"Hey... I've been thinking about you." -- The text came out of the blue just a week after the plane incident. -- "Can you come over tonight?" -- My heart seemed like it would pound out of my chest when those words appeared on my phone.
"Omw." -- Three simple letters expressed all the intent in the world.
It wasn't a far drive for me, in fact, I was already sitting around the corner in my car. The less you knew, the better, I reasoned.
I showed up at her apartment complex about 30 minutes later that night. The door to the apartment was an ugly green that looked like it had been repainted a dozen times -- at some point even covering the peephole.
*Bang.. bang.. bang..* - I thudded my heavy fist against the metal door in a slow threesome, letting each knock find deathly silence before the next one landed.
I heard feet shuffling behind the door and I quickly hid the gift that I had brought with me and waited.
"Coming!" -- the locks began to turn and I could hear the chain on the door being removed.
As the door flung open, I got to see first hand what the fear of god looks like on a person. Your eyes were wide and you paled three shades of white as instinct told you to slam the door and run. Before you could get the door fully closed, my foot found it's way between the door and instead of slamming shut -- it bounced neatly against the sole of my boot. You turned and ran.
"Where are you going, little mouse?" I called out mockingly, shutting the door behind me and locking it. I set the gift on the counter near the doorway and slowly strolled my way into your house. The T.V. was on in the living room and there was some sort of horror movie on, your phone was on the table in front of the couch - *slam*
"Does daddy need to teach you how to shut your door?" I said, punctuating my sentence with a tone of warning.
I continued to walk through the apartment calmly -- the 14th floor had no fire escape access but even if it did, the windows weren't the kind that could be opened. The floor lightly creaked beneath my heavy steps as I went into the kitchen to spy on the contents of the fridge.
Eggs, some bacon, milk.. Expired.. eugh, ooooh, cold pressed coffee, and an assortment of veggies and other snacks.
I pulled out the eggs, bacon and milk -- dumping the milk down the sink and throwing away the carton. The eggs would need to be cooked last, preferably in the bacon grease. I searched around the cupboards until I found where the pans were hidden and pulled one down, small enough to handle four eggs.
You have a decent little gas stove, *click click click click click* the igniter brings life to the gas, erupting beneath the pan and within a few minutes the bacon starts to sizzle.
"How does she like her bacon" -- I wondered, flicking open my phone and looking through your Instagram -- "Ahh.. yes, just crispy but not over done. Oh, it looks like she even has a bacon press." -- I start to rummage through some drawers and cabinets until I find the bacon press and use it in the pan.
While the bacon is cooking, I take some time to admire the little apartment that you've gotten for yourself recently. It's quaint. You've even decorated the fridge with some photos of you and your friends.
"Milk is going bad, pick up more from the store." -- A note on the fridge in bold red letters screams, clearly unheeded. I walk myself through to the living room on the other side of the counter and look to see what movie you were watching. "Night of the living things" -- Not a particularly interesting movie, I press eject and pull out the tape, replacing it with one from my jacket pocket. I get the movie where I want it and press pause then return to the kitchen.
The eggs will cook much faster than the bacon and the apartment is already smelling like delicious breakfast -- perfect for a midnight snack.
"What the fuck, are you cooking in my apartment!?" -- I had almost forgotten that you were still in here, no doubt cowering in your room as though the door might somehow save you from me. I laughed to myself as you let fly a barrage of insults and threats, even threatening to call the cops if I didn't leave.
Silly girl, your phone is in my pocket.
"... and my friend is coming over, he will be here any minute so you better leave or else he will kick your ass!!" -- the sound of your voice sounded more bold and confident, as though you just remembered that you had invited somebody over. Unfortunately for them, however, because I had bugged your phone when you ran to the bathroom on the plane.
"I guess I had better hurry then, " -- I said while cracking the eggs and pouring them over the bacon. Immediately they simmered and turned white. I cracked some pepper and salt over them and covered them with a lid -- "I wouldn't want to have to cook more food for your boyfriend."
