Tags:
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Liquid Passion
Don’t be late…
“Just remember
Emma,” he said to me as I walked out the door with keys in hand. “Be back by
midnight. That’s my only rule while you’re staying here. Just think of it like
Cinderella – your curfew is midnight!”
Those were his
last words before I left this evening…
Being a young college
girl on vacation though, I kind of took it lightly. Some fairy tale warning? I
think not!
His name was Mr.
North. Our parents had been good friends before they moved away. So, when I
came to this town on break from school, my dad had called Mr. North and the
topic of me staying at his home instead of wasting money on a hotel had come
up. Obviously, I decided to sleep at his residence. Of course! It was totally
free, why wouldn’t I.
He wasn’t an
overly strict man of the house – sure, he had his little outbursts now and then
but who doesn’t, right? Dad did warn me that he could have his moments of
obedience, whatever that meant. But overall Mr. North seemed to be pretty
lenient. That’s why I didn’t pay much attention to his curfew rule. That
and because I wasn’t 16 years old anymore. I was 19 and on my own. I’d had my
fill of the stupid curfew laws handed out by parents long ago. And while, yes,
I was a guest at his house and I should have obeyed his instructions… it just
didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
That’s why when I
looked down at my phone tonight and saw the time was 2:30am… Just a couple
hours past the magical midnight number, it didn’t concern me all that much. I
just finished making out with the hot guy I’d met downtown and decided to
return back to Mr. North’s house. He’d probably be in bed sleeping, anyway. It
wouldn’t be overly difficult for me to tiptoe through the home without
disturbing him. My cell phone has a light. I do that kind of thing all the
time, it’s no big deal.
His home was
pretty barren, too. There wouldn’t be much for me to bump into or knock over.
But, knowing my luck… the odds were if there was anything, I would find it!
***
***
The keys jiggled
quietly as I fumbled around, trying to remember which one was for Mr. North’s
front door. Eventually I managed to guess correctly – as the door opened without
a sound and I stepped inside making sure to hold the keys tightly, so they
wouldn’t make a noise. Pitch black… a little darker and ominous than I had
remembered. The liquor from earlier, which was now heavily flowing through my
system, didn’t help the situation. My legs were a little wobblier than I would
have liked.
And just as I
reached into my pocket to pull out the phone and light my way, I heard a voice
speak out from the blackness.
“Well, Emma,” it
said.
Even though it
should have been obvious, it did take me a moment or two to realize that it was
probably Mr. North sitting somewhere in the shadowy expanse. I couldn’t be sure
where the words came from, so I remained motionless.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Get a look at the
time, did you Emma?” the voice replied.
“Mr. North?” I
stuttered.
There was the
sound of movement coming from across the room, and a moment later the ceiling light
flicked on. My eyes, being unaccustomed to the brightness, squinted tightly
almost to the point of being shut entirely. But from between my thick lashes, I
could see a hulking figure walking in front of me. As my eyes adjusted it
became clear that the person, Mr. North, had seated himself on the sofa.
“I said,” he
grunted,” do you know what time it is?”
The man had his
head lowered slightly, with those masculine hands steepled at chest level.
There wasn’t so much as the hint of a smile within 1,000 miles.
“Umm,” I stalled,
“I’m… I’m not sure?”
“Well, Emma, I’ll
clue you in, dear.” Here Mr. North pointed one finger to the nearby wall clock,
all the while staring, unblinkingly at my
Angela B. Macala-Guajardo