"So someone just waltzed into my house, and decided to weave a path of destruction-"
"Reina," he says calmly as I pull into my driveway and put the car into park.
"Huh?"
"I think we both know why this happened," he tells me, a grave look in his eyes.
I just stare at him like a complete idiot before his words click into place. When they finally do, my first instinct is to deny it.
"No. It's not like I walked around telling people "hey, I'm looking into the possible lynching of a black man."
"Reina—"
"No," I repeat, shaking my head vehemently.
"Be honest with yourself," he tells me. "What's the likelihood that we both have break ins on the same day, and nothing is stolen? Even if you told no one, this kind of thing goes around fast."
"I can't believe... I just can't," I say at a loss for words.
"I think, maybe, you should stay at my house for tonight. At least I can protect you there."
"No one can protect me from these people. If anything, you need protection, too." It's as if he thinks he's made of steel, or something.
"Please," he begs. "It would make me feel better."
"Fine."
After we alight from the car with all of our belongings, he follows me up the front steps right to the door, and stands behind me as I search through my bag for the keys. However, just as I unlock the door and twist the doorknob, he grabs my arm and holds me in place, holding me back.
"Listen, I should warn you," he tells me, "he told me that your house was worse. A lot worse. I just don't want it to take you by surprise."
"Okay," I say calmly before pushing open the door. Of course, I don't take him seriously; I think he's exaggerating. Therefore, when I see that my house looks as if several bombs have gone off inside of it, it feels as if my entire world is caving in.
"No," I whisper.
The coffee table is overturned and the couches are slashed.The thing that gets to me the most, however, is the condition of my piano. Someone took the time to scratch and crack the keys of the piano, and carve, strip and tear pieces of the surface layer of wood off of the body. I touch the keys, and realise that some are silent. Quickly, I open the back, but I already know what I will see; the strings are slashed.
"No. No, no, no," I say, my denial the only thing keeping the tears away. I walk into my bedroom, and my mattress is slashed as well — not that any of that stuff matters to me. These things can be bought; I can even re-string the piano; but the keys and body of an antique piano?
My mother gave me this piano when I was nineteen; it was the only major piece of furniture that I moved with me to Wake City. It was my great grandfather's. He gave it to his son, who gave it to his daughter, who gave it to me. It has so much sentimental value, and just looking at it makes my head hurt.
"Reina, I'm so sorry," Calvin says to me. However, his voice is more than apologetic; it sounds as if he is blaming himself.
"'S not your fault," I say reassuringly.
"Yes, it is. I should have never asked you to help me; it was selfish and wrong. You're a civilian."
"I had a choice, Calvin," I say, turning to face him.
"It doesn't matter," he says. "I had a choice, too. I chose to involve you."
"Don't do this. Please," I beg of him.
"Don't do what?" he asks confused.
"Blame yourself, and then go through this downward spiral of self loathing. Just don't."
He doesn't answer me; he only shakes his head in amusement. It seems as if I have unintentionally lightened the mood, because I was completely serious awhile ago.
"Pack some things, so that we can leave," he says, and then sits on the ruined mattress to wait. Once I'm done, he jumps up eagerly, and I can't blame him. It's an eyesore to look at, and it feels unsafe.
"Come let's go home," he says, tugging on my arm, pulling me out of my nightmare of a house.
"Yes. Let's." I really do hope that he is right about his house being in better shape.432Please respect copyright.PENANA3hOtZwi3Pf
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Calvin's house is a small, one bedroom apartment which is a complete mess, but none of the important pieces of furniture, eg. bed, couch, etc. have been damaged.
"Uh, I'll sleep on the sleeper sofa," he says.
"That's weird. You live here, you should sleep in your own bed. I'll sleep on the sleeper sofa."
"Uh, okay," he says, dragging out the word, probably because of how confused he is. He probably thinks that I'm off, but it would just feel weird to come into his house and displace him, take his bed from him.
"I'll be fine," I tell him.
"Okay. Well, at least let me pull it out for you."
I follow him into the living room to watch him. He pulls out all of the pillows from the couch, and then tries to wrench the bed from the sofa, but it won't move.
"You need help?" I ask him.
"Uh, yeah. That would be nice," he says, moving to one side so that I can pull on the other side.
"I think it's stuck," I tell him, unable to move the bed.
"No," he insists. "We just need to pull" — tug — "a little" — tug — "harder," he says, giving it one final pull, causing the mattress to spring forth and me to go sprawling across the living room floor.
"Jesus, Reina, are you okay?" he asks, at my side in an instant. I feel as if my face is on fire.
"Yes, I'm fine," I say to him, looking down in embarrassment
"You sure you didn't hit your head?" he asks me.
"No, I didn't," I reassure him as I pick up my bag and get out my toiletries and night clothes.
"So you're good for tonight?"
"Yeah."
We stand in awkward silence for a few seconds, before he clears his throat.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow—"
"I really need to shower—"
"Same."
"So tomorrow morning?"
"Yeah."
"G'night."
"'Night."
After a short shower — I feel uncomfortable overusing water that isn't mine — it takes me forever to fall asleep; all I can see behind my lids every time I close my eyes is a faceless person vandalizing my furniture, piano, and then coming to slit my throat. It's horrific. When I finally do fall asleep, the faceless person is there, coming for me in my dreams. However this time, Calvin is always there to save me.432Please respect copyright.PENANActp35qHiUX
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