Push(9)

As I swing my feet to the floor and sit up, I hear the scraping sound again. What is that? I wipe my face with my hands, rub my eyes, and run my fingers through my hair. I can’t believe how rested I feel, and I still have the whole weekend to relax before I’m off to my new office on Monday. I stand up slowly and head to the bathroom. I desperately need to brush my teeth.
I enter the bathroom, and out of habit, I almost shut and lock the door behind me. But then I remember that I live alone now, and I don’t have to close the door if I don’t want to. I leave it open and smile at myself in the mirror. I brush my teeth, splash some warm water on my face, and sit down to have a pee. As I head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, I hear the scraping sound again. I stop in the hallway, and hear a series of smaller, quieter scraping sounds. They are coming from the kitchen.
Without thinking twice, I round the corner into the kitchen, and there on the floor on his hands and knees is David. What the f*ck? How did he get in here? He looks over at my feet, and in what seems like slow motion, his eyes make their way up my body to my face. I can see that he is spreading some kind of thick glop on to the bare floor and scraping it out with a flat trowel. A few rows of tiles are positioned on top of the glop with little plastic X’s in between them. He looks up at me as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t open his mouth. I think he can see my skin starting to burn.
“What the f*ck, David?” I shout. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know how to f*cking knock? Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me.”
“You couldn’t have been too scared, since you stopped for a piss on your way out.”
Oh, my f*cking God! I want to kick him in the face.
“And for the record,” he says, “I did knock, but I also have a key, so when you didn’t answer, I let myself in. I’m not going to miss half a day’s work just because you sleep like a f*cking rock.”
Now I really want to kick him in the face. “You have a key to my apartment? What the hell.” I swear I am going to punch Carl in the teeth the next time I see him. I am enraged. David is now sitting back on his feet with his hands on his thighs. He is calm as f*ck and looking right at me.
“I can’t imagine what the hell would possess you to think it would be okay for you to come in here—without my permission—while I am sleeping!” I am screaming at him, and my skin is searing.
“I did tell you I was coming back today, Emma,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “And we had lunch together and a decent conversation. I honestly didn’t think it would be a problem.” He is looking up at me, and even though he is fully collected, I can see that crazy current running through him again. Damn it. He did this on purpose. He came in here, without my permission, just to watch the fireworks. Well played, David. And, Emma, you are a fool.
I want nothing more than to tell him to f*ck off, but I know that is precisely what he wants. So instead, I try to rein myself in. “Well...it is a problem, David,” I say as coolly as I can.
“Well...then I won’t do it again, Emma,” he adds, almost penitently. He is still on his knees looking at me, and all I can do is sigh and shake my head. I am furious with myself for not recognizing his game and letting him get the best of me. And I am furious with him for coming in here and making me feel this way.
I suddenly want to be by myself, to let the adrenaline run its course. I don’t want to look at the wreckage of my kitchen. Or at him. Or at those damn birds. “I’m going to take a shower, David,” I say with blatant resignation in my voice. “Please, tell me you don’t have a key for that door, too.” He smiles a wicked, closed-mouth grin, and I can tell that he has found my whole incensed reprimand quite satisfying. Bastard.
“I’m sorry, Emma. Really. I won’t come in here again without you opening the door.” I can’t believe it, but he actually loses the grin and drops his eyes to the floor as he says it. I can’t quite tell if it’s real remorse I hear in his voice or if it’s just part of the game.
I shower, dress and fix my hair and makeup, all while attempting not to lose my temper. I have so much to do this weekend, and I try to focus on creating a mental list of the items I’d like to check off. I consider adding “Ask Carl to change the door lock” to my list, but since David is his maintenance guy, he’d probably just give him a copy of the new key anyway. Eventually, I come out of the bathroom and walk toward the kitchen to get some breakfast. I smell coffee.
“I made some coffee,” David says as I turn the corner. “I just used the bag of Dunkin’ sitting next to the coffeemaker. I hope you don’t mind.” Of course I mind, you arrogant ass. This is not your apartment. That is not your coffee. You don’t even know how strong I like my Dunkin’.
“That’s very nice of you, David. Thanks.” I walk over to the coffeepot. It is sitting on a place mat on the little table in the living room. Sitting next to it are two mugs, which I do not recognize, a spoon, a cup of milk from the fridge, and a bunch of tiny packets of sugar. I don’t have any tiny packets of sugar, so I immediately wonder where they came from. “Oh, wow,” I say. “Quite the setup.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t find your mugs or your sugar, so I ran up to my place to get some.” He shrugs and then adds, “At least I waited a half hour before I broke my promise not to come into your apartment without you opening the door. I make a mean cup of coffee, though, so I think you’ll find it was worth the risk.” Ugh.