Scheduled for Friday
by Anton M.

6: Silhouette


Saturday, January 14 (cont.)

I brushed my teeth and changed into comfy white pajama pants and my unicorn tank top before I pulled a fleece throw blanket on top of myself and face-planted on the living room couch. The couch was an old thing with worn edges, a light grey that didn't match the boring beige of the carpet, and I watched Jake's reflection on the floor-to-ceiling window as he got up from the back of the couch and sat on my back. He felt nice and warm. Certainly warmer than my heart.

"How'd it go, honey?" dad asked, pausing yet another cycling traveler's, Francis Cade's, video.

"Fine."

"Fine?" he repeated. "Just fine?"

I pulled a throw pillow under my face. "Fine."

"You didn't get your first kiss, then?"

"No," I replied. "I'm going to die a bitter spinster with the world's first eighty-year-old cat because Jake is immortal."

Dad grinned. "Maybe the problem was that you didn't pour the nearest beverage on your crush's head."

"I'll test your theory on Monday."

He laughed. "You're not going to find someone else?"

"No. Too much work. Too much rejection. It'll have to be Mike, now. Whatever. It's fine."

Dad scratched his beard and got up to whisper-talk with mom while I twisted my arm to pet Jake's back. A minute later, now familiar with the details of my night, dad sat on the side of the couch, petting Jake before he put his hand on my back.

"Our daughter's first heartbreak," he whispered, teasing.

"I hate you," I replied, holding out my hand for the remote control. I used the TV so little that dad couldn't help but hand over the remote if I wanted to watch anything, even if it was crazy late in the evening.

"He probably wasn't good enough for you, anyway. It's his loss. You won't even remember him in a few years."

I watched the fake fur on my throw pillow move as I exhaled. "I know my life is a giant joke to you, dad, but… don't. It doesn't matter whether I'll remember him. I'm living it now. And I know it's stupid, I know I didn't even know him, but can you, for once, just let me be sad? I'm sad and I want to watch a movie and cry and I don't want to hear how it will all work out in ten years."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Dad paused. "It's just hard to see you sad and not be able to fix it."

"You'll have to get used to it."

"I don't like it. I've never liked it."

After accepting that I just wanted to be alone, my parents hugged me goodnight and left me to mope in peace. I put on The Holiday before realizing not even three minutes in that most of it was about unrequited love, and so I switched to Alice's recommendation, Purple Hearts, and maybe it was the masochist in me but even when the guy's buzz cut reminded me of Edward's I was already caught up in the plot and cried like a little baby in places that probably didn't even warrant it. Whatever. It felt cathartic.

It was well past one when I shut the TV and sat on the carpet in front of Jake. He was stretched out, belly up, snoring like an old man. Smiling, I took a video of him being the most adorable cat in the universe when Jake rolled to his stomach, stood up, and bristled in the direction of the window in a way I'd never seen before. Still looking at him through my video, I realized I saw a man's silhouette just behind our window, mere feet away from me.

My blood ran cold.

Holy shit.

"Jakey," I fake-called with a voice as sweet as honey. "Don't be silly, Jakey, what's gotten into you?"

I could scarcely breathe as I pretended not to have noticed the man while making sure that my video was still recording.

"Going to sleep now, Jakey," I yelled, much louder than necessary. "Come along! Here, kitty, kitty."

I backed away towards the lights, switching them off, revealing a clear image of a man, right outside our window, looking in, holding something big in his hand.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God.

Jake was still bristling when I slipped in the kitchen and took a kitchen knife, intending to go wake my parents when I realized I didn't remember if we'd locked the front door.

Heart thumping louder in my ears than anything I'd ever heard, I tiptoed away from the living room and jogged to the front door, flipping the lock into place.

The loud click cut through in the darkness.

Clutching a knife in the dark hallway, I turned and sped like a bullet towards my parents bedroom, slamming the door shut, breathing heavy. I flipped the lights on.

"What the—" dad started, sitting up and squinting at me as I stood in their bedroom like a lunatic, holding a kitchen knife, panting. "Sweetie?"

"There's a man standing outside our living room window."