glass and white and clean and crisp, except the dishwasher. It was exactly the apartment, I wanted it to be. It was almost completely the picture from the Internet.
When did that ever happen to people?
I took it as a good omen. Like I was on the right track. I was finally getting my dream.
I set my stuff inside and closed the door, locking all three of the locks, and leaned against the door. The sigh that left my parted and completely peaceful lips, was cut short by a noise. A girl moaning maybe?
My head lifted when I heard it again.
My hand slipped into my pocket, clutching the mace. I walked farther into the apartment, looking around for the source of the noise.
Were the walls thin? Was it coming from another apartment?
I tiptoed down the hall to the first bedroom. My heart was pounding as I rested my hand on the cold, metal knob and waited for the courage to open the door. I turned slowly, not making any noise.
The room was a bit stale but it was empty. I sighed and closed the door.
I did the same in the bathroom, but again, it was empty. The new glass tiles and beautiful four-piece bathroom made me happy. But the sound of people moaning and a girl giggling didn’t.
I left the bathroom and walked to the end of the hall, where the last bedroom was. I gripped the mace as I heard the sound again. I clutched it and the door knob. I turned the knob slowly, cracking the door open only a bit.
Feet moved, squirming on the end of the bed, pushing beautiful beige covers to the floor.
Two people mauled each other, sliding against one another. A strong male body with tattoos and lean muscles was grinding against a slim, overly-tanned female with bleached hair.
My heart felt like it was going to explode. I pulled my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 as I sprayed. Screams rose from the bed as I hosed them in mace.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” the guy screamed.
I turned and ran down the hallway to the bathroom. I closed the door and locked it. In a low tone, I whispered, “Hi, I need police, I live at seventy-three Hemenway Street. Apartment 521. There’s someone here. Intruders. Please hurry.”
I turned off the phone and sat on the edge of the bathtub. My heart was pounding, my mouth was dry, and my hands clutched the mace so tight, I couldn’t feel it in my grip anymore.
Hands started pounding on the door. Shouts and screams and footsteps were everywhere, making the small bathroom so tiny it felt like a coffin. I closed my eyes. Names were called, sentences were screamed, but I didn’t stop rocking and clutching the mace. The door sounded like it was going to be ripped off the hinges.
I looked at my phone. I wanted my parents. I wanted Danny. I wanted anyone who would solve the dilemma and make it go away.
My brain taunted me. It laughed almost at how right it had been. How I had made such a mistake. How I wasn’t strong.
“YOU OPEN THIS GOD-DAMNED DOOR AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE! CRAZY-ASSED, STALKING BITCH!” the guy screamed.
I trembled but then I heard it, the sounds of rescue. The sounds of people shouting for them to get down on the ground. I started to cry; tears of joy streamed down my cheeks.
I got up and banged on the door, “I’m in here. Is it safe?”
A man shouted at me, “Miss, are you the one who called?”
I turned the lock on the door and nodded.
A police officer greeted me in the small crack space I let the door open, “Miss, you okay?”
I started to cry heavily, “Noooooo.”
I let him open the door all the way and pull me into his arms, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
He led me from the bathroom to the living room where two half-naked people were cuffed and on their bellies on the floor.
The guy turned. His face was puffy and red from the mace. He glared, “SHE’S CRAZY. THIS IS MY HOUSE. JESUS. YOU IDIOTS ARRESTED THE WRONG PERSON. SHE’S IN MY FUCKING APARTMENT. WHAT THE FUCK? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? SHE’S A STALKER.”
The cop gave me a look. I ran to my bag and fished out the lease agreement that I had printed out.
“See—my house,” I said defiantly.
The cop looked it over and shook his head, “She’s got a lease, man.”