Member-only story
Hiding Places
A short story
He woke up in the dark, still hanging in his dream. Sweaty hands swept across his pale face, moved his messy hair away from his still half-closed eyes. No muscle was ready to move yet, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dim room. Outside, vehicles droned and roared, engines spluttered, smoke rose into the air searching for freedom, becoming one with the clouds. His curtains shifted in the soft breeze, whispering through the marginally opened window. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, approaching. And water repeatedly dripped from the bathroom sink’s tap, a rhythmic tapping he’d almost adjusted to. It still caught him out first thing in the mornings, but otherwise blended in to the city’s gnawing symphony.
At this point, she came in via the creaking door and looked at his unmoving body, blinking at his figure. He heard her enter, and listened for what she might say, hoping that she wouldn’t tell him he was late for anything. As far as he was concerned the calendar was clear for today, a rare chance to re-coup. No meetings, no eyes on him, no rictus grins for cameras or otherwise.
The night before had been chaotic. Friends were visiting — hers, not his — and this always made him feel anxious. He wasn’t usually self conscious, but there was something about being around her friends that made him especially uncomfortable. It was as though they could…
