His Purple Heart

7 - Party Dress

I backed away from the window and the shattered glass on the floor. Fear gripped me, paralyzing me for a second as I ran through the most terrifying scenarios in my mind. I've watched enough crime shows, enough so to scare myself shitless, and right now I was scared as fuck, my heart pounding behind my ribs.

Something told me I should go down and check the basement, but the inner chicken in me was too terrified. I turned around slowly and walked back into the living room. I found my phone and my hand trembled as I threw several nervous glances over my shoulder. In my head I saw a hooded figure clamping his hand over my mouth before dragging me away kicking and screaming.

This was my first day alone and then this had to happen. Where was Drake now to protect me? But then again I wasn't totally defenseless. My dad had taught me a thing or two about self defense before he passed away. It was a long time ago though, so I wasn't sure how much I remembered.

The battery of my phone had died so I put it to charge as I waited rather impatiently for the Samsung logo to do its fancy shit before showing me the home screen.

I had seven missed calls. All from Drake. What the fuck did he want?

My mood turned sour as I thought of all the promises we'd made each other. Promises that didn't mean shit now. Promises that had been spoken on a whim, without thought, and that had never had any weight to begin with, now vaporized into nothing. And still, instead of calling the police, I dialed his number and he picked up rather quickly.

"What's up, Debs?" His voice sounded far away. I could hear bustling noise in the background like he was somewhere very busy.

I rolled my eyes. "If you're not somewhere dying, don't call me. If you're not calling to profess your undying love for me, then don't fucking call me. It's over, Drake."

"Easy, baby. We're still friends right?"

"You called me seven-thousand times. What did you want?" I didn't want to drag out this conversation any more than I had to. The very sound of his voice was making me sick.

"My passport," he said, his voice clipped.

"So you broke into the apartment?"

"Yes, because as usual you weren't answering your phone. I thought maybe you were locked away in that basement again like a hermit, but when I got there your car was gone."

I closed my eyes, asking God for patience. Stupid man. "You have to pay to get the window fixed."

"I already arranged that with the landlord. A handy man should be by later today or early tomorrow." He muttered something unintelligible to someone next to him. It was a woman. She was asking him to hurry up. "I'm sorry I broke the window, but Olga really needed me to travel with her today. I wouldn't have if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

I swallowed. He'd only just met that woman and they were already traveling together. Great stuff. "Okay, bye. Don't want to keep your precious Olga waiting. And never, ever show up at my apartment again. You're not welcomed here."

"Wait! Please." He sounded desperate, emotional, something I hadn't gotten from him ever since the breakup. He'd been rather indifferent and that behavior had only managed to piss me off more.

"What?" I almost barked into the phone. He was really trying my patience this afternoon.

"Why are you being so hostile? I just wanted to know how you're doing." He lowered his voice. "I miss you already."