Love Unscripted
Page 6
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That would have to wait. It was Wednesday already and I still hadn’t updated my entertainment sign for the weekend. First things first.
I dropped the piece of chalk back into the box and carried the updated slate board sign out to the sidewalk.
I had to squint; the sun was bright – even more so since I just emerged from a darkened pub. Wow! It’s beautiful out here!
I leaned back on my open door, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for a moment to feel the warm sunlight on my cheeks. Even the air smelled better today.
Perhaps if I open late today I could enjoy this nice weather up on the rooftop with a good book in hand? Oh, that thought was very tempting.
Reasons to goof off were starting to outnumber my to-do list, but the responsible part of my conscious quickly snuffed that. No, I have a lot to do inside. Better get at it… in a minute… the sun feels so nice… My reluctant eyes instantly popped open when I heard the frantic sounds of women screaming. My vision was blurred by the bright sun and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the pandemonium headed straight for me.
That’s when I caught sight of him - what appeared to be Ryan Christensen - running full speed down the sidewalk. His body was on a direct collision course with mine.
“Back door?” he asked in a panic as he almost knocked me to the ground. I stumbled backwards awkwardly into the open doorway, grabbing the frame to keep myself from falling down.
“Door,” I quickly answered, my shaky hand pointed to the direction, but he was already running through the pub.
Instead of escaping through the kitchen door around the corner, he flew through the first door he saw.
“No, not that door!” I breathed out, tripping over my own feet as I followed him inside. It was too late; he disappeared through the door that led up to my apartment.
“Damn it!” I cussed out loud.
A split second after he vanished from view, the front door flew open and smacked loudly into the wall. A small group of women barged in; behind them were men with cameras, but oddly they stayed outside.
“Whoa, hold on there! Wait! Oh no, no!” The words were just spilling out of my mouth as I ran towards the door. Instinct told me I had to stop them before they got too far into the bar. It was obvious that they were what he was running from.
“We saw him come in here,” one of the crazed looking women barked as she tried to press past me.
“No, he’s not in here - he ran out the back door,” I shrilled, blocking her advance with my arms. “If you run down the street you might catch him.” I hoped my lie sounded convincing.
“You all have to get out of here. NOW! Don’t make me call the police!” I yelled as I herded them back to the door.
The instant they were out, I locked the door behind them and hit the light switch. Shit, what do I do? I started to panic. There was a large crowd of photographers and people starting to pile up on the sidewalk. Many of them were already mashing their faces to the glass, trying to look in my windows.
I moved as quickly as I could, sliding on my knees across the wooden bench seat at the first booth by the door. I felt like the hapless human, the last survivor, who has to fend off the attacking zombies all by herself. My heart was pounding in my chest when I dropped the blinds down on their intruding faces.
My thoughts spun in circles as I ran from window to window. I was so preoccupied with obscuring their view that I hadn’t even noticed where he was.
I tried to replay the last sixty seconds over again in my mind. Was he still inside or did he manage to make it out of the building after all?
Did he slip out the back door when I was distracted?
Chapter 2 – Open Doors
I slowly cracked the door leading upstairs to my apartment, my eyes straining to see if I could spot him. There he was, sitting huddled up on the top landing with his face buried in his arms. His hands were shaking ever so slightly.
I could see that his shirt had been ripped; part of his stomach was visible through the large, frayed tear. Oh my God! What happened to this poor guy?
I felt a little more courageous since he was obviously in distress, so I opened the door wider and cleared my throat so he would know I was standing there. I had no idea what to say.
“Sorry,” he pleaded, cautioning me with open hands. “I’m not some crazy maniac. Please, please don’t scream.”
“It’s fine… it’s fine. I know who you are,” I said in my softest voice, trying to calm him down. “Um, are you okay?”
“Not really,” he whispered. He was gasping for air, his hand covered his heart. “Can you give me a minute?”
I dropped the piece of chalk back into the box and carried the updated slate board sign out to the sidewalk.
I had to squint; the sun was bright – even more so since I just emerged from a darkened pub. Wow! It’s beautiful out here!
I leaned back on my open door, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for a moment to feel the warm sunlight on my cheeks. Even the air smelled better today.
Perhaps if I open late today I could enjoy this nice weather up on the rooftop with a good book in hand? Oh, that thought was very tempting.
Reasons to goof off were starting to outnumber my to-do list, but the responsible part of my conscious quickly snuffed that. No, I have a lot to do inside. Better get at it… in a minute… the sun feels so nice… My reluctant eyes instantly popped open when I heard the frantic sounds of women screaming. My vision was blurred by the bright sun and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the pandemonium headed straight for me.
That’s when I caught sight of him - what appeared to be Ryan Christensen - running full speed down the sidewalk. His body was on a direct collision course with mine.
“Back door?” he asked in a panic as he almost knocked me to the ground. I stumbled backwards awkwardly into the open doorway, grabbing the frame to keep myself from falling down.
“Door,” I quickly answered, my shaky hand pointed to the direction, but he was already running through the pub.
Instead of escaping through the kitchen door around the corner, he flew through the first door he saw.
“No, not that door!” I breathed out, tripping over my own feet as I followed him inside. It was too late; he disappeared through the door that led up to my apartment.
“Damn it!” I cussed out loud.
A split second after he vanished from view, the front door flew open and smacked loudly into the wall. A small group of women barged in; behind them were men with cameras, but oddly they stayed outside.
“Whoa, hold on there! Wait! Oh no, no!” The words were just spilling out of my mouth as I ran towards the door. Instinct told me I had to stop them before they got too far into the bar. It was obvious that they were what he was running from.
“We saw him come in here,” one of the crazed looking women barked as she tried to press past me.
“No, he’s not in here - he ran out the back door,” I shrilled, blocking her advance with my arms. “If you run down the street you might catch him.” I hoped my lie sounded convincing.
“You all have to get out of here. NOW! Don’t make me call the police!” I yelled as I herded them back to the door.
The instant they were out, I locked the door behind them and hit the light switch. Shit, what do I do? I started to panic. There was a large crowd of photographers and people starting to pile up on the sidewalk. Many of them were already mashing their faces to the glass, trying to look in my windows.
I moved as quickly as I could, sliding on my knees across the wooden bench seat at the first booth by the door. I felt like the hapless human, the last survivor, who has to fend off the attacking zombies all by herself. My heart was pounding in my chest when I dropped the blinds down on their intruding faces.
My thoughts spun in circles as I ran from window to window. I was so preoccupied with obscuring their view that I hadn’t even noticed where he was.
I tried to replay the last sixty seconds over again in my mind. Was he still inside or did he manage to make it out of the building after all?
Did he slip out the back door when I was distracted?
Chapter 2 – Open Doors
I slowly cracked the door leading upstairs to my apartment, my eyes straining to see if I could spot him. There he was, sitting huddled up on the top landing with his face buried in his arms. His hands were shaking ever so slightly.
I could see that his shirt had been ripped; part of his stomach was visible through the large, frayed tear. Oh my God! What happened to this poor guy?
I felt a little more courageous since he was obviously in distress, so I opened the door wider and cleared my throat so he would know I was standing there. I had no idea what to say.
“Sorry,” he pleaded, cautioning me with open hands. “I’m not some crazy maniac. Please, please don’t scream.”
“It’s fine… it’s fine. I know who you are,” I said in my softest voice, trying to calm him down. “Um, are you okay?”
“Not really,” he whispered. He was gasping for air, his hand covered his heart. “Can you give me a minute?”
