NICOLE
Who could it be?
The way my heart’s beating suggests that whoever is on the other side of the door isn’t someone I want to see. My mind is racing as I head toward the door.
“Hello? Who is it?”
No answer. I bite my bottom lip and halt. Could it be a mistake? This is a shitty motel, after all. Maybe someone got the door wrong. But then the person knocks again, insistently this time.
I don’t like the way my skin crawls and my heart jumps in my chest.
“Who is it?” I ask aggressively. I’ve never had a good, appropriate, mature reaction to fear. When I get scared, I get angry. “Stop that right now if you’re not going to say who you are!”
I’m not stupid enough to open the door for a stranger. I know terrible things happen to women when they’re alone in certain places.
But the
