I was startled awake by a sudden crash, my eyes springing open as I was jolted from the dream I had been having. My pulse raced, caught in the place between fantasy and reality. In the silence filling the house I began to believe I’d imagined it, that the sound of breaking glass was somehow part of the dream.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember what had been passing through my mind before I woke up. An image flashed of me walking down a long hallway with closed doors on either side. I tried to connect with how I was feeling in the corridor. Was I afraid? Did the smashing glass come from one of the rooms?
Before I could be certain, there was another loud noise, the sound of something heavy but padded falling. Fear gripped me as I hugged the covers against my bare chest, unsure what to do.
I looked to my left and found Clay’s side of the bed empty. Clay was usually up before I was, running errands, working or taking a walk until I got out of bed. I was accustomed to waking up alone and then having coffee on the balcony while I waited for him to return. But this morning I wished more than anything he were there beside me.
What if someone had broken into the house? I couldn’t just lay there naked waiting for them to find me.
Frantically I scanned the room and remembered that my dress from the day before had been laid on the bench at the foot of the bed. Watching the open door, I scooted toward the bench, the sheet still clutched against me.
As soon as I could reach it, I grabbed the thin material and slipped it over my head. I looked down, realizing that the rayon knit fabric clung to my breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination. I considered the prudence of taking the time to put on my bra but when I heard a loud grunt I decided it was wiser to try to figure out what was going on, and sneak out of the house if I could.
Creeping to the opening to the hallway I found that one of the two other doors in the upstairs hall was cracked open. I had never been in either one as both were kept locked at all times. Just as I was about to race to the stairs I heard a man’s voice, Clay’s voice.
“I’m not interested in your piffle. Just get it done!” This was followed by what sounded like a hand slapping onto a hard surface.
Relieved that Clay was there, I crossed the narrow hall and peeked in the room. It was an office, furnished in the same warm tones as the bedroom. The massive mahogany desk in the center was proportionate to the enormous room. Matching bookshelves and filing cabinets were placed around the room, large abstract paintings hanging above and between them.
Glass was scattered along the hardwood floor near one wall, the paint about 3 feet above scuffed from where the object had hit. The black leather top of a fallen chair was just visible to the left of the desk. Clay stood at the opposite corner, his hand resting on the smooth surface, laid over his cell phone.
I had never seen Clay so angry before and I was reluctant to interrupt him. Suddenly his gaze met mine and chills went up my spine when he snarled, “You don’t belong here!”
This post is in response to the daily writing prompt Piffle and is part of something longer I am working on.
This post is a part of the story about the ex and comes after I Silently Prayed This Time My Feelings Wouldn’t Be Unrequited.