Silent Prejudice

12

Before I know it, my stomach is growling, and I’ve written ten pages outlining a vampire romance that captures my soul. The story materialized before my eyes. The basic plot is the same as I’d first envisioned, but I’m able to add depth and complexity now that my imagination has the benefit of experience. I adore the alternate reality I’ve created. When I finally head to bed, I go to sleep with the satisfaction of believing for the first time that I might actually make my publishing dreams a reality. I have never felt so damn proud of myself. I wake early with enthusiasm the next morning, excited to dive back into the creative process. I spend hours on the couch developing my characters and the fantasy world in which their story unfolds. Normally, stress inhibits my creativity, but the chaos of my life has somehow inspired me. The release of ideas is invigorating, and the escape from reality is more than welcome. When my phone rings close to noon, I grumble until I see Grace’s face flash on the screen. “Hey!” I greet her excitedly. “How’s the new apartment coming along?” “It’s the size of a shoebox, but it’s mine, and I love it!” “That’s awesome!” “Yeah, but there’s more. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew how it went, but Ari called last week. We went to dinner last night.” A radiant smile colors her words with happiness. I don’t have to see it to know it’s there. “Oh my God, Grace! That’s wonderful! I take it the evening went well?” “It was perfect. I told her that the whole scene was new to me, and she was happy to take things slow. We had such a great time together. She’s coming by tomorrow to help me finish setting up the apartment. There’s not actually that much to do, but she offered, and I like the idea of showing her my new place.” “Honey, I’m so incredibly happy for you. So many exciting new adventures!” “It’s a lot at once, but I’m so happy about everything. I have two months until I’m supposed to have Aldo paid, and I don’t think that will be an issue since I got that job already. Everything has come together perfectly.” “I’ll offer one bit of advice. It may sound paranoid, but take someone with you when you give him the money. I’m even happy to come to the city if you need me.” I can’t help but warn her again. She seems to have everything under control, but I worry. “Okay, I’ll make sure to do that. Sorry to keep this short and sweet, but I’m meeting Gia for lunch. I just wanted to keep you posted on the Ari situation as I promised.” “I’m so glad you did! Enjoy your lunch!” We say our goodbyes, and I end the call with a buoyancy in my chest that I haven’t felt in ages. There are still plenty of worries I could dwell upon if I was so inclined but also an equal number of reasons to be optimistic for the future. Grace, my budding career as an author, and even the fragile reconstruction of a relationship I had thought was irreparable. I choose to be optimistic and focus on the rays of light peeking through the clouds. By the time the sun has set on my Saturday, I’m two glasses into a bottle of rosé and dancing around the living room to Britney Spears’s “Toxic.” I have a dance-off with myself, drowning in a release of endorphins like I haven’t felt in months. Even once I give into fatigue and slump onto the couch, the pulsing strains of music from my youth keep my spirits floating high. Eyes closed. Hand waving in the air. I am the embodiment of contentment. I am the music that fills my ears, keeping me from hearing when my little party of one doubles in size. It’s not until I open my eyes to skip a song that I realize I’m no longer alone. I see his reflection first. Outlined against the black television screen, the form of a man leaning against the entry wall behind me catches my eye. I instantly snap from my tipsy state of relaxation and bolt from the sofa. My motion jars the coffee table, knocking over my half-full glass of wine, but I pay it no mind. Every ounce of my attention is glued to the menacing man who has broken into my house and now stares at me with a drunken gleam in his eye. A vulgar, depraved look that I remember all too well from the last time I chased him from my house. Aldo Consoli smirks when my rounded eyes meet his. “Get the f**k out of my house.” My limbs are frozen in fear, but I force as much bravado into my voice as possible. Blood thunders against my eardrums, but it’s not enough to drown out the music, its energetic beat suddenly as out of place as the shrill tunes of an ice cream truck driving past a funeral. “Come on, now. You don’t expect me to hear your little party from the street and not come pay you a visit.” He holds himself up against the wall, his wrinkled clothes disheveled and dirty. I refuse to argue with him. No matter how loud I play my music, or how revealing my clothes, or how pleasant I act, I am not extending an invitation to invade my personal space. And no amount of arguing will justify that conclusion. “Get out. You have no right to be here.” I had thought my troubles with this man were over. Mom’s debt had been paid. I’d assumed I was free of him and had even tucked Dad’s pistol back where it belongs in his room. I couldn’t have known Aldo would come back, but I berate myself regardless. How could I have been so careless? Aldo raises himself upright off the wall with a lewd grin. Sticky nausea fills my belly, curdling with fear and desperation. He’s not going to leave. I know it in my gut. He’s come back to take what he didn’t get the first time, and if I can’t find a way to escape, he’s going to succeed. I try not to be obvious as I consider what I can use as a weapon within reach. “I stopped by to check on your little friend,” he says, his speech slightly slurred. “But no one’s home. When I heard your music and saw you dancing by yourself, I knew it was fate giving us a second chance.” He steps toward the back of the sofa, inching closer to me. I retreat, taking a wobbly step to the side, my calves pressed against the coffee table. I consider breaking my wineglass and using it as a weapon, but that seems so unreliable. What if I cut myself in the process? I need something heavy. A lamp. Or a fireplace poker. Something. “She said her loan wasn’t due for two more months.” I don’t care about the details of their deal. I just have to keep him talking so my frantic brain has a chance to figure a way out of this. He shrugs. “Who’s to say? There’s nothing in writing.” f*****g asshole. I knew he’d pull something shady. “If you touch me, my father will find out. You’ll be crucified for hurting a family man’s daughter.” The icy grin that splits his face is dripping with superiority. “I have permission to be here, and when you wanted to help work off a friend’s debt, who’s to say otherwise?”