As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (28 page)

I turned in the direction of where I assumed the sound of his voice was coming from.

“
Why are you hiding?” I called out.

“
Why were
you
hiding in the stairwell?” he asked, his voice, singsong and taunting with an intonation of playfulness.

“
I live here, hello!”

“
That’s a good point,” he simply said.

“
I don’t like your line of questions. Besides, you can see me, but I can’t see you. Why don’t you come out of the dark? Show yourself!” I exclaimed demandingly.

“
Why are you so angry?” the voice in the darkness questioned.

“
Are you serious? Who are you?” I retorted.

“
For such a beautiful soul, you are so defensive.”

“
I’m not defensive! And I haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the one hiding. I was just sitting here. It’s not my fault that my neighbors didn’t draw their drapes, and they chose to have sex in front of their window with the lights on. Geez!” My voice echoed into the high ceiling of the atrium. I hoped I didn’t wake up Mr. Piccart.

The baritone voice spoke again, “I didn’t say it was wrong to watch. I just wanted to tell you that you are very beautiful. Your face shows such want and need.
You
should be properly loved.”

Was he offering his services?

His boldness was unreal. I noticed he had a slight accent, perhaps French, but I wasn’t sure of that.

I moved up the staircase, one step at a time, attempting to bypass him on my way to my apartment. The stairs creaked with each unsteady step that I took forward. I tried my best to appear unfazed by him.

“Do you live here?” I paused. “Or are you visiting Mr. Piccart?” I questioned in an attempt to keep him preoccupied in conversation and rooted to where he was.

“
You could say that,” he said, which clearly didn’t answer my question. His tone was confident and smug. I didn’t recall Mr. Piccart telling me he’d taken on a new tenant. But who else could he have been? I hoped he wasn’t a relative of Piccart’s.

“
Okay, well, I’ll see you around. I’m going home now. Upstairs.” I pointed to the area just above me. “Do
not
come near me...or I will…I will spray you with this mace.” I dangled my key-chain in his direction.

He chuckled and I rolled my eyes. He must have thought I was joking, but I was serious.

“Mace? I don’t know what you mean by mace. Do you mean that you have mice?” Shockingly, his words seemed sincere, but surely he was trying to be funny. I wasn’t buying his playing dumb routine.

Right, everyone knows what the fuck mace is.

If he didn’t, he soon would.

“
Well, I strongly suggest you don’t come near me unless you want to find out. It burns terribly. Besides, it’s just strange that you’re hiding in the dark. It’s so not cool. Either come out like a normal person or stay back.”

“
I can’t do that...”

“
Can’t do what?” I growled. “You know what—just forget it. I don’t want to meet you. I feel like dirt, and I’m going up to my place. Just stay away or I swear if you come any closer...I-I will spray this in your—”

“
That’s not very neighborly of you,” he moped. I detected a thread of disappointment in his voice. Obviously, what did he expect from me?

“
Oh my God—you’re the one hiding in the dark like some kind of—
pervert
,” I whispered under my breath so he couldn’t hear. I really wasn’t being very friendly. Who could blame me, considering the circumstances? “I don’t think you should be preaching to me about what’s proper.”

“
I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. My wish for you is that you are never sick. One’s health is worth its weight in gold,” he said sagely.

Whatever, that’s just a weird thing to say.
Besides, at 112 pounds, mine would have been worth that much.

“
Yeah, thanks,” I figured I would act semi-cordial because I knew I’d have to face him at some point in the light of day. That’ll be an embarrassing moment, and I didn’t look forward to it. I hoped he doesn’t disclose to Mr. Piccart how we met, causing me another awkward moment. I had to live here too.

“
Please stay, don’t leave. I’m enjoying your company. You’re an interesting young lady,” he said with an odd meaningful edge. Was this a lame attempt at flirting with me?

Again, I turned in all directions to locate where and who this disembodied man was that taunted me. I wanted to catch just a glimpse of him. It
was too dark, and I couldn’t see him anywhere. This was bullshit that he didn’t show himself. It was up to me to end the charade.

I aimed the mace out in front of me. My eyes darted to the third-floor landing above me. He kept himself well hidden. Why? I wondered. This was beginning to feel—very creepy.

His energy was nearing. I could feel his very presence pressing closer to me. A gust of wind encompassed me like an invisible fence. It literally pinned me against the wall, and released me when a loud thump hit against the floorboards above me. He must have jumped down to the landing below.

“
What are you doing?” I snapped at him. He didn’t respond. Great, Mr. Piccart was going to hear about this—relative or no relative, new neighbor—I didn’t care who the hell he was. There was no way I was going to live this jerk for any length of time.

Freaked out by the wind force, my eyes flashed to the open balcony above me. Out of nowhere, a white handkerchief parachuted down and landed next to my bare feet. The letters BR were embroidered on the corner.
What was that for, an act of chivalry, did he think I was going to cry?

Then, in the reflection of the large mirror, on the wall in front of me, I caught a glimpse of his hooded eyes, dark pools of fire blazed into me. I turned my eyes away, pretending not to have seen him. He was definitely on the third landing somewhere. My floor.

“You best leave me alone. This isn’t funny to me,” I said with strong conviction. He didn’t reply.

I inadvertently glanced back at the mirror. He was watching my every move. The intense stare that radiated from his eyes stunned my equilibrium. Unexpectedly his voice penetrated my senses. “You can see me...” It wasn’t a question. His image in the mirror vanished.

I stumbled backwards, almost losing my balance. Footsteps creaked against the floor above me. Automatically, I screamed, knowing that he was coming down the stairs. I couldn’t bear facing his arrogance. How dare that he toyed with me and tried to scare me. Without a further thought, swiftly I grabbed my boots and purse and raced up to my apartment, unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind me, locking it.

-28-

Sick, Inebriated and Scared Shitless

I made a beeline straight to the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and locked myself in. My head was spinning. My stomach had enough excitement for one night. I was going to be sick. In the nick of time, I positioned myself on my knees. And then finally I threw up, thankfully, in the toilet. I shoved back the sheet of hair that stuck to my heated face.

My body slouched over out of pure exhaustion. I lay against the cold tiles of the floor. Such relief. As the moments passed my strength returned. I reached for my purse and fished out my cell phone.
Fuck!
It was already four in the morning. There was no way I could call Nuilley at this hour; she’d have a coronary, followed by too many questions when and if I told her about my experience on the steps.

I wiped my mouth and then pushed myself up from the floor. Then, of course, brushed the hell out of my teeth. My reflection in the mirror was colorless as if I had seen a ghost. I splashed cold water over my prickling cheeks, taking in some to hydrate my parched mouth.

Suddenly, a dark shadow flashed behind me in the reflection of the mirror. I whipped around although certain there wasn’t anyone in there with me. I lived alone, and I had locked the bathroom door when I entered. Still my nerve endings were highly sensitive to anything that moved besides me.

My eyes slowly lifted back up to the antiqued mirror, dreading to see someone, or something. There was no one in the reflection of the mirror, just my own makeup-smeared face. I reassured myself the shadow had been caused by the branches outside the window behind me.

After I caught my breath, and began to undress, I heard a female’s voice; it was more internal than audible.

“
Things aren’t so bad.”

“
What?” I gasped out loud. “Oh Lord,” I said while rolling my eyes.
I recognized the voice—it was mine recalling an article in Vogue that I had recently read about getting in touch with your inner siren.

Get a hold of yourself, Brielle. Stop scaring so easily. And, for God’s sake stop running from everything and to everyone. Why do I do this to myself? Why you ask? It’s because you are lonely and feeling desperate. Remember, love yourself, and the world will love you back.

“Yeah, right. Easier said than done.” I lashed back aloud at myself as I adjusted the water in the shower.

Mr. Piccart had warned me that it would take a minute for the hot water to reach my place, so I flipped down the lid of the toilet seat and then sat and waited.

At this early hour, the sound of the water snaking through the old pipes amplified in my ears. The plumbing in the old brownstone left something to be desired.

Why do Parisian women seem so together? I thought. Because, they love themselves first and they use the power of their inner siren to guide them. That is according to “Vogue”.

Now, I was talking to myself and answering too; I had become the true definition of a crazy person.

The article said to lighten up, sit quietly and listen to your subconscious thoughts.
That was a concept I have never tried—sitting still.

To be perfectly honest, I have always had a hard time sitting still, so much so that even when I wrote, my feet were tapping in sync to my fingers. Also, I was never one for being quiet.
But, it was worth a try.

Ask and it is given, and trust that the universe will provide to you what you want. I closed my eyes and couldn’t help feeling a bit silly. The sound of the running water made me sleepy. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs to their capacity.

“Om...Om...Om. I want to find true love,” I whispered, exhaling completely.
This had better work.
God, I was spending way too much time alone these days.

I removed the rest of my clothing as I continued to carry on a conversation with my inner siren, or as most sane people would say
myself
.

I carefully stepped into the shower stall and washed my hair to get the cigarette smoke out. I allowed the water to cascade over my curves for the longest time, cleansing away the dirty deed of watching my neighbors and my rattled nerves. The hot water helped me to feel drowsy. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to get out just yet, so I lay down against the warm tiles of the shower floor, wishing I had a bath to soak in.

Fifteen minutes later, after the hot water ran cold, I wrapped my chilled skin between the folds of a soft scented towel. Quickly, I retreated to my room, allowed the damp towel to puddle to the floor, and slipped between the soft layers of blankets.

Unbidden thoughts of my ex-boyfriend Spencer danced in my head. Suddenly, I missed him more than ever. So, I rode the wave, alone, a sex-starved siren stranded on an island without a ship full of lonely sailors to save me from having my way with myself, which I did. My eyes filled with lonely tears, releasing pent up frustrations.

“Damn you, Spencer!” I cursed him. I buried my head beneath a plethora of pillows to shut out the early dawn sunrays that crept through my shades.

-29-

Just My Imagination

The following day, late in the morning, and after
my hangover subsided, I raced down the stairs. Immediately, I looked for the handkerchief in the stairwell. It was gone. Later that evening, I spoke to Mr. Piccart and asked if someone else had moved into the building. He told me no one had.

The only
tenants in the building were he and I, which I considered ridiculous and a waste of space. The reason he claimed this was the case was because the other apartments had not been rewired for modern
appliances. I found it incredibly odd and somehow off-putting that a twenty-four-unit brownstone housed only two occupants.

I asked, “Why haven’t you remodeled the other units?”

He shrugged. “Tenants never stay long. A couple of them have said the building is haunted.”

I questioned ominously, “Is it?”

“If you believe it is, then it probably is,” he said in a nonchalant tone then looked at me with a significant glare. He narrowed one of his eyes just a fraction, winking at me.