“Just thinking about Vic,” I muttered, trying to get my key in the door again.
“Oh . . .” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
“Not like that,” I laughed. Okay, a little bit like that. It was hard not to think of him like that. He was all tall . . . and muscly. Plus, he looked like he could do some serious damage. That shouldn’t turn me on, considering I had a mentally disturbed, violent, ex-boyfriend after me. But, hey, we’re not all perfectly balanced.
“Oh, well,” Zoe continued, “I’m having a few people from the building over later tonight and you should come by!”
Ugh. All I really wanted to do was take a long hot bath. “I don’t know—”
“Stop!” Zoe said, before I could finish my excuse. “I don’t want to hear it. If you show up, great! If you don’t, it is what it is.” And with that, Zoe sauntered off down the hall.
I finally got the door unlocked right as Zoe rounded the corner. Inside, I turned on my lights. Every single one.
Because of Dean, I make sure that there are never any shadows in my house. I always check under the furniture and in the closets, like he’s the fucking boogieman or something. Only after I’m certain he isn’t hiding anywhere can I go about the rest of my nightly duties.
I drew a bath with extra bubbles and made sure it was piping hot. The thing I love most about this apartment is the big window in the bathroom. Most apartments, condos, and even homes don’t have windows in the bathrooms. My favorite thing to do is take a long bath and stare out the window. My old apartment that I shared with Dean didn’t have a window in the bathroom. He didn’t think it was necessary, and I’d caved. Come to think of it, I’d caved to a lot of his demands in the end.
After a long and much needed bath, I decided to go to Zoe’s. I think if I’d had more friends in Seattle it would have been harder for Dean to victimize me. One of my goals in moving to Santa Barbara was to make more friends. So, as tempting as it is to shut myself in, I’m making an effort to branch out.
It took me a good two minutes to garner the courage to knock on Zoe’s door. I stood outside of her apartment, rationalizing that I was invited. What’s the worst that could happen? Really nothing. She could tell me that the party was over and I’d have to go home.
Man, sometimes my anxiety was a bitch.
Finally, I knocked.
“Nox! Come in, come in!” Zoe rushed me inside like the hallway was a dangerous jungle. “I didn’t think you were going to come, but I’m glad you did! We were just going to start charades and we have an uneven number.”
“Charades?” I asked.
“Yes, I have a soft spot for old-people games and I make everyone indulge me.” Zoe laughed through her explanation.
“I like charades,” I said dully. I always felt awkward in large social gatherings, like an antelope cornered by lions.
“Cool. You know Tom and Claire,” Zoe said, motioning to the couple I met in the hallway. “And over there is Lance.”
“Hello,” Lance said, tipping his head forward. I nodded back.
“I thought you said you had an uneven number?” I asked, counting four people.
“Shawn is in the kitchen making salsa,” Zoe answered.
As if on cue, Shawn called from the kitchen, “Uh . . . Zoe? We have a problem.”
“What?” Zoe answered. She gave me a he-does-this-all-the-time look.
“Your sink is flooding!”
Zoe’s eyes widened and she ran into the kitchen. I heard her yell “shit” from the kitchen.
“Uh-oh!” Claire laughed, “Time to call the landlord.”
“Yeah . . . um, who is the landlord?” I asked
. “I left in such a hurry I never got to meet him or her face-to-face.” I purposefully omitted the reason why I left in such a hurry.
They all stared at me like I was speaking in tongues.
“What?” I asked. My stomach clenched with an unexpected case of nerves.