "Picture it."

As my subconscious complied with the instruction, horrifying images flashed through my mind. Would I have been robbed? Raped? Killed? I shook my head and released a shaky sigh. "I'm just so glad you were there," I whispered, looking at him.

He nodded before knocking more ash onto the newspaper. "Next time, I won't be."

I laughed humorlessly. If he was trying to scare me, it was kind of working. "There won't be a 'next time,'" I said uncertainly.

He gave a skeptical hum and lifted the cigarette to his lips.

When I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, I pulled it out and glanced at the new text message.

Lace
Pizza incoming bich

My eyes darted out the window at the overcast sky. Oh, fuck.

"I have a friend coming over," I said, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice.

James seemed to grasp the situation right away. Without a word, he stood to his feet and put out his cigarette. I followed him to the door, feeling strangely guilty for kicking him out so suddenly.

He cracked the door open and paused. He looked at me over his shoulder, and I crossed my arms uncomfortably.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he said.

I gestured awkwardly. "I mean, you can. But why?"

He smirked. "Why not?"

"What do you—"

As he shut the door behind himself, I realized I both never wanted to see him again and really wanted to see him tomorrow.


Greetings, friends! Wow...I did not mean to take a 3-month break from this story. Hopefully I can get some momentum going again. Thank you to everyone who read & especially reviewed while I was MIA! -Scarlet