One of Those Faces (60)

My fingernails scraped against the carpet as I picked it up. I slowly slid it into the lock and braced the doorknob as I twisted it. The door wheezed open gently into the dark entryway, light streaming in from the kitchen. The smell of vomit from my last visit had been replaced by expensive, heavy perfume still lingering in the air and circulating from the radiator against the window.

I glanced behind me into the quiet hallway before stepping over the threshold, straining my ears for any sound. I closed the door softly and tiptoed to the edge of the kitchen. From where I stood, I could see through the living room and into the open bedroom on the other side. Both rooms were empty and still. My jacket dripped over the kitchen rug as I observed the living room. I tiptoed into the bedroom, my heart racing. Yes, it was empty. Of people, at least. Wherever Jenny had gone, she’d left in a hurry. There was a pile of clothes laid out on the bed and a small suitcase discarded on the floor. I looked closer at the clothes and noticed the fine fabrics peeking out.

I turned my head and saw the closet in the corner of the room, door wide open and beckoning. I didn’t care much for clothes. I walked in out of curiosity, more for what the clothes said about Jenny rather than the actual clothes. There were beautiful work dresses with colorful geometric shapes on one side, and the dresses grew shorter and shinier by the hanger. There were just as many handbags piled into one corner under the party dresses. I ran my hand over the fabrics, my fingers stopping on a blue silk dress.

I slipped the dress from its hanger. The scooped neck was followed in the back with a plunging deep V.

I glanced back out the closet door. There was no other sound in the apartment other than my breathing and the honking of cars outside the bedroom window.

I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off each leg before pulling my sweater and damp jacket off in one motion over my head. Her shoes were the same size. I had to know if this fit too. I shimmied the dress on, past my thighs and stomach, slipping my arms through each of the smooth sleeves. I hadn’t worn anything this luxurious before. Even the clothes Erin let me borrow were the cheaper dresses she owned.

I zipped it up in the back too easily. There was about an inch of room in the bust. I looked at the mirror on the closet door and turned around.

“Jenny?” a voice called from the other room.

My blood froze, and I instinctively dove for the wall, clutching the side.

I almost screamed when a head peered into the closet directly beside me.

“I thought you said you were busy tonight?” the man said, stepping in beside me. He looked to be close to Jenny’s age, maybe a few years older than me. His brown eyes devoured me standing in the dress, and a wicked grin tugged at his lips. “Where are you going dressed like that?”

There’s no way out of this. You can’t tell him who you are.

Jail. That’s where sick people like you go for this.

I couldn’t focus—my heart was pounding, my vision pulsing along with its rhythm. “I was about to leave,” I managed weakly.

He walked up to me authoritatively and touched a lock of my hair.

I forced myself not to pull away.

“I’ve never seen your hair like this.” He tugged on the large curl draped over my jawline. “It’s hot,” he said, resting his hand just below my hip and pulling me into him.

My heart thundered.

He went in to kiss me, but I turned, and his lips met my cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He gripped me harder, pressing me against the wall.

This. This is wrong.

“I have to go,” I breathed.

His hand lifted the hem of my dress, his foreign fingers running up my thigh.

I pushed him away.

He frowned. “Come on,” he moaned, pulling my hips into his. “I’ve missed you.”

I braced my arms up against his chest. “Please,” I begged quietly.

He maintained his grip. “Who are you trying to impress with this?” He ruffled my dress in the back before trailing his hand up to my chest.

What answer would make him leave? What would Jenny do? “I’m going out with some friends.”

He grinned and nuzzled my neck, his beard scratching against my scar. “Then they won’t care if you’re late.” His hands had brought the dress up over my hips, and he had me firmly pinned to the wall.

I was dizzy from the pressure of his body against mine. “I need something to drink first.” The words poured out.

“All right!” he said with a wide smile. “You still have that vodka?”

I nodded.

He released me. “Let’s do this!” He sauntered out of the closet and into the living room.

I lunged for my bag and slipped on my shoes before dashing from the closet as his footsteps retreated over the tile. “Oh, I left it by the sofa,” I called, before he could make it to the kitchen.

He stooped over the sofa, and I brushed by him, quickly turning the corner past the fridge and hurriedly opened the front door. I ran past the elevator and straight for the stairwell, my sneakers flying over the steps until I reached the ground level.

The air ripped through my lungs as I staggered down the sidewalk, casting looks over my shoulder in the dark. I crossed at the light with a group of huddled tourists toward the river. They eyed my dress from over the collars of their hooded parkas as they shuffled past. I shivered and opened the first door on the street, the smell and heat of coffee greeting me along with the staring patrons in coats and sweaters.