"I'm coming up only to hold you under. And coming up only to show you're wrong. And to know you is hard; we wonder... To know you all wrong; we warn."
-"The Funeral", Band of Horses

...

Chapter Six:

Sitting on the Cullen's front porch, I felt the warm breeze run through my hair. It was nearing the end of summer, and the closer it came, the more nervous I became. Lately, I had been unable to fall asleep as I lay in bed at night and I could feel the exhaustion of it all taking a hold over me. My brain was too full with rapidly repeating thoughts to allow me any rest. When sleep did come it was only in restless spurts that left me feeling more drained and sluggish than if I hadn't slept at all.

Now, we where merely a mouth away from the wedding, and I hadn't even tried on a wedding dress, let alone figured out a guest list, picked a caterer, or decided on something as simple as white or chocolate cake. My friends, what few I seemed to keep in the last few years, have quickly fallen away. At first, they feigned excitement, begging to see my ring and asking about wedding plans, but the avoidance and utter silence that came in the summer weeks since we put away our graduation caps spoke louder than their half-hearted congratulations over my choice of matrimony rather than that of a higher education.

More than once after Edward had finally left for the night and Charlie snored lightly down the hall, I would find tears gathered in my eyes. I began to mourn the loss of what was left of my waning childhood. I cried for all the life experiences I was going to miss. Sharing a disgusting bathroom with too many girls, decorating my door for each and every season, late night bonding sessions with my roommate, all things I would never know. Instead I would live with my husband. The word now so close to reality it rocked my entire body with a violent shiver, caused my stomach to clench into knots, and my mouth to go dry.

I loved Edward Cullen. That much was true. Just thinking about his bright unruly hair and piercing green eyes sent my heart into overdrive. The way he touch my body had my cheeks flushing brightly. But just at the thought of the name Mrs. Cullen had me wanting to retch up what little I had managed to get into my nervous stomach at lunch. I had plans of sitting in a library all night, not tucking babies in. I craved an education not a lover. I couldn't even bring myself to open the thickly bound wedding magazine, with its glossy pages filled with supermodels in overpriced tulle and interviews with too many self-absorbed brides, which sat next to me on the porch swing. Alice had insisted, complaining that if we didn't order a dress this week it would be too late. Part of me wanted this week to pass quickly, having an excuse not to go through with this lunacy. Who knew I would be trading my graduation gown for a wedding gown in just twelve weeks time. If I had it my way Edward and I would go down to City Hall tomorrow in our matching Nirvana t-shirts and favorite jeans.

No.

If I had my way we wouldn't be getting married at all. We'd go to college, get practical jobs that don't involve Edward's stupid band, and then once we both had a steady paycheck, and growing bank accounts, we'd get married.

No.

Than we'd only just think about getting married, discuss it in length before making a mutual decision that we were in the right place at the right time to legally bond ourselves to one another. Edward keeps saying that 'it will all be so much better'. How? It's the question that keeps me up at night tossing and turning until my sheets are so uncomfortably twisted around my body and exhaustion so strong that I finally manage to shut my brain down, for a few minutes at least.

I know how this will go, what will happen to me if all of this plays out in the way he wants. I've spent hours researching the statistics. I know the alarming percent of student who actually end up going to college after a taking a gap year. I know my chances of ending up pregnant, barefoot, and uneducated on a tiny tour bus with a man I'll live to resent. I've watched one too many movies where the repressed wife, no matter how miserable, can never leave that space she occupies behind her husband. She has no college degree, no experiences, and no income of her own. I know the odds.

"Bella?"

I barely turn to acknowledge his presence, too busy in my own head.

"Alice told me you'd be out here. Have you found a dress yet?" Edward's face scrunched up in concern when he caught sight of my paled complexion, bruised looking under eye bags, and slightly parted dried and cracked lips. I knew exactly what he saw, because it was these precise features that startled me when I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, giving up on trying to go back to sleep after I was roused before the sun had even risen over the trees. "What's wrong babe?" He asked, sitting down next to me on the swing.

I pulled my legs to my chest and stared out into the open meadow that surrounded the Cullen homestead. I wondered, briefly, if I could just get up for this porch and run off into the vast dark forest, never to return again.

Taking a breath I finally managed to speak. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. I don't like the idea of a wedding, it makes me feel old." I had to fight the tears that felt tight in my throat.

Edward's quizzical brow furrowed deeper into his forehead, the skin there gathering and disappearing into folds of skin and shadows. He turned his own head to stare off towards the woods, our minds wandering. From the corner of my eye I saw that his face was tightened into one of those calculating thoughtful faces he frequented. I feared what he might say next, so I strayed my eyes away from their peripheral view. After a moment of silence between us I could no longer fight the urge to look at his perfect face. I turned to meet his eyes, which no longer clouded with befuddlement, but rather a clearer penetrating gaze took hold, making me feel prodigiously unconformable.

He picked up the magazine that sat between us, never breaking his eye contact with me. Finally, to my extreme relief he cast his eyes towards a page that was flipped open at random. He examined the brightly colored page for only a moment, before placing it down on my lap. When he stood, the air around him changed as his words were firm and calm, spoken in a tone I'd heard time and time again, it said that this conversation was over.

"You'll look beautiful in white," was his only comment to my concerns. He bent down and left me with a firm kiss that tried to convey a hidden message, before heading back inside the house.

I had been able to fool myself for the last year that what I said or did in this relationship mattered, that as a couple we existed on a two way street, only in sync when we both understood what side of the road we needed to be on. But clarity eventually came to me. I was no longer on the right side of the road, no longer happy to pass contently like a lazy afternoon drive. He was driving this relationship and I was just the child in the backseat, meant to be seen not heard. He's my master and I his servant. To him I was just a possession, a loved possession.

I gasped out loud trying to catch my breath. I placed my hand over my chest, feeling my furious heart beat more rapidly with the passing seconds. I had been able to hold back the hot tears from pouring down my face for only a moment after those few words, his unspoken message lingering between us. As soon as he turned his back they ran down my flush cheeks in rapid streams, the certainty of my situation taking hold over me.

I rubbed at my dampened cheeks frantically. I could not bear another moment sitting on the porch with a magazine that felt like the weight of the world hanging off my lap. So, I ran. I bounded down the steps just as the first raindrops fell from the darkening clouds in what would be one of the last summer thunderstorms before the cold Northern air blew across the state.

I was practically panting as I pulled the door of my old truck shut. My hair hung heavy, soaked with rain that dripped down my back. I allowed the deafening thudding of my heart slow before I reached for the thick white envelope that had been hidden in the glove compartment on the passenger's side, since I put it there this morning. I had been hoping, praying, that I might be able to discuss it with Edward, to make him understand, to make him proud.

I smiled down at the official Yale letter heading. This was what I wanted.

This was one conversation that wasn't over yet.

Present Day

Without truly realizing it, that was the first legitimate decision I had made for myself in years, my self-proclaimed moment of independence. I remember letting out a girlish giggle as I drove home that day thinking that I could finally count myself amongst the sovereign woman I spent my days reading about, to be like Lizzy Bennet, Jane Eyre, or Cecilia Tallis. It was hard not to think of such memories in frightening clarity when the subject of such was standing right before you.

"Edward, what the hell are you doing here?" My day had been long, too long, and I hadn't even sat down at my desk yet.

"You left this." He stated coolly, reaching his hand out, his long fingers wrapped securely around my wallet that I hadn't even realized was missing from my bag.

The smirk on his face was irritating, and I was lost for words, just staring in confusion with a blank look at the man in the three-piece suit who I spent too much time thinking about in the last twenty-four hours. He was turning my world upside down…again.

"Huh?" I could feel my stomach churning, a sensation that any normal person would mistake for hunger, but I knew all too well as a painful and irksome symptom of my stomach ulcer. In a matter of moments the sensation would bloom up between my navel and eventually work its way up to my breastbone.

"Your wallet Bells," He held it up for me again.

That name. Bells, a nickname that only two people had ever stuck to calling me by, my father and Edward. Because of the latter, Charlie hadn't referred to me by that name in years. Just the sound of that one syllable made my heat feel like it was too swollen to fit into my chest cavity. Out of habit I palmed my chest wanting to relieve the uncomfortable ache there. His vivid eyes followed my movement.

"Bella, are you okay?" He took a step forward and then another.

I could not move. My feet felt too heavy, my tongue too dry, my eyelids too burdensome to hold open. Numbness began in my toes, slowly working up my body as a painful tingle. Then he was touching me, his hand gripping me by my upper arms, the only sensation I seemed to be able to place. His mouth moved, but all I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears. From this close up I could truly study his devastatingly handsome face. I could now tell that the last vestiges of his childhood had faded here. That last touch of roundness had left his cheeks, leaving only prickly flesh and sharp bone structure behind. The fresh face that used to press against mine in the most intimate of ways looked older, strained with life experience. There was a certain element of exhaustion in the light purple bags that were present under his eyes. His forehead was permanently creased in places I remembered crinkling often when he was younger.

Oh, but that smile was still the same. Slightly crooked towards the right side, making it look like he was always smirking some devilish grin from afar, and those eyes. Those eyes.

"Bella."

Deep breaths Bella. I heard a voice in my mind say softly sounding far away. It was only then that I could blink my eyes once, twice, a third time and take in a deep breath of office air that tasted like stale coffee and printer ink on my tongue. I had to clear my head with two gentle shakes, back and forth, to realize where I was and what was going on, why Edward was holding me, and why my wallet was laying on the floor now beside us.

One more second, two, three, four, the puzzle clicks together and the uncomfortable ache of my ulcer finally pulls me out of the dark and back into reality.

"My wallet," I croak out.

"Yeah," his response. He gaze scrutinizes me for a moment longer before finally releasing my arms and taking a step back. He retrieves my wallet in a quick bend and scoop; looking so graceful he could have been a male ballerina.

He places it in my open palms that shake slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Thanks," was my only response.

I became painfully aware at this point that the entire section of my office had filed in to start their day, something I'd been trying to do for at least half and hour now, and were now staring at, what I assume they consider a bizarre interaction between their coworker and a mysterious man who was not her husband-to-be.

"Thanks," I repeat myself with more clarity, looking down at my wallet.

He must have become aware of our audience as well because I watched his feet as they start to do a nervous shuffle from one foot to the other. "Yeah, you're welcome." He barely finishes his pleasantry before my cellphone starts ringing behind me. I consider for a brief second ignoring it, but I would feel more awkward continuing to stand here in silence, so I give him an apologetic smile that doesn't reach my eyes before I turned my back to him and pick my buzzing phone up from my cluttered desk, answering it without a second thought of who may be on the other line.

"Hello?" My own voice sounded strange to me, like I was listening to a recording of myself being played back over some device.

"Honey, you know hanging up on your new brother isn't a very kind way to welcome him to your family." James' scruffy voice sounded from the phone's speakers into my ear. I thought I was going to be sick from the emotional whirlwind of events the morning had presented, and quickly rounded my desk, taking a seat…at last. From here I could see that Edward was still standing just a few feet from me, never moving from where I left him when I turned my back. He eyed me curiously. I couldn't tell if he was concerned over my probably pale complexion, or interested in the phone call I was currently taking. I sighed and turned my chair, so my back was facing him. I couldn't stand to look at those eyes anymore.

"James I really can't talk about this matter right now." I hissed into the phone. I felt drained and I still had a whole day of writing, researching, editing, and interviewing to get completed. To add to that, I was anticipating an emotional night with Alice, even if we just planned to eat ice cream and watch bad hospital dramas, there was some unaired conflict between us that would inevitably come spewing out from its neatly kept corner in the back of our minds.

"Fine, I just need one little, 'yes' from you and this phone call will be over. Easy as pie darling." His playful tone only aggravated me further.

"I'm with…. a client right now." I whispered into the phone. "I can't talk about this with you."

"So that's a yes!" He sounded hopeful.

"No James! No strippers, I'll talk to you later." I hung up the phone wishing I had received the call on my work phone so I could slam it right into the holder and at least have the satisfaction of that final sound of plastic violently hitting together to give me a sense of power. Instead, I got to touch my screen and haphazardly toss it into my upper drawer somewhere, fearing if I had to look at it for one more minute I would throw it at a wall.

A light hearted chuckle caught my attention, reminding me, as if I could forget his presence, that Edward was still standing in my place of work, waiting for me. Waiting for what? Hadn't the wallet been the end of it? Wouldn't any normal person have considered my phone call as a signal that this meeting was over?

When I turned my chair to face him again, he had taken the liberty of sitting on the small edge of my desk where there wasn't a pile of marked articles, a strewn of pens and pencils, or a legal pad whose pages were full of sprawling notes in my half print, half cursive hand writing. He poked at the pad closest to him, a small half closed mouth smile appearing on his face.

My mind had quickly wandered back to his attire, as I shamelessly looked him up and down. The grey fitted suit that I admired so thoroughly in the coffee shop managed to be both fitted and loose all at the same time. I couldn't help staring at his chest, where his white shirt seemed to be plastered against the muscle that must exist underneath.

I had only seen Edward wear something nicer than ripped jeans and a concert t-shirt two times since I'd known him. Once when he graduated, and that was only Dockers and a Polo Esme forced him into. And the other time was at my junior prom, the only dance or school function we ever attended as a couple. He hated organized sports and most school functions, even though he played on the baseball team all four years of high school. He would never step foot into our football stadium on a Friday night. While my friends were counting spare change to split some concession stand nachos and cheering on our quarterback as he ran more than fifty yards to win the Fork's High School Falcons their first divisional championship in two decades, I was at home with Edward listening to him compose, or being snuck into some seedy bar downtown to see a band of which I had never heard.

I frowned thinking about such things as I stared at his crossed legs and shiny Italian shoes, one hanging over my desk while the other stayed placed steadily on the floor.

"No strippers, huh? You should let the man have his last hoorah," he snickered. His words didn't even reached my mind before I blurted out the only thing that was circling over and over again in my thoughts.

"Since when do you own a suit?"

Silence stood between us. I cleared my throat after realizing almost immediately how random and intrusive my question sounded next to his witty banter. I bit into my lip, a nervous habit Mike hated almost as much as I did his neck rubbing, and the dull pain radiating from my navel flared. My body felt almost not my own as we stared intensely at one another.

"You'd be surprised how much I've grown up as well Isabella," His words felt heavy as they flowed from his mouth over to me. They stuck to my chest, pinned there by a deeper meaning that I couldn't quite deconstruct in my head. The moment felt too intimate and I was left tongue tied for words that would never form and feelings that could never develop. It was as if he could feel the significance of the moment and pardoned us quickly from it.

He shifted his eyes back to my notes. "Your hand writing hasn't changed."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I smiled, hoping that the disposition of the conversation would lighten. I feared my chest would collapse with the pressure that existed there.

"Yeah, I guess I couldn't outgrow my 'fancy chicken scratch'." I used air quotes to indicate the words he used to use when describing my unique handwriting that he seemed to never be able to read.

He let out an authentic laugh that had me widening my own smile. "I always liked your handwriting…and at least you ended up putting it to good use." He gestured around the office with one of his hands.

I don't know why his words hurt so vehemently, but I couldn't help trying to rub way the sharp pain that pierced through my chest. Edward took notice of the movement but quickly adverted his eyes from where my palm moved over the exposed skin of my chest.

"So you're telling me that you didn't make your fortunes from your punk ass band?" I hope some light mockery would ebb the pain radiating through my insides.

"Music yes, band no," He frowned, glancing out the window as if he could see into the future that he might have had, and I wished I'd never asked.

I knew some of what became of Edward Cullen in the last seven years. It wasn't that I wanted to know, but it was impossible to avoid his name when his company was written up in every business section of every newspaper in America. I knew the essentials, forcing myself from digging too far. He went to college like Carlisle always wished for him. He was just as smart as we all knew, receiving a dual degree in music and entrepreneurial studies, both passionate and practical, from Columbia, a school only a little over an hour away from where I was blissfully enjoying my own studies. I was surprised when I learned this fact, wondering if there were ever times after the first visit that he'd got into his car, made it half way to Yale, and decided to turn around and head home, leaving me alone.

Edward was a boy wonder in the music industry. He started at an entry-level position in a failing company located outside of New York, working as a financial consultant. Within a few years of graduating he had made a couple risky investment that allowed him to buyout the old shareholders and revamp the entire organization from the ground up. He made his first million before he was even thirty.

Cullen Industries did everything from record production, to franchising music stores, to music management. It was a small corporation, but I'd read more than one article that pick his brainchild to be worth more than a billion dollars in ten years time. I would say I wasn't impressed but it would be an outright lie. It was almost hard to believe that the nineteen year old that used to sit in his room until three in the morning trying to rhyme the word "orange" with something, could have that much potential.

"So now you wear a suit," It sounded stupid even as I said it in my head, but it seemed to bring him some amusement because when he turned back towards me, leaving the unrealized future behind, the frown was replaced with another half smile.

"And so do you," his eyes lingered too long on my outfit, sending a strange feeling to my stomach, but it barely masked the ulcer's need for attention. He pulled his gaze from me to take in the room, cluttered but organized, high pace but calm, both outdated and modern, with expensive new computers on worn out desks circa 1970. "I see you got everything you ever wanted." His words stung more than I would have thought.

The time ticked away between us, neither side having anything else they could fabricate in their mind to keep a safe conversation going forward.

"I-"

"Would-"

We both spoke at once, stopping to let the other continue. It stayed quiet for a long drawn out second before he finally spoke.

"Wouldyougotodinnerwithme?" He said it in a rush, causing all the words to blend together but not so much so as to conceal what he was actually inquiring.

"Uh…" Nothing. I couldn't think of one way to respond.

He stood up quickly from my desk. "I have a coworker in town and I thought you could bring Mike, kinda like a double date. I'd like to apologize for my horrid behavior yesterday and buy you both dinner. How about it?" He was fidgeting now, shifting his weight and wringing his hands together.

"I-"

"Just think about it Bella. Give me a chance." That was it. Before I could even open my mouth he was leaving. He rounded the corner, passed Charlotte's office where I could see she was sitting behind her desk blatantly staring at our interaction, and then he was out of sight.

I sat back staring at the now empty space he just occupied, thinking about a different day I walked away from him, leaving that precious diamond ring still warm from my finger, lying on the table.

~ ooOoo ~

After ten hours of spell checking, finalizing articles for submission, and dodging calls from a persistent James, I was headed home at last, two hours later than usual and with only my swollen fingers, dry eyes, and still yet another stack of papers that needed to be scrutinized by my red pen collection to show for my day. My feet throbbed in their patent leather casings, my head pounded behind my temples, and my stomach growled in protest of the hunger strike I had absentmindedly taken today, working through the half hour I usually spent digging into a peanut butter and black raspberry jelly sandwich.

The office was nearly empty at this hour, only the ambitious college graduates and severally behind schedule veterans still sat behind their desks, looking like dark shadows illuminated only by their desk lamps. I finally turned my own light off and stuffed my overheated laptop into my cumbersome book bag. Charlotte waited for me just down the hall, leaning against her office door waiting patiently so we would walk out together, always both the early bird and a night owl when it came to her work habits. She snapped a piece of bright pink bubble gum between her beaming white enamels.

"Burning the oil a little late Swan?" I gave her a side-glance and a half smile that hopefully conveyed my opinions on her smartass attitude.

"So how was your day?" She asked with genuine interest this time, but I had a feeling that this conversation would eventually take a turn to include a certain interaction that had taken place in view of her office today.

"Stressful," I sighed not really feeling up for girl talk. I wished to rub away the dull ache from my temples but my hands were full with my stack of leftover work that demanded to be finished before I left for my honeymoon. Part of me knew no matter how late I stayed up staring at my computer screen or how many lunch breaks I skipped, I would never get an extra two weeks worth of writing done in the next three days. Come Thursday evening I would leave just as much clutter piled on my desk, as there was this morning when Edward perched on the corner it.

"Would that have something to do with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?" She playfully elbowed me. I remained silent but she threated to pull the emergency stop lever inside the elevator if I didn't speak up.

"I really don't want to talk about it…right now" My voice sounded drained and dull, it's pitch fading off into a whiny begging noise that convinced my boss to leave the topic alone, at least until tomorrow.

"Fine, but don't think I didn't check out his fine ass when he passed my office." She laughed and I couldn't help but join in, even the small change in mood made me feel light against the weight of the day that bogged me down. However, it still didn't manage to help me forget the dull but incessant pain from my ulcer or the steady shake in my hands, a result of nearly four days without my medication. I tucked them underneath the sides of the papers I had pulled to my chest.

"Hmm, if I didn't have Paul I may have even asked for Mr. Handsome's number, but supposedly there's something against flirting with other men when you're married that's frowned upon."

Charlotte was defiantly one of my more perceptive friends, and the longer I got to know her the more often I picked up on this fact. We didn't always share everything with each other or go out of our way to spend our breaks talking about our relationships or the thought of having babies. Instead, it was more likely that you would find us in a heated debate in the break room, boiling over the proper use of the Oxford comma, or the benefits of MLA over APA style citation. Usually one of us would be wearing a deepened scowl, losing this week's deliberation. Despite being completely different from the women I usually spent my time confessing my daily woes to, Charlotte did not have to hear my words to understanding my feelings. She had a keen sense for emotions, which she picked up on with just the tiniest of details that may have deviated from my normal schedule. The state of my desk, whether I was drinking tea or coffee when I walked into work, and how many times I got up to use the restroom were all dead give always for her. The minuscule things that no one else would have thought twice about become research for her deductions about my mood or mental sate on that particular day, and she would therefore addressing me accordingly. She had a scary accuracy for those types of things.

"I've heard that."

We walk almost the entire way home together, only splitting up where she takes Madison and I head down Second Street. Mike hated that I walked home most days. The idea of a woman alone in the city after sundown was a thing of nightmares to him, but I enjoyed the days it was nice enough to leave my car keys at home and set off on my 5 block walk. It took me ten minutes to reach my office building, with or without traffic. I wasn't ignorant though, I knew the dangers, I've seen the news, I write the news. Having a police officer for a father also meant that I've been a licensed gun holder since I turned eighteen.

That year for my birthday I got a vintage Royal typewriter from the 1950's, it was bright turquoise blue with vivid orange detailing, an exquisite piece of machinery that to this day is one of the few items I consider to be a prized possession of mine. It still sits on the desk in my room. Right now it is frozen mid sentience on a piece of paper hanging gracefully off the carriage. The second present I received from my father that year was presented to me when the rest of my family and friends had left for the night and my mother was well on her way back to Florida. Charlie knocked softly on my door. I don't even remember him coming in; I was too engrossed in the sound of my new typewriter as the carriage moved across the machine with each key I pressed. My eyes twinkled with childlike enjoyment every time it reached the end and a small 'ding' erupted into the otherwise quiet room. It was then that he presented me with the perfectly wrapped box, pink bow and all. It was heavy but small and I stared in confusion at first the package itself and then at my father when I finally revealed what was hidden behind the pristine purple polka dot paper. It was a Colt Defender, series 90, semi-automatic pistol. Most eighteen year olds get a used car or a new laptop for their birthdays, I got a outdated machine more than forty years my senior and a gun.

A gun. I'd seen my fair share of them growing up with a cop for a dad, and I'd even been to the shooting range a handful of times but…a gun?

I was licensed and approved to conceal and carry within a few weeks; Charlie's persistence and title assured that. When I walked the streets at night and got that stomach turning uneasiness that only comes every once in a while, I remember the hunk of metal and bullets that fits snuggly into the special side pocket of my backpack, easily assessable and loaded to fire.

The cool night air blowing through the trees around me sent a pleasant shiver up my exposed legs, pimpling the skin there, and making my shoulders shutter slightly. I hugged the stack of papers to my blazer tighter and drew a large breath into my lungs, feeling them expand with the city air. The sweet aroma of the bakery at the end of my block and the bitter scent of the coffee house next door intermingled with the smell of hot asphalt cooling down after a hot day in the sun and the pungent exhaust of the cars that drove over it, before I pushed them all out in a just as deep exhale.

The sight of my brownstone apartment complex was the best I'd seen all day. I could just picture a hot cup of tea and a warm bubble bath waiting for me inside. Maybe I would even finish that sentence that was waiting for me in my typewriter.

Up the stairs, through the door, and into the elevator, I was nearly home. As the floors slowly 'dinged' by in the ancient lift, I felt the weight of the day unfold over me. My shoulders sagged under the pounds of my book bag, the composed expression of a benign mood slipped into an exhausted and unfriendly scowl, and my feet dragged slowly over the carpet as I walked to my door. The dull, pulsing ache radiating from my toes to the back of my heels. The nude pumps feeling neither sexy nor professional anymore and I quickly bent down to slip each one off my two feet before I even got my key in the door. I worried I would drop the papers tucked under my armpit now.

Shoes in hand, I finally reached my door, only to find it creaked slightly ajar.

No.