Crash and Fall

1524 Words
"This is it." Letting out a built-up sigh I stare through my windshield to the massive red-brick apartment building that I can now call home. The pictures online didn't do it any justice, it's taller and wider than I assumed. The entrance has a giant gold awning reading: Maverick apartments, shielding the cement stairs shaped in a half-circle with a golden rail marking the middle. The glass doors are closed with two large plants on either side. There certainly aren't any buildings like this back home. Home. I shake my head to myself. No need to go there, not today. Not right now. My hands are gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles are white, my stomach twists in and out of knots. I've never done anything like this before. I take a deep breath remembering what my grandma always told me “In through your nose, out through your mouth." My stomach settles slightly but when I reach for the door handle I freeze. This is it once I step outside this is real, there's no going back. With a couple more breathes I muster up an ounce of courage. Putting my weight on the door I shove it opened against it’s loud and mighty protests, from years of rust and age. I pop my trunk revealing the cardboard boxes I shoved back here. Bending low I grab the top box, wrapping my arms around it I try lift with my legs, not my back, like they said in weight class back in high school but it turns out I need my knees to shove it up higher. I don’t remember this thing weighing so much last night. It’s alright, I’ve got this. The tips of my fingers shift and slip from the bottom of the carboard as the edge digs into my stomach and hip. Huffing I stop every few steps to shove my knee back into the bottom of the box, giving me a little leverage to re-grip before shuffling another few feet. Thank goodness I don’t have too many of these babies to unload. Really, just the bare basics, my father wouldn’t allow me to take anything but my clothes and other decorations and memorabilia I had in my room. Plus, the few things I managed to keep from Grandma. A gentle breeze drifts through the air, caressing my sticky struggling body with a tad bit of relief from this unusually hot June heat. It does nothing to stop the sweat that’s been gathering across my hair line, dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. If this box wasn’t already so damn difficult, I’d set it down so I could use the bottom of my shirt or the rise of my shoulder to clear my vision. After what can only be described as a comical struggle, I pull the metal handle of the glass door. The cool air is an instant relief until a few errant strands of my golden hair float around my face, before sticking to the sweat gathered around my face. "Uggghhh." I angle my lips up and attempt to blow the loose strands away, a few move about but quickly settle back tickling my cheeks, keeping me blind to my surroundings. The box is only getting heavier or my arms are getting weaker, whatever the case may be I don’t have time to fight with my hair I need to get this thing up to my apartment. Taking a few more blind steps I pause feeling the box slip much too much to be confident it won’t fall. Pausing a moment I twist, jerk, and grunt my way to a better grip and a tiny gap in between waves of gold giving me just enough room to see my path forward. Craning my neck around the edge of the box I make out the silver glint of elevators across the way to the right of me. After four cautious steps forward my lucky, and by luck I mean lack thereof, makes it’s lovely appearance. I don’t lift my foot high enough to combat the start of the thick rug on the ground. My toe catches, lurching me forward. Reflex, my clumsy aptitude, and the momentum of my fall force the box out of my hands, propelling it hard enough into the ground that I don’t have high hopes of anything inside surviving. Not when my knees smash into the tile under the rug with a sick thud and instant pain. My hands sting as they slap into the floor, my eyes water. My breath rushes out in a warm gust, fanning the white floor as I look on in astonishment, my nose just a few millimeters from meeting the cold tile with what I’m sure would have been at the least a bloody nose. "Owww" I hiss under my breath. I can feel the pulse beating in my hands and my knees throb. I’ll have some bruising in the morning, I’m sure of it. Just as unexpectedly as I fell to the ground I watch as I’m pulled farther away from it. Two warm hands grip my shoulders, yanking my back into someone’s hard chest. I must be more rattled than I think, for the first time in what feels like forever I don’t immediately and violently yank myself from the strangers grip. Instead in an unimaginable twist of wicked and concerning instinct, I want to relax into the safety and kindness of whoever stands behind me. My bare skin pleasantly tickles where their hands hold my shoulders, my back craves to arch into them. And where my stomach should be a mess of terror it’s filled with a swarm of warm soft bumble bees buzzing about. "Are you alright?" I can hear the concern in what I can now safely assume is a man’s voice. He has a deep, alluring voice, that caresses the rest of my exposed sticky skin like the brush of a fluttering down feather. His movements are careful as he releases me. The loss of his touch the spark I’ve needed to throw me back in to reality. What the hell was that? Cheeks burning bright red I awkwardly jerk forward on aching knees as I come to my senses. Rattled I mentally check myself, pulling my well worn and familiar mask on, ignoring the sting in my hands, the ache in my knees, and the burning embarrassment in my gut. Brushing my hair from my eyes I face the man that was kind enough to help me. I should offer up my thanks, collect my things and move away from this man and my horrifying reaction to him. Instead I’m left speechless. My skin tingles with discomfort the longer I take him in. He’s too perfect, too precise, like he was chiseled from stone in the days of Greek gods or Roman emperors. His jaw is angular with dark stubble covering a devastating frown. His shoulders wide and imposing, filling his expensive slick suit as if a second skin. There’s something about the way he holds himself that screams of power and authority. Furthering his physical appeal. It’s as if he fills the massive room, pulling everyone and everything into his controlled organized orbit. My mask which I’ve perfected and worn through the toughest times has fallen away useless to my almost stupid attraction. I struggle to understand, from his styled blonde hair to his polished black dress shoes he’s everything I don’t need. Everything I should be frightened from. His frown grows deeper, his icy blue eyes full of visible concern as he steps closer. I should shift backwards, with everyone else I would be shifting backwards. Then why do I watch almost in slow motion as his hands fall back to my shoulders, his warm spicy scent filling the air around me as my pain is forgotten, my brain short circuiting in astonishment. His fingers, long and rough are gripping my shoulders, not only can I feel their warmth that seems to disperse throughout my blood like a shot of cinnamon whiskey, I can see them. My eyes are locked on them, my jaw slack. What’s happening? Did I actually smack my head and I’ve woken in a different reality where people, specifically really hot, clearly powerful men can touch me without my vomit falling at their feet. Or my own moving as fast as they can as I dart away from them into the safety of my own space. “Hey, are you okay?” He interrupts my inner dialog and clear confusion. Bringing some uncomfortable truths to the forefront of this interaction. One, I’ve been standing here staring like some sort of creep. Two, I’ve already fallen and embarrassed myself. Three, I really need to thank this man and run the f**k away. Four, this really, really isn’t the way I wanted to start this next chapter of my s**t show of a life. Honestly though? It really was too much to ask of fate to grace me with an uneventful first day. I should have known something like this would happen. Doesn’t it always?
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