I Hid the Fugitive Biker in My Cabin

Audrey The smell of overbrewed airport coffee still seemed to cling to my jacket as I shoved the key into the apartment lock. It was a little after nine on a muggy Tuesday night. My legs ached, my back protested after the four-hour flight, and the rolling suitcase felt twice as heavy as usual, but I wore a silly smile on my face. The book-signing tour for my latest novel had been an absolute success. Three cities in five days, lines wrapping around the block, hundreds of smiling readers telling me how much my words had touched their lives. I was exhausted, yes, but my soul felt washed clean. And the best part of all was knowing I was coming home two days earlier than planned. I hadn’t told Colin. I wanted to surprise him. I pictured the scene with a novelist’s precision: me opening the door in silence, him on the couch watching some soccer game, the shock followed by a tight hug, the relief of finally being home. I turned the key slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound. The living room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the pale bluish glow of the muted television. I left the suitcase by the entrance hall and kicked off my high heels, letting out a relieved sigh as my bare feet touched the cold floor. That was when I heard it. It wasn’t the sound of the game. It was a muffled laugh. A thin, feminine laugh, followed by the unmistakable creak of the mattress in our bedroom. I froze in the middle of the hallway. The blood drained from my face so fast my head spun slightly. No, I thought immediately. It must be the TV. It must be some noise from the street. We try to fool ourselves until the very last second, building the most absurd excuses just so we don’t have to see the reality laid bare in front of us. I moved forward with slow steps, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs that it hurt. The bedroom door was ajar, letting out a yellow beam of light from the bedside lamp. I approached and looked through the crack. The world didn’t stop. The ceiling didn’t fall. Only my life collapsed in silence. Colin was on our bed, the bed we had chosen together, whose duvet I had bought on sale the month before. And on top of him was a woman I recognized in the same instant: Camilla, the intern from his advertising agency. The same one he used to call “a hardworking girl, a bit clumsy, who needed a chance.” They didn’t see me at first. They were too busy, tangled in sheets and low laughter. The initial pain was a cold needle in my chest, but it lasted exactly three seconds. In its place rose a wave of pure, hot, crystalline rage. Clean of any tears. I shoved the wooden door hard. The dry thud against the wall echoed through the apartment like a gunshot. Both of them jumped on the mattress, yanking the sheet in a clumsy gesture of panic. Colin’s face was memorably ridiculous: mouth open, eyes wide, the instant pallor of someone who knows they’ve been caught in the act. “Audrey?!” His voice cracked, choked. “What… what are you doing here?! You were only supposed to come back on Thursday!” “Apparently I arrived at the exact right time,” my voice came out strangely calm. So cold that even I was startled. Camilla started trembling, trying to wrap herself in the sheet while searching the floor for her scattered clothes with her eyes, her face red with shame. “Audrey, calm down, it’s not what you’re thinking…” Colin began, getting to his feet and trying to pull on his jeans any which way. That cheap cliché filled me with deep disgust. “It’s not what I’m thinking?” I gave an ironic laugh, taking two steps into the room. “Colin, you’re in my bed with another woman, in an apartment that I pay most of the rent for. Do you really think I need to think anything?” “For God’s sake, get out of here, Camilla!” he barked at the girl, who was already putting her dress on inside out, desperate to disappear. She passed by me hunched over, not daring to lift her eyes from the floor, and ran toward the front door. It was just the two of us left. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. “It was a mistake, okay?” Colin said, running a hand through his hair, trying to adopt a defensive posture. “I was stressed, you spend weeks traveling, focused on your books, on your career, and you forget you have a relationship! You’re cold, Audrey! Actually, even in bed you can’t really let yourself go. It always seems like you’re calculating everything, researching everything! It’s a drag!” Those words came like a low blow, designed to hurt me where he knew it would. He wanted to shift the blame for his own filth onto my supposed inability to make him happy. I looked at the man with whom I had shared the last two years of my life. I no longer saw the affectionate boyfriend from the photos on the shelf. I saw only a coward. A small, mediocre little man, trying to erase his own mistake by diminishing the woman beside him. “So it’s my fault, then?” I asked, staring into his eyes, not letting a single tear fall. “Because I work? Because I built a career while you complain about your job? Or because I don’t serve as an audience for your ego?” “That’s not what I meant…” “Enough, Colin,” I cut him off, raising my hand. “Get your essential things. Now.” “What?! You’re kicking me out of the apartment?!” “The apartment is in my name. The rent comes out of my bank account. And I’m not spending another minute under the same roof as you. Grab your wallet, your phone, and get out. Later you can send someone to pick up the rest of your clothes. If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’ll call the doorman and the police.” He tried to argue, tried to use a raised voice to intimidate me, but I held his gaze. When he realized I wouldn’t back down an inch, he cursed loudly, grabbed his car keys, his coat, and his wallet from the dresser, and stomped toward the exit. “You’re going to regret this!” he shouted from the front door. “No one will put up with that perfect-woman pose of yours for long!” The door slammed hard. I was left alone in the middle of the living room. Silence took over the space again. I went to the bedroom, picked up the duvet from the bed with the tips of my fingers disgusted at the sight of it carried it to the service area, and threw it straight into the trash. Then I sat on the little sofa in the living room, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. I didn’t cry. The anger still burned in my chest, but along with it came absolute certainty: I would never again let any man make me feel inadequate. Six months later… Time had passed, but the scars from that night left deep marks. I had moved out of that apartment soaked in bad memories and sought the isolation that had been asking for passage for a long time. The creative block, however, came as a devastating side effect. Colin’s cruel words about me being “cold” and “mechanical” had taken root in my subconscious. Every time I tried to write a passion scene, his voice echoed in my head, locking my fingers over the keyboard.