The Brick Wall

Chapter 15

Collins POV

  I mumble furiously to myself the whole way down the three flights of stairs, carrying the dumb oversized box to the dumpster.  That dumb oaf of a man made me feel like I couldn't possibly know what I was talking about when I tried to help him not panic over his daughter's one moment of vomiting. Didn't even give me a moment to mention the fact that I have a niece and a nephew, both of which I helped care for when they were babies. 

  No, to him I'm just a body he can push into his apartment and watch his kid while he goes off to work. What kind of job could he possibly have with the type of attitude he exudes. It can't be one in which he works with the general public. My money is on mechanic, but he's never in front of customers, he's kept in the back where all conversations are posed through differing octaves of grunts with the other cavemen. 

  He's lucky he's pretty.

  I move as quickly as possible once I'm out back of the apartment building. It's thankfully well lit, but I'm still without my meds so my mind is running a bit wild and I'm ready to jump out of my skin considering I can't keep my focus on just one or two thoughts at a time. I'm desperately doing my best to only pay attention to getting this damn box into the damn dumpster and then I can go back to my apartment and try some of my calming exercises in the hopes of sleeping. 

  I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. There's city noises, not insects or anything like that, but cars and horns, buzzing of street lamps and neon signs across the street on top of buildings. The area is generally safe, and I keep that in mind when I'm getting mad at myself for not taking Curtis up  on his offer to bring the box down for me. 

  Maybe it was his Neanderthal way of giving a thank you? Or maybe he just didn't want his babysitter to get murdered or assaulted and leave him in the lurch again.  Could he have possibly been feeling guilty? Is that something cavemen can do? Somehow I have a feeling it's not. I have too many visions of cavemen's wives bashing them over the head with their club just to get them to listen to a single word they say. No, apparently 'thank you' and 'hey, what's your name anyway,' is not in their vocabulary.

  I toss the huge, empty box over the top of the dumpster and immediately race back to the apartment building entrance, keying in my code quickly.  It's like those moments when you were a kid and it was late at night but you really had to go to the bathroom. But the bathroom was on the other end of the house and you always felt like you were being followed so you ran fast and didn't dare look over your shoulder until you were able to close the door behind you. And then when you had to climb back into bed you feared there might be a monster under it so you practically jumped from your door onto the bed and prayed that nothing came up and grabbed at you. 

  I really need to remember my meds in the morning.

  The feeling of safety finally comes over me once I begin climbing the stairs back up to my apartment. My heart rate begins to slow and I'm honestly hoping that as worked up as I was it will have worn me out a bit to fall asleep easier. 

  I sigh in relief seeing my hall empty, thankful I won't be having another stare down with Curtis. And yet I also think to myself how dumb it is that he didn't insist he take the box down, I mean he could've ripped it from me the way he threatened to rip his daughter from my arms just a couple nights ago. 

  Guess his chivalry is only for his child, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Although I do have questions about the mother. Is he a widower? Bitter divorce? How horrible does a mom have to be to lose custody of their child? Especially to a guy like him. He'd have to be an angel in comparison to her, right? 

  Yikes.

  Dang it, I think to myself. I thought for sure I'd get my brain to quiet at least a little but yet walking down this hallway has opened up a million more tabs all labeled 'Curtis Everett.'