Kita

I don't have to be quiet, but now it's such a habit that I can hardly stop myself.

Yesterday, it still kind of felt like he was here. Like his vibrations were still in the house. But today, everything seems strangely empty. All I can hear is my phone going off from time to time, the almost silent motor in the refrigerator in the kitchen, and any noise that I'm making. I seem quite loud. I wonder if I disturb him more than I thought on a day-to-day basis.

With finals coming, we have a few days of no classes and I get to sleep in late. Finally I get up around 9 o'clock and stretch for a long time, finally rolling out of bed and spending fifteen minutes or so luxuriating in long yoga poses. By the end of it, I'm a little overheated and sweaty, feeling invigorated.

I just walk right out into the hall in my panties. Just why not? There's nobody here to see me, so I can kind of pretend I own the place.

I think again, this is sort of place I would own, if I got to pick. It used to be a warehouse or something, but Daniel made it nice. There's exposed brick everywhere, rafters and painted ductwork. Lots of open spaces, but the upstairs is quiet and secluded.

I keep looking at those rafters hungrily. I could try a balance beam routine on them but I'm so out of practice. It would probably be highly embarrassing for Daniel to come back from his trip and find me unconscious on the floor below, injured after a messy dismount.

Not that that would happen. Of course. I'm sure I could remember a few things.

But I'm not going to try it. Definitely not.

I head out to take a shower and kind of pause in the hallway, looking at Daniel’s closed door.

Would he mind?

Of course he would mind. He's an extremely private person.

So I have to be extra careful.

I sneak to the end of the hallway, tiptoeing for no particular reason. The doorknob is almost warm against my palm as I open the door, letting myself into his secret chamber.

His scent is what I notice first. It almost knocks me over. This room, though it seems so tidy, smells like he was just here. Such a manly, thick scent, a combination of soap and maybe a little sweat.

I walk over to his bed, stroking his pillow with my fingertips. Before I even know I'm going to do it, I bend over and bury my face in the pillow, inhaling deeply. It does smell like him. Actually, it smells so much like him that I'm filled with longing. I sort of want to roll around on his bed, touch myself, imagine what it would be like to…

Okay, that's bananas. Just stop.

But I could maybe borrow one of his shirts again? Something like that? He didn’t seem to mind last time. I could replace it before he even got home and he would never know.

No, really, I have to stop. I don't even know what's come over me.

His dresser is simple, spotlessly clean and dust free. I open the top drawer carefully, half expecting some kind of alarm to go off. He's got a dozen socks on the left side, nested together and rolled neatly as I might expect. On the right side is a tray with cufflinks and tie bars. A small box.

I open the box. The smell of cedar wafts out at me. In the top of the box is a picture, laminated and glued. Looks to be maybe thirty years old or something like that. A small boy wearing a hat with ear flaps, standing on top of a chair next to a taller boy. They stare seriously into the camera, not smiling at all. Is one of those boys Daniel? I can't help but wonder. They look a lot alike, maybe brothers? Does he have a brother? I don't even know.

I should ask him.

In the box are various trinkets. Subway tokens that we don't use anymore since we have gone to plastic access cards. A small key. Other odds and ends and a slightly bent ring with a cloudy stone. It can't be worth anything. My fingers close around it.

It's not like a wedding ring or anything. It's just some piece of carnival-quality jewelry, but it's worn, rounded around the edges. Somebody - maybe several somebodies - definitely had this on a finger for some time. It's probably very old. It's far too small for him, but it fits perfectly on my ring finger.

As I slide it snugly over the knuckle, I just kind of stare at for a minute. That's what that would feel like: to have someone slide a ring onto my finger.

Okay, I've gone from ridiculous to somewhere close to certifiably insane. What am I doing, fantasizing about a ring? In Daniel's bedroom?

But when I close the drawer and back out of the room, it's still on my finger. He probably won't notice it. I'll take it off. There is just something kind of sweet about it and having it on makes me feel just a little bit closer to him.

I spend the rest of the day studying, going over my notes long into the evening. Since they’re just freshman level classes, they're not incredibly advanced but I still want to keep as high a GPA as I can.

A map of pre-World War II Southeast Asia swims in front of my eyes as I try to concentrate. The borders have shifted since then, but it's important that I memorize this the way that it is. The old names like Formosa… it means beautiful girl. Such a lovely thing, to name an island beautiful girl…

A bang wakes me up and I leap from my chair, knocking it over backward behind me. But then I don't hear anything for a few more seconds and wonder, was I just dreaming?

I strain to hear, squinting and standing completely still as my heart races. Quickly I pad across the wide slate tiles to the front door, going as silently as I can.

And then, there it is: laughter. Voices. I hear them quickly go quiet and hear a shuffling sound like somebody rummaging around the front door.

Freddie might be here, but he might not. I can't remember. He more or less avoids me, so I'm not sure. Am I alone? Should I open the door?

You're being ridiculous, I tell myself. Open the door. What are you going to do, just stand here and be afraid?

Slowly I unlatch the big door, pulling it open. I don't see anyone, but I can still hear shuffling. Whoever it is, they’re not far away. I begin to close the door, and that's when I see it.

Wrapped around the door handle is a bright pink swatch of stretchy fabric. It's the halter that Lizzie gave me to wear at the bake sale. Why is she leaving it here? How did she even know where I was? What am I supposed to think about all this?

I yank the halter off the doorknob and slam the door, snapping the deadbolt into place. That was just for show, since I'm fairly certain whoever's outside can still hear me.

And I’m completely ticked off, remembering the videos that they posted, remembering how callously Lizzie acted to humiliate me. Am I supposed to take this as a threat? Is there going to be more?

I back away from the door, unsure what to do next. Without even really formulating a plan I find myself tapping out a text to Daniel immediately.

Hi. Is all I say.

I scowl at the cell phone, realizing what a pathetic thing that was to write. I need to say more.

Do you know if Freddie is still here?

He texts me back immediately. No, he's at his sister's house this weekend, I believe.

I don't say anything, just stare at the words. So I am alone here. The phone begins to ring immediately, buzzing in my hands. I thumb the face to connect the call.

“Kita? Is everything all right?” he asks me urgently.

I don't know what to say. It is something like 2:30 in the morning. What am I thinking? Just freaking out like a little kid and calling him?

“Kita? Answer me please.”

“It's just that… I'm sorry,” I say in a rush. “I thought I heard something… I mean, it's probably nothing.”

“You heard something? What did you hear?”

He's taking me seriously, I realize. He doesn't sound angry with me, but he does sound upset. But he's not going to just dismiss me, so I figure the least I can do is answer his questions.

“I thought I heard a noise,” I explain, trying to assemble the words so that they make sense. “I went to the front door and somebody left… a top.”

“Top?”

“I'm sorry, Daniel… It's so late. I should not have called —”

“— what kind of top?”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “The top that I was wearing to the, um, bake sale.”

There's silence on the line. I can easily imagine his face, that cloud cover that disguises the raging storm behind his calm exterior.

“Did you lock the doors?”

“Yes, all of them.”

I wait, breathing slowly and deeply. Just hearing his voice makes me feel a little better.

“Kita, I’m going to ask you to do something that is going to sound a little strange. Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“I want you to sleep in my bed.”

I don't say anything. My heart sort of flops in my chest.

“There is a keypad behind my bedroom door. Can you go to it now, please? Take whatever you need with you.”

I grab my books from the kitchen counter and dash upstairs, holding the phone to my cheek. Closing Daniel’s door behind me I stand in his room, staring at the glowing keypad I hadn’t noticed was there.

“Okay, what's next?”

“All right, that's good. Just close the door and key in 66528. Then enter.”

I thumb the number pad. As soon as I press the enter key I hear a mechanical scraping behind the door.

“All right,” I confirm. “That's done.”

“Excellent,” I hear him sigh. The sound of his relief is obvious. “You can stay there until I get home in the morning, all right? The keypad engages titanium barrel locks in the door. Perfectly safe, I promise.”

“Really? Okay.”

I turn around, still holding the phone to my ear and look around his room. In the dark, it seems much different than it did earlier today when I was just snooping around like a little kid.

“Kita?” he asks me in a gentler voice. “Everything's fine, I promise you. Lizzie's just created a situation she's not sure how to manage. She is desperate and lashing out. I have plans for her, don't worry.”

“You have plans for her? What does that mean?”

I can almost hear him scowl on the other end of the line.

“Really, it is not something you need to worry about. The main thing is just to make sure you feel safe. Do you feel safe?” I look around for a few more seconds. Being here, surrounded by his things and his scent, hearing the cool confidence in his voice on the other end of the phone, I do feel safe.

Knowing the door is bolted behind me and probably couldn't even let a whole fraternity worth of lacrosse players through doesn't hurt either.

“Yes, I do feel safe. Thank you.”

“You can sleep in my bed,” he says carefully. The words clang around in my head.

“I'm sorry, what?” I say, and realize I just want to hear him say it again.

“Kita,” he says slowly, his voice a demanding growl in my ear, “I want you to sleep in my bed. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I want you to go there now.”

I stare at the bed across the room, already imagining what it will be like to sleep where he sleeps.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yes,” I answer.

I walk across the charcoal carpeting and draw back the comforter, breathing deeply as the scent of his cologne and body washes over me. I can hear his breath on the other end of the line, and it's almost like he's here with me.

“Go on, get under the covers.”

“Okay,” I breathe, my voice shaky. I don't know why, but I'm trembling everywhere. Sliding in between the cool sheets almost feels like sliding into his arms. I shudder as the soles of my feet push against the thick fabric and curl up on his pillow with the phone pressed under my ear.

“You’re perfectly safe there, Kita. You know that?”

I yawn, immediately so tired it feels like I am made out of melting taffy.

“I know,” I agree softly. “Though I would feel safer if you were here with me.”

“Oh… Yes, well. You sound so tired. You go to sleep now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”

“Okay, Daddy,” I sigh dreamily, then immediately half sit up, shocked and embarrassed. “I mean, Dan. Daniel. Is what I meant!”

I am babbling, pressing my fingers to my lips.

Oh my God, did I just call him Daddy again? That's insane!

But he doesn't react the way that I think he's going to. His breathing is slow, and I hear him sigh deeply, maybe making a humming noise that sounds like he didn't mind. Or maybe he liked it? Could that really be possible?

“Good night, Kita,” he finally says, sighing and smiling. I can hear it in his voice.

“Good night,” I repeat, almost saying it but not saying it. But still, the word is right there on the tip of my tongue.

Daddy.