Scars of the pst

1.1

I place my phone on my shoulder and search through my bag for the key Leandro sent me. I insert the key into the lock and begin to open the door, but the drunk guy starts to fall backward with every inch the door opens. He murmurs something but doesn’t reopen his eyes.

— It’s a shame he’s so lost — I comment to Leandro. — He’s not even that bad-looking.

— Cleópatra, just get inside the apartment and close the door, so I can hang up — he responds.

I roll my eyes. Leandro is still the same bossy cousin as always. I know living with him won’t be easy for our relationship, considering how controlling he was when we were younger. However, I didn’t have time to look for a job, find an apartment, and get settled before classes started, so this is the only option I have.

I hope things are different now. Leandro is 25, and I’m 28, so if we can’t get along better than we did when we were kids, we have a lot of growing up to do.

A lot of it depends on Leandro and whether he’s changed since the last time we lived together. He had issues with anyone I dated, with all of my friends, with every decision I made — even with the college I chose. Not that I paid much attention to his opinion. Distance and time apart seemed to get him off my back in recent years, but living with him will be the real test of our patience.

I throw my bag over my shoulder, grab the handle of my suitcase, and let it drop to the floor. I keep my left hand firmly on the doorknob, holding the door so the guy doesn’t fall completely inside the apartment.

I use my foot to try to push him back into the hallway. He doesn’t budge.

— Leandro, he’s too heavy. I’m going to have to hang up to use both hands.

— No, don’t hang up. Just put the phone in your pocket, but don’t end the call.

I look down at the loose T-shirt and leggings I’m wearing.

— I don’t have pockets. I’ll have to put it in my bra.

Leandro makes a surprised sound as I take the phone from my ear and place it in my bra. I remove the key from the lock and drop it into my bag, but I miss, and it falls to the floor. I bend down to pick up the key while trying to move the drunk guy out of the way.

— All right, buddy — I say, struggling to get him out of the hallway.

— Sorry to interrupt your nap, but I need to get into this apartment.

Somehow, I manage to prop the guy up against the doorframe to keep him from falling completely into the apartment. I push the door further open and turn to grab my things.

I feel something warm grab my ankle. I freeze.

I look down.

— Let go of me! — I scream, kicking the hand that’s gripping my ankle as hard as I can.

The force is definitely causing intense pain. The drunk man is now looking at me, and his grip is making me fall into the apartment as I try to get away from him.

— I need to get in here — he murmurs, as my back hits the floor. He tries to push the apartment door with his other hand, which immediately makes me panic. I pull my legs into the apartment, and his hand comes along. I use my free leg to push the door, hitting it directly on his wrist.

— Damn it! — he shouts. He tries to pull his hand back into the hallway, but my foot is still pressed against the door. I ease off the pressure a bit so he can withdraw his hand, and then immediately kick the door to close it. I get up and lock the door, the bolt, and the chain as quickly as possible.

As soon as my heart starts to calm down, the noise begins.

My heart is really making noise. It's a male voice.

And it seems to be shouting, “Cleopatra! Cleopatra!” Leandro.

I look at my chest and take my phone out of my bra, holding it to my ear.

— Cleopatra! Answer!

I jump, holding the phone at a safe distance from my ear.

— I’m fine — I say, out of breath. — I’m inside now. I locked the door.

— Oh my God! — he says, relieved. — You scared me so much. What happened?

— He was trying to get in. But I locked the door. — I turn on the living room light and take a few steps inside before stopping. — All right, Cleopatra.

I slowly turn toward the door, realizing what I’ve done.

— Um, Leandro? — I stop. — I might have left a few things outside that I need. I would like to get them, but the drunk man seems to think he needs to get into your apartment, so I can’t open the door again. Any suggestions?

He is silent for a few seconds.

— What did you leave in the hallway?

I don’t want to say, but I will.

— My suitcase.

— Christ, Cleopatra — he mutters.

— And my purse.

— Why is your purse outside?

— I think I also left the key to your apartment in the hallway.

He doesn’t respond to that, just murmurs.

— I’ll call Guilherme and see if he’s still around. Give me two minutes.