Fragmented (19 page)

The red sports car continued to coast down the street, not speeding up or slowing down. My brain shuffled through a series of reasonable scenarios. Maybe the car couldn’t go any faster than that without the engine blowing up because it was an auto show car and not meant for the streets. Or maybe the driver was lost and trying to get directions on his or her phone while the car rolled down the residential street. They could be visiting someone, I thought to myself, but they’d never been to the other person’s apartment, so they drove slowly as they peered at the address numbers on the walkups and apartment buildings.

When I’d exhausted the rational reasons the car continued to move at a snail’s pace behind me, my imagination took over. Maybe I was being stalked. Maybe this was the party responsible for the pumpkin picture and the text message. And if I didn’t run away right now, someone was going to leap from the moving car and shove me into the trunk. With no parents and no money, there would be no one to pay my ransom, so my kidnappers would sell me to the highest bidder, probably to someone who hated Americans or girls with poorly hidden southern accents.

Since I didn’t want to be sold abroad to an investment capitalist with bad breath, I did what I thought was my only viable option. I stabilized my purse so the strap crisscrossed my chest, and I ran.

My feet pounded on the pavement beneath me, and my arms pumped at my sides. I ran right past my car and turned down a street where city workers were filling potholes. The sidewalks were clear, but the street itself was blocked by a giant truck that heated up and rolled over piles of asphalt that the road crew shoveled out.

None of the workers gave me a second glance even though I wasn’t wearing clothes or shoes conducive to jogging. That was one thing I’d noticed about this city when I’d first moved here. Despite being in the Midwest, Chicago was a shy city and people kept to themselves.

I slowed my run, confident that the driver wouldn’t be able to follow me through the construction. The only problem was that my car wasn’t parked on this street. I’d have to backtrack in order to retrieve my vehicle.

I looped around the block rather than walking in the direction from which I’d just run. Backtracking would have brought me into direct contact with whoever had been following me. This route was longer and out of the way, but at least I had a greater chance of getting to my car without the driver of the candy-apple red car seeing me.

I remained alert and kept an eye and ear out for the muscle car and its distinct rumble. By the time I made it back to my own vehicle without seeing or hearing the suspicious car, I was feeling more relaxed. With one final cursory scan of the immediate vicinity, I unlocked my car and slid behind the steering wheel. I looked in all of my mirrors, but at least for now, the other car was nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t last long, however. When I pulled my car onto a busier street, I spotted the red car only a few vehicles ahead of me. Acting on instinct rather than rationality, I sped up.

We idled at a stoplight at a busy intersection. There were two cars stopped between the red car and my own. I pulled my vehicle into the right turn lane and inched closer. A car at the intersection turned right at the red light and our entire lane moved up one car. I still couldn’t make out the vehicle’s driver, but with only one car between us, I could at least see the license plate. I typed out the combination of numbers and letters and saved it in my phone.

There wasn’t much else I could safely do on my own, so when the light turned green and traffic began moving again, I turned at the intersection in the direction of the highway instead of continuing to follow the red car.

I was still thinking about the mysterious red car when I arrived at Raleigh’s, but she had a talent for making the rest of the world and my anxieties disappear, if only momentarily. My body seemed to melt right into hers, like we were the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her mouth was warm and wet, her lips soft and utterly feminine. Her tongue darted into my mouth, making my knees buckle slightly.

My arms instinctively tightened around her slight form, and I again felt an urge to protect this girl from anything that might hurt her. Before I realized what was happening, she was pulling me back onto her bed, and I was on top of her. My knee found its way between her upper thighs, and she quietly moaned when my body came into contact with her own. I wanted her, but I was afraid.

“Is this okay?” I asked.

“More than okay.”

I grabbed her firmly by the hips, worried that I might go too far and too fast if left to freely roam and explore her body. My grip tethered me to reality until we were both ready to take the next step.

Her lips yielded to my insistent, clinging embrace, and I felt her surprisingly solid arms wrapping around my waist, her hands pressing into the small of my back.

She sensed my hesitation. “It took a pickup truck to break me, Harper,” she murmured against my skin. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

She played with the buttons on the front of my shirt. I wanted her to unfasten one button after another until my shirt was open so she might press her hands to my bare flesh, but I didn’t have the words.

I didn’t know how I heard the quiet knock on the bedroom door. The sound was light, but in my head it might as well have been an explosion. I instantly rolled off of Raleigh and onto the floor into the space between the bed and the wall.

I heard Raleigh’s aunt’s voice moments later. “Where’s your friend?”

Raleigh coughed. “Bathroom.”

“Oh. Is she staying for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask her when she gets back.”

I heard the floor creak as her aunt walked away.

Raleigh’s voice was unreasonably calm. “You can come out now.”

I popped up and ran my hand over my hair to smooth down any strands that may have gone wild from my tumble to the ground.

Raleigh stared down at me. “What was that about?”

I pulled myself out of the narrow space. “I couldn’t very well have your aunt catch me on top of you. How would I have explained that?”

She ignored my question, although I wasn’t sure if I was being rhetorical or not. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“I probably should be getting home.”

She frowned and I leaned down to kiss the grumpy look off her face. “Don’t tell me you’re U-Hauling already.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I just like having someone else at dinner to be a buffer between me and my aunt.”

“Is she really that bad?”

Raleigh sighed, visibly deflating. “No. I guess not. I’m probably just bitter about not living on my own anymore. I got used to independence at Smith, but now I’m back to living with someone who might as well be my parents—only she’s even more strict and has more rules than my parents did.”

“I’m sure she means well.”

“Are you close with your family?” she asked.

I picked up my backpack. “No.”

“Really?” she said after it was clear I wasn’t willing to share more. “That’s all I get? Just no?”

“Just no,” I repeated.

Her frown deepened, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“I’m sorry, Raleigh.” I shook my head. “But I really don’t like talking about it. It’s too much of a mess.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t like leaving on a sour note, but if I stuck around to fix things, I’d probably have to stay for dinner.

“See you tomorrow?” I asked with a hopeful lilt.

“Yeah.”

I heard her aunt tinkering around in the kitchen on my way out. I probably should have poked my head in there to thank her for the dinner invitation and apologize for not being able to stay, but I kept walking through the house and straight out the front door. Family bonding was infinitely foreign to me, and I didn’t know how to react to displays of kindness from maternal figures.

+ + +

I laid in bed that night listening to the gentle patter of rain against the windows of my studio apartment, high above the city streets below. If Raleigh’s aunt hadn’t interrupted us, I didn’t know how far we would have gone. I was truthfully nervous about being intimate with Raleigh, but she’d demonstrated that despite the accident she could be aroused just like anyone else.

I rubbed myself through the thick material of my fleece pants with the memory of Raleigh’s noises fresh in my memory. I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my sleep pants and rubbed my middle finger in tight, hard circles over my clit until I felt that familiar sensation in the pit of my gut. I threw my head back and a strangled moan escaped my parted lips. My heart thumped faster in my chest and my breathing shortened as my throat constricted.

A loud pounding on my front door had me yanking my hand out of my pants as though I’d been caught in the act. I grabbed my glasses from the end table and looked at the red glow of the alarm clock. It was just after 1:00 a.m. I waited, silent in my bed, to see if whoever was at the door would give up. Another loud knock had me rolling out of bed and trudging to the front door. I wasn’t friends with anyone in the building and my rent was never late. I didn’t know who could be knocking at this hour.

My fingers were clumsy, and it took me a moment to unfasten the door chain and unlock both the deadbolt and main door’s lock. When I finally opened the door, whoever had pulled me from my bed was no longer outside. I looked both ways, but the hallway was empty. I shut the door and refastened all the locks.

My phone began to buzz and rattle on the end table by my bed. I left the front door and went to inspect the incoming text message.

What would they all say if they knew you were more than study buddies?
The message threatened.
There’s no pill for that.

Who is this?
I demanded. The phone number was blocked.

You already know, Harper
,
came the reply.

Nearly the moment I finished reading the text, the pounding at my door began again. It was cheap construction, and I was amazed the door hadn’t fallen off its hinges or that the doorknob hadn’t detached.

My neighbor knocked on our shared wall. I heard his muffled words through the plaster barrier. “Hey! Keep it down over there! I’m trying to sleep!”

“I am, too!” I hollered back.

The doorknob rattled as whomever was on the otherwise of the door threatened to break into my apartment. It was a Catch 22. If I kept my door unlocked, whoever was knocking on the door could come in at any time. But if I locked the door, they could hear me unlatching the locks and run off before I could open the door to confront them.

I grabbed a table lamp, the closest and heaviest object within arm’s reach. I jerked the door open, only to find the hallway empty again. At that same moment, the neighboring door opened. The man who lived next door stood in the threshold of his apartment in an undershirt, boxers, and tube socks that nearly reached his knees.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” he growled. When he saw the lamp in my hand, he visibly shrank back. “Just, uh, just try to keep it down, okay?” he backed down. “I’ve got a big interview tomorrow.”

I closed the door without responding.

My phone buzzed in my hand again.
What would they say if they knew you were more than study buddies?
the message repeated.
There’s no pill for that.

I jerked the door open just in time to see a flash of dark clothes and a huddled figure running down the hallway. My initial instinct was to run after whoever had been knocking on my door, but self-preservation kicked in and I closed my apartment door again.

Rather than continue this charade, I called Kelley. Her hello sounded groggy, and I instantly felt guilty for waking her up.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “It’s too late to be calling.”

She yawned loudly into the phone. “No, I’m awake. What’s up?”

“Someone’s been knocking on my door. But when I open the door, there’s no one there.”

“Weird.”

I worried my bottom lip. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Her voice snapped to attention. “Of course." She must have heard the anxiety in my voice.

Kelley’s apartment was only one stop away on the Green Line. I hated taking the train at night, especially being a woman and being on my own. I put my ear buds in, but didn’t turn on any music so I could look distracted enough to not be engaged by strangers, but alert enough to be aware of my surroundings.

When I stood on the front stoop of Kelley’s walkup, I texted her to let her know I was there rather than buzzing the apartment and waking up the whole house.

The inner door opened and then the complex door. Kelley was in her pajamas, her hair up in a ponytail, and she wore glasses instead of her usual contacts.

“I’m so sorry,” I rushed out when she opened the main door for me. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Harp, you don’t have to apologize. I’m glad you called.”

She ushered me inside and I hung my jacket on a hook in the open front foyer.

“Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Do you want to talk about it?” Kelley asked.