Chương 3: Apartment 16. Caleb Turner. The Move.

I never considered myself as someone who is exceedingly romantic. Or in the case of a twenty-first-century college male: someone who constantly looks for a good lay. When I went out to the club on Saturday nights, I didn't look for girls in miniskirts and tight sorority crop-tops like most of my frat boys would no doubt be doing. I find the whole 'scout and rank' thing a little odd and, to be frank with you, quite creepy.

When I did find someone who I thought was slightly cute, there would be something I could always nitpick about her. Either her eyes were too big, or her lashes were too thickly covered in goopy black shit. So basically—stupid, shallow things that a mature person would not even consider. (Although one time, I did meet a pretty brunette who had a breath so foul, I couldn't even stand close enough to speak to her.)

For a while—due to my lack of interest—I actually thought I was playing for the other team. I was so worried about being alone for the rest of my life, I even considered going to gay clubs in the hopes of finding someone that would slightly pique my interest.

Then, as abruptly as a strike of thunder, my worry disappeared.

It was the day I met Tamara Jones. In hindsight, it may even possibly be the day I fell in love with her.

It was my last year of University. In an otherwise ordinary fourteenth of February, a blonde-haired sweetheart anonymously sent me a Valentine card. I had no idea who she was then, but when I asked a passerby freshman who Tamara was, she pointed her finger at the most beautiful girl I'd ever met. Ever since then, it's like I knew Tamara was going to be my wife someday, and I was right.

We got married four months later—not even a month after the graduation that earned me a degree in law and recruitment from a prestigious firm owned by one of my father's colleagues. The job pays well, especially for someone as inexperienced as I am. So, without much thinking, Tamara and I packed our belongings, terminated the lease for our shared apartment in the metropolitan city of Westington (which was still good for another four months, mind you), and moved our life an hour away to Dartham City, where my new job awaits.

Now, in the cramped living room of our new apartment, I regard a particularly tall pile of the remaining boxes that are still perfectly sealed. "I can't believe we still have all these boxes to unpack," I tell Tamara.

She sits on the floor beside me. Our couches haven't yet arrived. Like all the other big furniture that wouldn't fit in my pickup, we had to hire a moving company to help. The truck was supposed to be here before we arrived this afternoon, but because of a road problem getting into the city (or so they told me when I called), it's going to arrive tomorrow. Great.

Chopsticks in hand, Tamara slurps chicken stir-fry noodle from a Chinese food take-out carton before throwing a grin in my direction. "We've got all the time in the world, sweetie," she says after a bit of chewing.

"I know," I reply, before sitting down on the floor to put my arm around my new wife. I pull her close against me and kiss the side of her head. She still smells amazing despite having just spent most of the day unpacking.

Tamara rolls her eyes at my constant display of affection. But she is smiling as she looks down at her Chinese-carton.

"I just want you to be living comfortably, so the sooner these boxes get unpacked the better," I tell her.

"Stop worrying about me. Actually—stop worrying. Period. We just got married, so just enjoy the moment." She set down the carton to put her arms around me. Naturally, like her body was made perfectly to fit mine, she lets her head fall to lean on my shoulder.

"Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have met you?" I whisper in her ear.

She giggles and moves away so she can look at me sternly. Despite her tangled hair and the orange chicken sauce stuck to the corner of her lips, she is still the most beautiful girl I have ever met.

"You've told me almost every day. Even showed me, too, on some days," Tamara jests, a playful gleam in her eye. Then she feigns a thoughtful look. "Although, I don't think you've shown me today."

"Oh, really?" I hook an arm around her midsection so she wouldn't be able to escape. "Well, after seeing you with that sauce all over your face, I don't really think I want to."

I let out a laugh when her playfulness is replaced by shock, then move to dodge her oncoming punch. I purposely come closer to allow her efforts to succeed. It gives me pleasure to see the satisfied look on her face when she thinks she is faster than I am. She lands a punch on my bicep, but it seems to hurt her more than it does me.

I retaliate by wiggling my fingers against her ribs. It earns a shriek from her and she squirms away from my hands, giggling all the while.

I can't even begin to explain how I love these moments with her. The sound she makes when she is laughing is a sound that I crave, her smell something I cannot live without. The way her hair feels between my fingers is a feeling that I have never felt before, and one I can spend a whole day doing.

Sometimes, in spite of myself, I wonder why Tamara chose me instead of the twenty other more sophisticated men who were interested in her. Because I know for a fact that a lack of options is not the reason why. I am well aware of the popularity she received from her freshman class at the University of Westington, how there were definitely multiple boys pining for the hot blonde's attention. Yet, she still stayed with me throughout all of it.

I don't know whether I should be exuberantly happy to be chosen amongst a crowd or afraid because of it.

Our playful wrestling is interrupted by a bang, like a fist against our front door. We both jump, startled by the loud sound. My mind automatically goes through possible escape routes, knowing this apartment complex is relatively cheap for a reason.

I've made a few preparations in the event that something unfortunate were to happen. One of them sits on the wall next to the front door. My trusty steel baseball bat. I grab it before looking through the peephole.

The hall outside is dim, with only a single hanging light to the right of the entrance to our apartment. On the opposite wall, an outline of a man is thrown by that single light. He leans against the wall right next to our door and, judging by his shadow, he looks tall and bulky. Inordinately so (either just a trick of the light or the source does not lie).

I glance down to the bolt on the door. The slot is in place. Thank God. I don't know what I would have done had it not been. Would I lock it and risk outing to our unwanted guest that we are home? Or would I simply open the door, brave the storm and hope for the best? My mind is racing, but my body seems to be frozen in place. I can't help but revisit the scariest moment of my life. When my fourteen-year-old self had to fight off my mother's drunk boyfriend before he murdered her.

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Tamara stands behind me. Probably to ask why I have not moved in a minute. Her face shows her puzzlement like an open book. She does not know of the trauma that has tremendously shaped me into the person I am today. And I don't plan on ever telling her.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she whispers.

I put a finger to my lips, then point to the door. She understands immediately, nods, and moves to sit back on the floor where we were happy just a minute ago.

The baseball bat in my hand feels ice-cold, but I grip it anyway. So tight that my knuckles turn white. My thoughts flashback to my varsity days, when I could hit a flying baseball going one hundred and twenty kilometres an hour without blinking, and imagine the ball is a human head instead. The thought comforts me a little.

Alright, time to face the storm.

I look back out through the peephole. A sigh of relief escapes me when I find that the man is gone. Was it just my imagination? No, it can't be. But… this isn't the first time this has happened to me.

I've entertained the idea that I might be going crazy. I've always thought it is a bit far-fetched. But, now? That, unfortunately, might really be the case.

SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO
krydwen

This chapter is in the perspective of one of my favourite characters purely because he has such interesting backlife and history. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please give me support in any way you can, it really means the world to me! Hihi~

bình luận bình luận của 0

Bình chọn

GỬI QUÀ TẶNG

Load failed, please RETRY