Locked In Love by Louisa Line (4)

I’ve had a great week and even my therapist says I’m sounding better. I don’t know what has changed, but I am definitely feeling more positive about my condition. I still can’t get past the door, but I have found general day to day life a little bit easier. I have to admit I have been sleeping a lot better as well, thanks to the mystery delivery man’s voice and Mr Darcy.

As I am busy cleaning the kitchen ready for my delivery, my phone starts to ring in the living room. I know who it will be so I don’t rush. Claire has been calling daily since my panic attack last week and no matter how much I try to convince her that I am doing OK, she still won’t stop the daily call.

Making my way into the living room I pick up the phone.

“Hi Claire,” I answer cheerfully.

“How did you know it was me?” She sounds surprised but I really don’t know why.

“It may have something to do with you calling me pretty much every day. You know you can always text.” I know she won’t though as she has always said that texting is far too impersonal and you never know how the person is really feeling. I sometimes wish she would text though.

“Claire, I’m fine, honest. I’m back to my old stuck-at-home self.” I add, reassuringly.

“Jess, I’m going to get some time off and come and see you,” she replies excitedly

“Claire, really…” I’m trying to bury the excitement in my voice as I worry I’m getting to be a burden on her.

“Just let me do this, Jess. I’ll speak to my boss and see what I can do.” She sounds hopeful.

“OK, if you’re sure but do it for yourself, you work so hard.” I’m buzzing inside but try to sounds calm and collected. I hope it works.

“To be honest, I could do with the break. Things didn’t go so well with Danny.” Claire’s mood seems to turn sour and I begin to get worried.

“What happened? I thought things were going so well. Why didn’t you tell me?” I say a little irritated that she is only telling me now. I hate it when she doesn’t think she can share things with me.

“I didn’t want to add to your stress.” I can hear the pain in Claire’s voice as she speaks and my heart breaks for her. Why can’t I be a better friend and just go and visit her. It’s not as if I have a job with set hours or anything. I know Claire is hurting and I feel helpless. She has always been there for me and I feel like I am failing her as a friend.

“Danny was great for the first few days, but on Wednesday he started asking for money. He said he had left his wallet at home when we were out at a restaurant and needed some cash. I found out last night he had been arrested after the police raided his place for drugs. How do I always manage to pick them, Jess?”

I don’t have an answer for her. Claire has always been hopeless with relationships. That’s what comes of always chasing after the classic bad boys.

“Oh Claire, I’m hugging you through the phone right now. You know that, don’t you?”

“I love you, Jess.” I can hear the tears in her voice and can’t hide mine either as I reply, through the sobs, that I love her too.

We hang up and I am a mess of confusion and worry. It would be great to see Claire. She is the only person I can allow into the flat without having a full on meltdown. I know she will find a way to come down but that just makes me feel even guiltier.

With my good mood gone for the day, I go to my usual spot. Sitting down and staring out the window, my view is slightly blurred by the tears I can’t stop from falling. I can’t even tell you why they are falling. It could have been guilt or it could have been through my longing to see Claire. To be honest, I often had days like this where I would just cry over anything even if I had been in a good mood before it.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sat here sobbing quietly to myself, but my attention is suddenly taken up by the delivery van that had just parked up outside the flats. I completely forgot that today is delivery day. I had made sure to stick with Fridays even after last week since I know it is one of the quietest days in the flats as nearly everyone was out or working.

I have to admit my curiosity has been piqued, especially as a tall figure emerges from the van. My view is slightly ruined by the fact I am several floors up, but what I can see I like. A lot! I can tell he’s tall and from the glimpse of the upper arm I can see he obviously works out. I watch as he makes his way to the outside door and wait for the intercom to sound. My heart rate picks up but once again not through the fear I normally feel, but something completely different, good-different but different. I don’t realise I’ve been holding my breath until it comes rushing out at the sound of the intercom. I walk over to it on shaky legs and feel a tingle at the thought of hearing that voice once more.

“Hello?” I try to sound as calm and in control as I can.

“Miss Wentworth I have…”

“Call me Jessica, please. Miss Wentworth makes me sound so old.” I really don’t know where this renewed confidence has come from. Normally I wanted to get away from the intercom and back to the safety of my little flat as quickly as I could, but today I feel like I could stay here talking to this guy forever.

“OK Jessica, I have your delivery for you. Would you like me to bring it up as I did on Saturday?”

It takes me a while to answer as my brain is too busy replaying every word he has ever said to me. I could listen to that voice forever and never get enough.

“Oh yes, thank you,” I finally say as I buzz him in, but unlike every other time before, I don’t move away from the door. I find myself wanting to take just a small peek through the peep hole to see exactly what my mysterious voice looks like. Moving slowly towards the door I can hear him outside placing the boxes on the other side. Longing to make the last few steps and see what he looks like, my feet just won’t move as the anxiety takes over and leaves me glued to the spot. I listen, frozen, as the items are left and then wait until I hear the familiar sound of the elevator so I know that he has gone. I open the door and begin to gather the shopping in as quickly as I can. Once I have it all inside I sign the machine and leave it outside my door, ready to be collected. I race over to the window to see if I can get another glimpse of my mysterious delivery driver. All I manage to see, though, is a view of his back as the intercom buzzes once more. I move over to it and press the button.

“All done?” comes the now familiar voice that has started speaking to me in my dreams and has been an active part of my fantasies.

“Yes, thank you. Oh, and thank you for the note last week. It was really sweet.” Sweet? Really? I know I am out of touch with talking to people, but even I know you don’t tell a man something he has done is sweet. I hear a throat clearing from the other end before he speaks again.

“It was nothing. I just felt bad that I had caused you so much stress. Umm... Is the machine ready?”

Nothing? If only he knew how far from nothing it really was!

“Yes, thank you.” I know it won’t take him long to collect the machine and be on his way so I rush over to the window in the hope that I might catch a little more of the man I’ve just been speaking to. It is such a surprise when the letter box rattles and another slip of paper floats down to the floor. Rushing over to the door I grab the piece of paper, wondering what could possibly have been written on it this time. I turn it over in my hand before I unfold it as if it was a rare manuscript, unable to be opened unless wearing gloves.

I am sure I must have read the note wrong. So I read it over and over again. It isn’t until around the fourth or fifth read-through that I remember what I had been doing before the note arrived. I rush over to the window, but once again only see the van drive away.

Watching until the van is out of sight I try to busy myself for the rest of the day. I even tidy up the lounge which must mean something. It doesn’t take my mind off my mysterious delivery man though and, as I go to bed, I find myself imagining his bulging biceps and broad shoulders pinning me down to my bed as my fingers go to work between my legs, screaming out Steve’s name far too quickly. After showering, I lay in bed, wondering if I will ever get to see or feel the real thing.