Locked In Love by Louisa Line (8)

It has taken forever for Friday to get here, but I find myself waking up early through a mixture of excitement and nervousness. As the time for the delivery approaches I pace around the flat glancing at my clock on the wall roughly every five minutes. At around ten minutes before he is due I make my way into the kitchen and place three of the evergreen tree biscuits on a plate (I refuse to call them Christmas trees in June), and then cover them with cling film. I look through my peep hole to check that there is no one in the corridor and place my biscuits on the floor next to my door with a small note.

I want to write so much more like ‘As much as I like you’ but I decide to leave it at that. Then I go over to the window and wait.

I have been waiting for only a few minutes when, from around the corner, comes the familiar sound of the van with my delivery in. My excitement rises even though I am far more excited about the man delivering it than the actual food I will be getting. As the van approaches I find myself becoming anxious once again. What if he has changed his mind? I already know I’m damaged goods, but what if he has had time to think and thinks I’m not worth waiting for any more. How long would he be prepared to wait? Will he even wait? It’s not like I can give him a time frame. I can’t even open the door to him. With these thoughts racing through my head I jump off my window seat and make a dash to the sofa, what’s the point in seeing what you can’t have.

The intercom buzzes and I find myself panicking about what to do. I so want to answer it and for everything to be OK, but I also don’t want to risk my entire life changing. I slowly walk over to the door and pick up the intercom.

“Hello,” I say softly. My nerves are torturing me.

“Hi Jessica. I have your order.” OK, that sounded normal. So, what now? Do I try to flirt or play it cool? Do I even remember how to flirt? It went so well last time. I am so out of my depth right now! Then I remember the small plate sat outside my door and wonder what he will make of it.

“OK, come on up!” I reply. All nerves are now gone as I can’t hide the excitement I’m feeling and I’m sure it can be heard through the intercom. I buzz Steve up and move towards the door listening for when he comes.

I hear the elevator doors open and suddenly feel extremely nervous. What have I done? Can I really go through with this, whatever ‘this’ is? I hear footsteps making their way down the corridor and stop just outside my door. Then I hear a soft chuckle that has far more of an effect on me than it should. I hold my breath and wonder what is happening on the other side. I just about pick up the courage to move closer to the door, when I suddenly hear coughing and spluttering coming from the other side. I race to the door without thinking and place my hand on the handle until my senses return and I quickly withdraw it.

“Are you OK?” I ask through the door.

Still coughing I get my reply “How did you make these biscuits, Jessica?”

“The same way anyone makes biscuits.” I reply “Butter, flour, sugar…”

I try to cast my mind back to the other day when I was half asleep and cooking in the kitchen. Then it dawns on me. I’d tasted everything I’d made except the last batch as I was distracted by the call from Claire.

“Did you try them?”

“Well no, but the others all tasted fine.” I’m now starting to feel a little annoyed, I know I’m not the best cook in the world, but my baking is definitely not that bad!

“Here, try one!” As it’s said the letter box opens and the plate is passed through. I take the plate and sit down next to the door.

I place a biscuit in my mouth and instantly spit it out onto the plate and start to laugh.

“I am so sorry,” I say as large laughter tears are rolling down my face, “I promise all the other batches tasted OK.”

“The other batches? How many did you make?” I can hear Steve chuckling on the other side of the door and it suddenly hits me how very close to each other we are and I can feel the panic from the day before start to bubble up again.

I move away from the door quickly and as I fight to get on my feet I drop the plate and it smashes onto the floor.

“Jessica, you OK?” All hints of laughter have gone from Steve’s voice and been replaced with what sounds like concern.

“I can’t,” I shake my head, despite the fact no one can see me, “It’s just so hard. I can’t.” Tears start again but gone are the laughter tears replaced with fear. I start to move further away from the door as my back hits the back of the sofa

“I’m sorry,” I whisper even though I know he cannot hear me.

“It’s OK. I’ll leave the shopping. I’ll be back in a bit for the machine.” I hear footsteps moving away from the door and the elevator sound.

It takes me a few minutes to compose myself, involving several rounds of breathing exercises. I go over to the door on extremely shaky legs and peek through the peep hole. There is no one there. I open the door, grab my boxes, and bring them into the flat, slamming the door as quickly as I can. I sign the machine, shove all the shopping onto the floor and quickly put the boxes and machine back in the corridor. I close the door a final time ensuring it is locked and breathe a sigh of relief knowing I am safely locked in my box once more.

I move to the intercom, buzz and say I am done and move as far away from the thing as I can.

I wait to hear the familiar sound of the elevator and the footsteps and it is not long till they echo through the empty hall. As the footsteps approach I hear a thud just outside the door. Curiosity gets the better of me as I cautiously move towards the door. As I approach, the letter box opens and a small note floats down onto the floor. I pick it up and read it.

Could this guy get any sweeter? I read the note twice more to check that I haven’t imagined it. I rush over to my table where I had left the pen and paper from earlier and go back to the door.

I scribble the note and quickly drop it back through the letter box. This is actually a lot harder than you think, but I manage to do it. I hear shuffling coming from outside the door and find myself wondering who would be willing to invest this much work in me. As I’m pondering this, I hear the letter box go and see a note land by my side. I grab it, eager to read what has been written from my mystery man on the other side of the door.

I can feel my face heating up and a small chuckle escape. I quickly write my reply.

I hear a laugh from the other side of the door and the heat has moved from my face to my entire body, not in a bad way, but in a way it hasn’t done for a very, very long time.

I read the note that has just come through the door and my whole body tenses up, my breathing quickens and I feel the familiar fear and panic start to set in.

“I’m sorry,” I say out loud as I start to scoot away from the door. Tears spill down my face as the realisation sets in that I will never have a normal life, that I will never be able to date. I place my head down on my knees and close my eyes, waiting for my thoughts to clear and the panic to subside. Then I hear the letter box and look up to see another note on the floor. I move back to the door and pick it up, turning it over in my hand before I open it.

Is this guy for real? Why is he not running for the hills? I quickly write back a response.

It’s hard to write, but so very true. I lay my back against the wall, next to the door and wait and hope that I haven’t scared him off with my rambling. I don’t have long to wait and worry as another note falls to the floor, while I’m still fretting.

Wow, the warm feeling spreads further, to the parts that have only been satisfied by Mr Darcy. I’m not sure how, but this man … this wonderful man, has me feeling like a woman again. I write just three words in reply.

It’s weak, I know, but I’m scared that if I write any more I might end up confessing something that even I’m not sure I’m ready to confess yet. I post it through the box, sit back and wait.

I don’t even need to think about this and find myself writing almost automatically.

As I wait for a reply, I try to picture the person I am talking to on the other side. I know he has large broad shoulders and a bottom made for pinching. But now I have time, I try to imagine what his face looks like. I imagine he has blue eyes and his hair is fair with extremely kissable lips. I close my eyes and think about what those lips would be like kissing mine then moving to my neck, before moving down… I am pulled away from my thoughts by the letter box opening and a note falling beside me.

I make a promise to myself that this Christmas I will donate to a homeless shelter. The note also hasn’t helped with the tingling that has now engulfed my whole body as I realise just how special this man is. I also find myself longing to know what he looks like, so I write the only thing I can think of to get this information and post it through the door.

It doesn’t take long for a note to fall to the floor followed by an ID badge with a picture attached.

I leave the letter on the floor and grab the ID badge. I can’t hold back the very loud gasp that escapes my lips. I know Steve must have heard it too as I hear a small laugh coming from the other side of the door. I can’t help the gasp, but I also can’t help the wetness I instantly feel between my legs, as staring back at me is what I can only describe as a Greek God. I can only see the face in the picture but I already knew what the body was like. My imagination from earlier wasn’t far off. He did in fact have the most perfect blue eyes, the same colour blue as the sky on a cloudless summer’s day. His nose has a small curve to it as if it had been broken sometime in the past and the lips, well what can I say other than I had a new fantasy to think about tonight as the lips I imagined earlier really didn’t do him justice. Not only were they extremely kissable but also hinted at many hidden talents. He had a strong jawline and what looked like a hint of a dimple in his cheek. I would place him in his early thirties which means he isn’t that much older than me.

After having my fill of ogling the badge I place it down and pick up the note that is with it.

I read his note again and feel a hint of disappointment that he doesn’t want to know what I look like. Then I think about the question he has asked. What can I tell him that won’t send him running? I ponder it for a few more minutes until I write down the only thing I can think of.

I then pause before I write the next thing that’s on my mind and before I can regret what I have written I post it through the letter box.

I think about all the reasons why he doesn’t want to know; maybe this is just a way of passing the time for him. Take pity on the poor trapped woman while he’s waiting for his girlfriend to finish work. Oh shit! I don’t even know if he has a girlfriend or not. I start to scribble my next question on a piece of paper as a note floats down beside me.

Could this man be any more perfect? That just confirms it. He must have a girlfriend or a wife waiting for him somewhere. There must be something wrong with this picture! I change my mind about what I am planning to write and decide to play it a little more subtly.

I hold my breath while I wait for a reply, chanting in my head ‘Please don’t have a girlfriend. Please don’t have a girlfriend.’ It seems to take forever for the next note to drop, even though I know that it really has been only a few seconds.

I cannot help the smile that breaks out across my face on reading this note and thank every holy being there is for ‘delivering’ this man to me. This then makes me burst out laughing at the pun I had just made up in my head. As I am writing a reply another note falls to the floor.

I cover my hand over my mouth as it dawns on me that he can hear me. I quickly write my reply.

I post it through the door and wait. I then start to second guess myself and wonder if I have pushed this too far and quickly scribble out another note and post it through the door, hoping I’m not too late.

I contemplate writing ‘who would want me?’ But instead of writing it, I just think it.

It’s not long before another note appears.

We carry on passing notes to one another and we fall into a comfortable conversation, just asking and answering questions and finding out about each other. I already know he loves the outdoors and had a dog called Penfold when he was growing up. He was a huge Danger Mouse fan as a child and he named the dog after one of the characters as he thought he looked a lot like him, which made me laugh. I explained how when I was younger I had a hamster called Pokey as I was a little obsessed with Garfield and how Pokey was the name of Garfield’s favourite teddy bear.

I’m not sure how long we have been chatting for, but my bottom has gone to sleep and I have had to turn a light on as it has got too dark to write without it. Wow, who would have thought we would have so much to talk about without talking at all.

I write and send through the letter box, as with ever other time a note appears within seconds of mine leaving my hand.

I can’t believe how alone I feel already as I read these words and he hasn’t even gone yet. I shake myself knowing I am being silly and send back a quick response.

I hear shuffling outside as I imagine him standing up and getting himself ready to leave. As I start to stand to do the same I hear the letter box rattle and another note falls to the ground.

I read the note and wonder what he could be talking about and write as much on my next note to him. Not that I have a chance to send it as another note falls to the ground.

His number is written on the bottom of the note and once again my body feels like electricity is racing through it right down to all my sensitive parts. I hear more shuffling outside and remember that the boxes from my delivery must still be outside my door. Before I know what, I am doing I place my hand on the door and as much as I want to open it, my body just won’t respond.

“Thank you,” I say softly as I rest my head again the wooden door.

“I look forward to hearing from you soon, Jessica. I meant what I said. You should never feel lonely. Please think about using the number.” I think about how to respond, but before I can think of anything I hear footsteps retreating down the corridor and the elevator doors open and close and I’m left wondering if what has just happened has been real or just a beautiful dream.

I try to keep myself busy all night but find myself being drawn back again and again to the note with his phone number on. I know it’s too early to message him as it’s only been a few hours since he left, so, to distract myself, I have collated all of the notes he has given me in time order and found a special keepsake box to put them in. I have also cooked and eaten my dinner, cleaned up the kitchen and put my shopping away.

It then dawns on me that I have his number but I never gave him mine. Surely that’s not fair, so maybe I should just send him a quick text, so he has mine as well, fair is fair after all. I move to find my phone and then think better of it, so I take myself off to the bathroom to have a bath. I pour in far too much bubble bath and have bubbles everywhere. I don’t care though. I test the water and it’s just right so I strip off and slip into the bath, closing my eyes as I realise how great the water feels on my tired body. It’s not long till my mind starts to wander to Steve as I remember his ID badge and what he actually looks like. I close my eyes and allow my fantasies to play out in the bath imagining his hands where mine are.

By the time I leave the bath, the water is freezing and I am resembling a shrivelled prune and, even though the activities in the bath have taken the edge off my yearning, I am still left wanting more. I put on my dressing gown and as I pass the living room, pick up my mobile and Steve’s number before I make my way into the bedroom and get ready for bed. As I slip under the covers I grab my phone and fire a message off to Steve, before I have the chance to change my mind.

I contemplate adding a kiss at the end but change my mind and leave it off. I place my phone back on the bedside table and roll over ready to try and fall asleep. I find it hard to sleep, but eventually my eyes start getting heavier as sleep overtakes my body.

I wake up sometime later not really sure as to why I have woken up until the ping from my phone signals that a message has just come in. The entire room lights up and I have to squint in order to find my phone and see who my message is from. My heart skips a beat as I realise it’s from Steve.

I’m suddenly much more awake then I should be for two in the morning and sit myself up in bed. I read through his message again and think about how to reply. Should I reply? Would I seem too keen if I reply back now? I close my eyes and take a deep breath trying to calm myself. I can do this! I know I can! Once I have composed myself I start to type, but change my mind four or five times before I settle on what I believe is just the right thing to type.

The reply comes almost instantly.

This makes me smile. It’s been a long time since I have had anyone care, and even though I’m not stupid enough to think that he really does on any deeper level, it’s great for my ego.

I am totally out of my depth here but find myself not being able to put the phone down, not while the little dots are on the screen.

I smile at this. He’s been thinking about me. This brings butterflies to my stomach and I’m suddenly very nervous about how to reply. Can I really do this flirting thing? I am so out of practice. I see the little dots return and wait eagerly to see what he is writing.

I press ‘send’ before I have time to change my mind. The butterflies have turned into elephants stomping inside my stomach as I sit and wait. The dots don’t appear though and I suddenly feel stupid for writing what I did. I look one last time for the dots but when they don’t appear I place my phone on the side, refusing to let it get to me even though I can feel disappointment and doubt fighting their way into my thoughts. I keep looking over at the phone even though I know I’m being silly and a little obsessive. I get up and go to use the bathroom. As I’m sat on the toilet I hear a faint sound from the bedroom and all but rush through my business to get back to the phone.

Call me crazy but part of me doesn’t believe this can be real, I mean can a man really be this perfect?

I stare at the screen for so long it goes into sleep mode. Am I ready for this? Can I do this? Tears start to fall down my face as all the frustration I’m feeling bubbles out of me. It’s then I realise that I am fed up of allowing this illness to rule my life and that it’s time for me to take my life back. I am not defined by my illness and it may be a part of me, but it is a part I will learn to control, so I reply back with the one word that at this moment terrifies me the most.

I have to make a joke as I feel so much tension inside me. Can I really do this? I don’t know the answer to that but one thing I do know is how desperately I want to try.

My heart skips a beat as something awakens in me that has been lying dormant for a very long time.

---

I place the phone on the bedside table and lay on my side. I know I am far too worked up to go to sleep so I do as Steve suggested and imagine him lying next to me with his arms wrapped around my waist. I place my own there and begin to draw small circles over my stomach imagining its Steve’s hand and not mine. I move my hand down my body to between my legs and sigh in relief as some of the tension I hadn’t realised I had starts to ease as I slowly move my fingers to my special spot. It’s not long before I am moaning, and with thoughts of the delicious things Steve is doing to me I come more violently than I ever have when using Mr Darcy. It’s not long after this that I fall into a blissful sleep.