If he hears me, he’ll come for me.

I stand on the cold, wet stoop of my apartment, rain sloshing in my shoes, and try to open the main door without being detected.

The key finally clicks into place and I slowly push the door open. It squeaks like a son of a bitch. The sound hangs in the air forever and I think maybe I should treat this situation more like the removal of a band-aid, quick and painless.

I hold my breath because somehow that makes me feel like I’m more likely to get to my apartment without being noticed. When the door is open just wide enough, I slip inside, grateful for the soft rug that muffles my footsteps.

With the front door shut behind me, I’m able to block out all of the sounds of the street. Now I can really listen. Before I make a dash to my apartment door, I want to make sure my dirtbag landlord isn’t lurking around. If he is, I’d rather take my chances with the rain outside over his greedy eyes and wandering hands.

Without another thought, I scurry up the stairs, being careful to avoid the sixth step, which creaks like a tree branch in a windstorm. I didn’t know when I moved in six months ago that it would be so unpleasant living around the corner from this guy. His unit is right at the top of the stairs so he can keep an eye on everyone as they come and go. I can picture him now, standing slack-jawed at his peephole, in his raggedy white wife-beater and holey boxers.

I slip my shoes off and I’m able to slink fairly silently up the stairs, past his door and into my apartment. I let myself breathe again once I have the door locked securely behind me.

My adrenaline is still pumping when I step away from the door into my scarcely furnished apartment. I can tell that the heat isn’t on; it’s almost cold enough to see my breath leave my mouth in a white puff. I set my shoes down and grab a dry pair of socks. I guess I was wrong when I assumed they wouldn’t turn off my heat in the middle of winter. Maybe they let one missed bill go, but not two.

I mentally run through my inventory of credit cards while I walk to the linen closet and pull out a stack of extra blankets. Maybe there’s room on one of them. Enough to get my heat turned back on, at least. For now, blankets will have to do. I’ve just set them on the side of the couch when my cellphone rings, loudly, in the pocket of my small clutch.

It’s Nicole from work. I hit the green answer button. “Hello?”

“Hey, Marilyn?” she asks. The music is still going strong from the holiday work party and she’s yelling into the phone to compensate. “It’s me, Nicole. I just wanted to make sure you made it home okay.”

I’m actually quite touched by the gesture. I’ve been at this new job for almost a month now, but I haven’t really had a chance to get to know anyone besides my boss. And that’s because I’m his secretary. I’m required to see him every day. Nicole is a fellow worker bee. We’re close in age and she reached out to me when I first started at the company. She’s the only reason I agreed to go to the party tonight in the first place. She’s very convincing.

“Don’t worry about me, Nicole. I’m already home. Just got in. Thanks for checking.”

“No prob. Just wanted to make sure you’re safe. It isn’t a good idea to walk home alone in the city, you know. You should’ve at least taken a taxi.”

A taxi costs money, I want to tell her. Money that I don’t have.

“Ah, okay. Good tip.” I find myself talking louder into the phone to compensate for all of the noise in the background. “Have fun and make sure you get home safe, too.”

“Will do. Hopefully I’ll have some good stories to share with you on Monday!” And with that, she’s gone, the screen in my hand going blank. I’m not the partying type of girl but I made myself go tonight in the spirit of getting to know more people in the office. As the new girl, I didn’t want to seem anti-social or aloof. But the money that I had to fork over in order to get myself appropriate clothes for tonight, well, it was the cost of the heating bill and more.

Before I have a chance to walk back into the bedroom and change, someone’s knocking on the door. Instinctively, I cover my mouth with my hand and grip my phone tightly in my hand, holding it over my pounding heart.

“Marilyn, it’s me, open up,” my landlord says, his voice harsh and raspy. I stand frozen in place, not willing to move even a step for fear he’ll know for sure that I’m inside.

“Marilyn, I know you’re in there,” he continues. “I heard you talking on your damn phone.”

Son of a bitch! He was probably listening at my door the whole time. Even though clearly he knows for a fact that I’m inside, I’m unwilling to move a muscle. And there’s no way I’m going to answer the door. I mean, who the hell does he think he is? It’s after ten o’clock at night. It’s completely inappropriate for him to be knocking on my door.

“I’m here for the rent check. It’s been over a week!”

Oh my God…rent. I quickly check my phone, pulling up the calendar. Sure enough, it’s the 9^th already. The rent completely slipped my mind. All I can do is close my eyes in frustration. I’m such a mess these days. Not to mention my checking account is already running low.

I’m frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. It seems reasonable to me that I just get him the rent check tomorrow. This thought is completely justified with his next comment.

“If you can’t afford it, I’m sure we can work something out,” he says. His voice is quieter, like he’s trying to be sexy.

Gag me.

I wish I had the courage to open the door and tell him off. Instead, I give in to my overwhelming urge to hide somewhere in here. To make myself smaller and pretend I don’t exist. It’s an unsettling feeling, knowing that someone so disturbed has a spare key to all of the units. I don’t want to face it. If only I had more money, I’d move into a building closer to work, without a landlord that lives in the building. Not to mention I’d be able to pay off these bills that make me feel like I’m drowning in debt.

I glance down at the inside of my wrist where the heart tattoo is, with my mom’s initials inside. “If she could see me now,” I whisper sadly to myself. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination. If she was still around she would be appalled that I’m living in a place like this. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Another loud knock disrupts my thoughts and gets me moving. Walking on my tip toes, I make my way into the bedroom. My heart thumps in time with the pounding on the door. I’m ready to change out of this dress but I know when I do I’ll feel vulnerable and exposed. And then, as if in answer to my prayers, the banging stops. Instead of moving, I stand still and listen, waiting for whatever’s going to happen next because I just know this isn’t over.

There’s an eerie vibe that fills the apartment and something inside of me feels off. Then I hear the sounds of the front door opening and panic flares inside of me. My heart pounds away as I think of what to do next. The only thing I really can do is lock the bedroom door and crawl out the window if I have to. I turn to slam the door shut but before I can, a white mist fills the room. I’m scared to take a breath. I grab a t-shirt from the floor and hold it over my nose and mouth. It doesn’t help. Within seconds, I start to see black dots around my vision and my limbs feel weak. Before I hit the ground, a hand reaches through the fog and grabs onto me. I want to fight back but my body won’t cooperate and everything around me goes dark.