Another pounding—this one seems to rattle the hinges. “Are you in there?”
I slide to a stop in front of the door and just barely manage to remember to disarm the security system before opening the door. It takes me a few tries to enter the right code, and now he’s really pounding on the door. I’d say something to let him know I’m here and okay, but my voice has disappeared. Finally done with the alarm, I twist back to the door and my fingers fight with the deadbolt. When I finally pull the door open, I feel like I’m about to rattle apart from adrenaline and anxiety.
“I’m here,” I pant, feeling my fear start to shed away just from seeing his face.
“What took you so long?” Torrin’s forehead creases as he examines my dark apartment.
“I was in the bedroom.”
He continues to search around me. “Did you lock yourself in the closet or something? Because I was about to break down the door if it took you five more seconds to get here.”
“Um, yeah, actually, I did kind of lock myself in the closet.”
He stops searching the room and looks at me. The hard lines fade from his expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”
“No, it’s okay.” I shake my head. “It’s okay. I just . . . after hearing those noises, being alone in a new place, my first night.” I close my mouth when I realize I’m speaking a run-on list of fragmented thoughts. “I was scared, and all I could think to do was call you.”
“Because I was the closest one?”
I step aside and pull the door open wider for him. “Because you know how to chase the fear away.”
Because you’re my tether. The one who can pull me back from the dark places and lead me forward into the bright places again. Because you keep me connected to the person I used to be but stay at my side as I navigate the world this new person’s landed in. That’s what I really want to say, but like most of what I want to say to Torrin, it never actually gets said.
He stares at the doorway with his brows drawn together like he’s working out a problem with no obvious solution. When he steps inside finally, the dark shifts, feeling more benign than threatening now that he’s here. My whole body relaxes.
“Where did you hear the sounds?”
I point down the hall. “In my bedroom. At first I heard it right outside my window, but then I heard things from above too.”
After closing the door and locking it back up, I turn around to find him stationed in front of me, his back facing me, still checking the apartment like he’s ready for anything.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Torrin moves down the hall and rounds into my room.
I stay by the door, listening, waiting. I don’t hear the noises anymore, and I wonder if I did hear them again, would I crawl into a closet like I had or barely notice them now that he’s here? From my room, I hear the shades moving and the closet doors whining. I hear some rustling and sliding, then I hear nothing.
“Torrin?”
His figure floats out of my room. As he comes down the hall, he stops to flip on a light. “Why’s it so dark in here?”
“I was going to bed. I thought I was supposed to turn off all the lights.”
He flips on a lamp just inside the living room. “You’re not supposed to do anything unless you want to. For someone who doesn’t seem like a big fan of the dark, I wouldn’t expect her apartment to be pitch-black on her first night on her own.” Torrin leans into the kitchen to flip on the lights in there too and stops when he notices me lingering by the door.
“You’re wearing my old soccer shirt.” His eyes drop to the worn shirt I threw on to sleep in.
I glance down and stretch it out at the sides. “Well, you scored the winning goal at the state championship that year. Someone ought to wear it proudly.” Then I cross my arms, feeling like this shirt is somehow an extension of my soul and I’m bearing it for him to see.
“Proudly as in wearing it to bed? Where people snore and drool and wake up with morning breath?”
I lift a brow and feel relieved he’s acting normal, giving me a hard time and all. “Exactly.”
He looks away for a second, but his eyes find their way back to me. “I checked around your room and outside your window. There are some big recycle bins behind your room, so someone could have been dumping their bottles or something and made that noise. You’ve also got people living above you, and with the way apartments are built, a person could be tiptoeing up there and it would sound like a hippo had moved in.” Torrin points at the ceiling. “I can’t find anything else, but I can hang around for a while. You know, just in case you hear it again. So you know for sure.”
Recycle bins. Upstairs neighbors. Everyday noises of apartment life that had practically put me in some kind of PTSD state. I feel embarrassed and silly and immature and a bunch of other things.