Moving Forward

Chapter Five

No one answered. Of course, they wouldn't. Any creep would wait until you open the door to snatch you. Maybe I should think this through... 

"I said, who is it!"

They knocked again.

Ok. Maybe if I opened the door, I could just swing at them if they attacked. Prepping my frying pan, I turned the knob and swung the door open.

I swung, missing this guy an inch from his face. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Wow!" He dropped his bag, unplugging his headset from his ear. "Whoa! Hold up, no need to get violent. Are you Ms. Moore?"

"Didn't you hear me asking who the hell was it? Huh? Are you deaf or retarded -- which one?"

"Uh... No." Then he wiggled one ear-bud, "Sorry, I had this in. Are you Ms Moore?"

"Who sent you? And why you wanna know?" Although my heart raced, surprisingly my anxiety hadn't kicked in. I inhaled, tightening my grip on the pan. Who on earth would want me this hour? And how did he know my surname?

"Uh... Can you at least put the pan down?"

"Who are you!" How dare him show up unexpected and tried to command the scene? He could be a damn rapist for all I knew, and he wanted me to put the pan down? So what, he could move in for the kill? I raised it higher.

"Your landlord. She said you had a leaky pipe or something." He lifted his bag and shook it rough enough for the tools to clink. "Are you Ms Moore? Yes or no?"

Plumber? I never called for any plumber.

"Hold on!" I said, closing the door. I didn't know him. And I certainly wouldn't invite a complete stranger into my home at eight in the night. I still believed he was a rapist. The only way to find out was to call my landlord and quickly to confirm what he said.

She didn't pick up on the first ring, which was weird, but she eventually answered, describing his features perfectly. "He should have been there since the day I had reported it," she had said. So why was here here now? Mm-hm!

Opening the door, I met his gaze, "That was two weeks ago, why is it only now you are coming? Do you know the time?" I had better things to do and it didn't include watching a plumber fix my sink at night.

His voice deepened to a serious tone, "Ma'am, I'm a busy man, now are you going to let me do my job or are you going to stand there and deliberate like a child."

"Excuse me?" Nope! I didn't hear right. This negro just showed up unannounced and tried to tone me down for getting angry? For putting him in his place? Nah... Nuh-uh.

"Maybe I should go," he turned, his tool bag jingling with him.

"No... w-wait." Ugh! "Come in."

He made a step towards me and I accidentally bumped onto the door, almost tripping myself.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded, feeling a bit intimidated by his presence. I didn't know, but my body felt weird. Maybe it was having someone strange in my apartment. I didn't feel right. "Follow me."

Two weeks ago my sink was leaking. Well, I had a leak. Past tense. It's no longer there because three days into slip n' slide I figured that no-one was coming to fix it, so I did my own thing by tying a piece of cloth and wrapping a plastic bag around the piping underneath. It worked a charm.

"Hm..." he said, tilting his head.

Quite frankly, I didn't care about what he thought about my contraption because when it stopped leaking, I felt accomplished -- I had actually done something right.

Without saying anything further, he fetched his tools, and a blue yoga looking mat and spread it across my tiled flooring. In no time, he'd squeezed himself beneath my sink and started cranking the wrench.

As he removed my plastic bag and the piping, I considered changing my pink piglet pyjama into something more appropriate. My attire hadn't been guest worthy. But then again... this was my home, my apartment. I should be able to wear what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. Who was I to change when he didn't even look like a plumber himself. Plumbers were supposed to to overweight and disproportionate, not fit with a chiseled stomach. His lower torso was exposed from his jersey being slightly stugged above his navel. A vee shape complimented his waist and...

Clank!

Oh, Jesus... My heart skittered at the sound of the pliers hitting the floor. Breathe in... breathe out, Mals. Take it easy. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?" It was the most I could ask to keep myself from going mad. I hadn't a clue what happened to me. Even my heart still boomed behind my pyjama.

He wrapped a white sticky tape around the pipe about three times before he said, "Rion, Rion Bowles."

"Ok."

"Yours?"

"Maliah... Moore," I said, hesitating on the latter.

The room feel silent there after, leaving me to think about all sorts of things to possibly ask. Damn... I really was terrible at this. ilence after the brief introduction.

"Do you have a towel?"

"Yeah... Just a second." Glad to finally do something, I left the room, fetching an old red hand-cloth from my bottom cupboard in my bedroom.

Rion's muscles flexed when he took it from me, making my body tighten. What on earth was happening that this man could make me feel this sense of unease? I wasn't sure if it was his dark, chocolate complexion or his mere presence. Whatever it was, I'd never felt it before, and it scared me.

"Right!" he said, dusting his hands, "You're all good now, is there anything else you would like to fix?"

As he stood, I took in his tall figure. Like, really took him in. Toned muscles, fairly handsome with a rectangular shaped face and hooded eyebrows. Rion's face had hair a few days old, and he looked to be much older -- late twenties or early thirties.

He waved in my face, "Well?"

"Uh... Um... yeah, can you tighten the bathroom handles, please? They are a bit loose." Why was it so easy to talk to him without running for the hills? I could do this with any other stranger. What was it about him?

He brisked over to my shower area, swinging the wrench. It took him five minutes to tighten them.

"Did you get through?" I asked.

But as he stepped out, his mouth fell, gawking at something beyond me.

My heart skipped a beat. Lord, please don't tell me its another spider. "What? What is it!"

Slowly, he lifted his hand and pointed. I was too scared to look, but I bit the bullet and turned around, only to be mortified by the sight. My face numbed. On the mini clothes line, my blood stained underwear from last night dangled in front of us. Shit! No no no!

I snatched it, hiding it behind my back. My period came a week earlier than expected so it messed up my underwear. I tried washing it out but some of the stains remained, leaving a brownish red hue on the crotch. I'd hung it in my bathroom with the intention of washing it with my laundry, but I overslept today. Oh jeez... Crap! I died a thousand times on the spot.

"Is that all?" I said, hurrying out the room, heading to my front door.

He followed me, "Yeah..."

"No bill?" I shoved him out the door.

"Nah... But--"

"Ok!" I slammed the door.

Shit, shit, shit!

...

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