The Hookup

Twenty seven

I don't remember having a single dream last night. I don't remember even falling asleep. I was exhausted and crashed hard. So when I woke up on the couch this morning, I had to back track to figure out how I'd gotten there in the first place and I realized Hero was gone.

I don't know when he left last night. But he's not here now. And as I stretch my arms over my head, kicking off the blanket I was underneath all night, I can't help but smile at the night we had together.

I felt bad for changing plans in such short notice. Not letting him follow through with whatever plan he'd had in mind all day. But my heater's fixed. Thank the lord. And that seemed more important at the time.

8:33am. The time stamp on my stove reads from the kitchen. I slept nearly ten hours last night and I feel refreshed and ready to start again.

As I make my way down the hall to my bedroom, I hear the muffled sounds from the city streets below. Early risers on their commutes for the day. I'm to be to work by 10am today, no double shift. Lucky me.

When I enter my room, I notice my bed is made. Odd, since I never do that, but I don't give it much thought. Instead, I strip down out of the clothes I slept in, tossing them into the hamper inside my closet before padding across the hallway into the bathroom to shower. It's cold outside, but inside is nice. And I know this shower is going to feel amazing.

If I hurry, I might have time to stop at the coffee shop just around the corner from my building. 'Moe's'. The best bagels in town. The line is usually wrapped around the block. Everyone in the vicinity desperate to get their hands on the carbs in order to start their day. With luck, I'll be able to pick something up and chow down in the car on my way to work.

I wash my hair, my body, all the spaces in between. Reveling in the smell of my orange blossom soap. I stand under the water for a bit longer than necessary, not yet willing to step out into the cold air. But mornings in New York are similar to a  whirlwind. And I need to get a move on.

Once out of the shower, I towel off quickly. Wringing my hair out to the side. Thank god I did laundry just a few days ago and the new plush towels I bought are clean. Soaking up the moisture on my skin and embracing me like a cloud.

Just as I'm about to start moisturizing my face and begin my routine, I hear a noise come from the entry way. Like a door clicking into place. I freeze in place, looking over my shoulder, straining my ears to hear it again.

Footsteps carry for a few strides, the sound of boots on the hardwood. Heavy. With purpose. I haven't even talked to anyone yet this morning, so I'm not expecting company. And no one has a key. I feel my stomach drop a little, giving me a sinking feeling that someone's in here. Someone who shouldn't be.

The door to the bathroom is cracked open, the way I always have it when I shower since I live alone. So, I grip the door, my heart pounding in my chest and open it as quietly as possible to get a better look.

From the kitchen, I hear shuffling, the sound of a paper bag rustling like someone's reaching inside. I don't hear voices. Meaning whoever is here, is most likely alone. Is it maintenance? Did the guy.. Michael or whatever is name was come back to work some more? Unlikely. Someone would have called me. Then I realize, I don't have my phone. I left it on the coffee table by the couch. Awesome.. how the hell am I going to call for help now.

I step back into the bathroom, my breathing picking up as I glance around the room. You'd think living in New York and being the crime buff I am, I would have a plan in place in case someone ever broke in. Some sort of way to protect myself in case I needed to. But no. Of course not. 'That'll never happen to me.'