BLACK

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Black Chapter 7

BLACK Chapter 7

I stand in shock, my own two feet betraying as to what I say. My body is paralyzed at the six letters before me. My eyes are locked at the cellphone screen in front of me. My mind is running. I can not have a stalker. There’s no way this message was meant for me. It must have been a mistake. Some silly kids messing with their parents phone. Yes, that’s it. It was just some kind of mistake. I mean it has to be. What the heck are they even implying about. Stay away from what? The book store? This can’t be meant for me. I don’t know anyone of this sort.

My phone chimes in my hand and another message pops up. It’s from the same ID and my heart rate quicks for the second time today. This is ridiculous.

We’re watching you

I want to respond to this but I can’t. My fingers are numb. I don’t even think you can respond to an anonymous messenger. I don’t feel comfortable with someone knowing my personal information. The confidentiality that lies between me and my cellphone, is now out for this person to be in contact with. Whenever he finds comfort too. Why is this person even watching me? Why all the sudden take a particular interest in someone like me. You could barely notice my figure if I crossed you, so what the heck.

I lock my phone and head towards the nearest bus stop. I don’t really understand what this person wants. I groan in frustration--a couple walking nearby eye me from head to toe. I ignore their stares as I now have other things to worry about. I’ve only been in this town for less than a week and I already have managed to form an enemy. This is just peachy.

The first bus finally arrives and I’m quick to take it to campus. I swipe my card across the slot and the bus driver smiles warmly towards me. “Afternoon Miss.”

“Hello sir.”

I take a window seat at the end of the bus. There are only a few passengers riding--which I assume are heading towards the same destination as I am. I can’t help to let my mind drift off for a moment, I haven’t done anything out of place. Besides the party Kate unwillingly dragged me too, aside from that night, I’ve been held low. Attempting to attend all my classes and working on assignments that I don’t hand in.

When I finally reach the campus, I wave goodbye to the driver and head to the girls dorms. Kate is on the phone with her mother when I unlock the door. She seems frustrated as she waves an angry hello to me. I greet her and head to my room. I open my laptop screen and hit the Google search engine.

The drive finally loads and I sync my cellphone to the USB port, my recent messages come to view and I recover the unknown one. Dragging it to the Google search tab, I enter it and wait for the page to load my results. When nothing aims to my search, I’m surprised. I assumed a destination of the text would at least give me an idea where this no-name is hiding too.

“What are you doing?” Kate’s voice echoes my ears. I turn to her, still seated on my desk. I close the laptop screen a few inches-hiding the tab from her eyes. “Nothing, you need something?” I try to sound distant as much as I can.

“That’s not the way to do it.” She laughs, closing the door behind her. She moves my arm off the screen and slides the laptop to her side. She unplugs my phone from the laptop and closes the Google search. “Wait, I wa-”

“Shh.” She silences me. I roll my eyes at her attempt of helping. Her black eyebrows crease at the surface of her forehead. Kate’s long nails pick at the edge of my cellphone until the heavy battery falls to the floor. “You’re nineteen Amelia with a 2006 cellphone.” She shakes her head from side to side. I ignore her comment. I like my phone. It’s always been durable for times when I needed it. I’m not fancy on technology that requires anything more of calling or receiving texts.

I watch as she reads a code from the back of the phone, to my surprise she seems to know what she’s doing. I don’t interrupt her as she types on a foreign website. “This won’t give me a virus right?” I have to ask.

She rolls her blue eyes, smiling. “No Amelia.” She mocks. “It will not.”

The search engine loads, rather quickly than my Google and I make a mental note to keep it opened after she’s gone. When the page is done searching my cellphone code I recognize my messages from today. I tell her to click on the unknown ID. She nods and does as I instruct her too. “It was sent from...” She squints her eyes making out the small font. “-here.”

“Here? As in what?” I snatch the laptop screen from her hands.

___

Blackberry CODE: A2DIB03-HA301

UNKNOWN ID:

Receiver: State College, PA

Delivered: Williamsport, PA

___

“Who is that anyway?” Kate asks.

I breath out. “Just something I needed to know.”

She raises her eyebrows at my response but doesn’t question it. “It looks like it’s a couple cities down the main road.”

I shrug not making much of it for her presence. I’m glad she’s willing to help me. But I want to do this on my own. I smile at her and she settles back an argument, probably noticing my gloomy mood. Kate exists my room without a word, closing the door behind her.

I suffer in silence as I bring my laptop back to its place. I sit on my desk, dwelling the idea of ever coming here. I should of just went to a community college in New York.

I stare at my laptop screen as the words flash before me in bold letters. A reminder of the person who’s is now going to be watching my every movement. God knows why...

My email icon bounces up and down indicating I have received new mail. I click the moving app and it opens to a document. It’s from him. I mentally smile at the fact it’s not a class email but an individual one. And it’s for me.

___

To: AMELIA ARCH-WOOD

From: PROFESSOR H

Subject: Jane Austen and Bad Coffee

How are my footnotes treating you? By the way don’t buy the coffee from the book store. It’s horrid.

___

His question is rather simple but the thought of him trying it especially for me makes me respond roughly quick than I had indented too.

___

To: PROFESSOR H

From: AMELIA ARCH-WOOD

Subject: Chemical Reaction

I have not started due to a poor chemical reaction. And I’ll remember that. Thanks.

___

I smile at my reply and hit the send key. Within only a few seconds his reply is quicker than mine,

___

To: AMELIA ARCH-WOOD

From: PROFESSOR H

Subject: Rough Start

Maybe you need some guidance. Sha’ll I give you some?

___

I think about his offer, his request seems reasonable. I glance at the clock above my head-it’s only a few minutes past five. A study hour wouldn’t hurt I guess.

___

To: PROFESSOR H

From: AMELIA ARCH-WOOD

Subject: Supposedly.

I suppose.

___

I know he very much dislikes it when I say words as this but I’m hiding behind a computer screen. It can’t help to tease his mind for a few minutes. He doesn’t respond right away as he did to the last couple of emails. Which worries me. Maybe he’s changed his mind...I refresh my browser and still nothing. The clock strikes five now and so does my little mail icon. It bounces in glee notifying me of new mail.

I click on the dancing circle and it brings me directly to his reply.

___

To: AMELIA ARCH-WOOD

From: PROFESSOR H

Subject: Supposedly

I suppose you stop saying that Miss Amelia, you have created quite a frenzy in the circulation of my right hand. Maybe I’ll have to just show you. Six p.m outside the book store. Not a minute late.

___

I roll my eyes at the words before me, is his hand really twitching? If so, that must not be safe. I don’t reply, instead I close my laptop screen and change into something rather decent than a blue sweatshirt. I keep my black leggings on--I find them quite comfortable than wearing jeans. I still have yet to clean my closet. I look at the mess-there can’t be a single folded piece of clothing that exist in this pile of destruction. I shake my head, when did it get this messy and how.

I find a red top with a sweetheart neckline. It seems decent looking as I place it on my body. I ruffle my hair, letting the waves fall past my shoulders. I don’t do much with my face expect conceal the circles under my eyes. When I’m finally pleased with my look I move along my room collecting items I will need. I place my cellphone in my back pocket and his lecture notes in my bag.

Kate questions me as I grab my keys from the clock handle near the door. I tell her I’m meeting a friend for coffee, she doesn’t push her questionnaire further when my response is to a minimum. I wave her goodbye and head to the bus top. My cellphone chimes from my back pocket. My fathers name comes into view as the screen blinks twice indicating me of his call. I haven’t spoken to him in the week I’ve moved here. I lock my phone, ending the call. I don’t have the patience to deal with my father--at least not at the moment while I wait for the bus.

I arrive at the book store a quarter to six. I’m fifteen minutes early which gives me time to grab something to eat. I haven’t eaten all day besides the granola bar Kate forced into my breakfast while arguing with James.

I walk to a juice bar, across from the book store. The different scented flavors amazes me. There must be over a dozen samples to choice from. I walk towards the strawberry section, I twist the handle and a red gush of juice bursts into the plastic cup in between my fingers. It’s cool against my palm as it swirls into place. I reach the clerk and get in line. The door opens widely. I feel the breeze splitting across my neckline but I ignore the unease forming onto my skin. I’m too amazed by the delicious drink I have managed to not destroy at this point.

“Hi.” I hear from behind me. The rasp in the males’ voice is low. The shock quickens my heartbeat and my fingers release, dropping the plastic bottle across the tiled floor.

“Shit.” I hear the same voice say again.

I choose to face him now “What was that fo-?” My mind takes over my words and thank goodness it decided too. He’s biting his lip. “Well evening Miss Amelia.” He shakes his head, disappointed at my clumsiness. His wearing that same leather jacket. His plain t-shirt is still placed on to his body but he’s changed the dark pants.

He pays for the drink he destroyed and we both exit the store. “Where’s your car?” He asks as we reach the sidewalk.

I look at him confused, tilting my head to the side. “I don’t have one, I took the bus here.” My answer takes him by surprise, his eyes have narrowed. “You don’t drive?”

“No, I don’t.”

“But you know how to?” He asks, folding his hands into the pockets of his leather jackets. “Yes, I have my drivers license, but my parents never bought me a car.” I shrug. I’ve never needed one really. New York always had transportation for me. I’ve never once set foot into a car besides the ones my father use to rent on weekends for us.

“Very well, lets go.” He says urgently, and walks the path crossing the road. He looks both ways before stepping foot into the pavement. His eyes turn to me as I follow along making sure I’m right behind him.

When we reach to the other side, he halts besides a silver car. His fingers peel from the pocket of his jacket and a small black remote is placed between them. He presses a button on it and the silver car beeps in response. “Get in.”

I’m taken back with the appearance. The silver car is glowing amongst the other ones in park. As I recognize the emblem at the side. It’s an Audi, I think.

“You have an Audi?”

He scoffs; rolling his green eyes. “Yes, Amelia I have an Audi. Now will you get in?”

I buckle my seatbelt as he starts the engine. The leather interior looks quite expensive. I let my fingertips run along the shiny surface of the dashboard, he notices me admiring the detail of his car but doesn’t say anything. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“My house.” He states simply.

Oh..

I look back at him, astonished with his answer. “W..why are we going to your house?” I stutter the question, bringing my bag closer to my chest.

“If you want to be taught well, you need to be brought to the right kind of environment. A book store wont do it.” He speeds off into the freeway and I find the handle above my head to hold. He’s going over the speed limit, I can see the steering wheel shaking from the impact of his tires. “Could you mind slowing down maybe.” I clench the leather handle underneath my touch, his smirk grows.

“No need, we’re here.” He says as he drives into a gated community. I glance from the window, unbuckling my seatbelt. Gray steps take over almost half the side of the street as we drive up a small hill. A man dressed in a suit is already awaiting for us once we reach a brown bricked building. He steps out from the car and hands the man his key, I follow close behind as he speaks throughly to the well dressed man, he locks eyes with me and I wave at him.

The man drives off with the vehicle, he turns a corner and he’s gone. “Where is he taking your car?” I ask as we step into the building. Multiple designed chandeliers hang from the side of the walls and I’m quite impressed with light fuses.

“To my garage.” He says, pressing at the buttons of the elevator. The number eight brightens the space between us. We reach the floor to his apartment and he’s first to step out.

His fingers fumble with golden keys until he finds the one he’s looking for. Unlocking the door, he lets me walk in first. The place is quite extraordinary, the golden chandler that hangs from the ceiling falls neatly to the middle of the room. The ceiling to floor windows are covered with thick black material curtains and here’s a white piano at the center of the living room behind a spiral of stairs.

There’s a large photo of a woman next to one of the many windows, she’s seated at a bench with a book in her hand. She seems to be engaged in the concept of the story as her lips curve into a smile. It’s captured perfectly. “She was waiting for someone.” He informs me.

I turn back to look at him. I disagree. “Just because she was waiting, that doesn’t mean she was waiting for someone.” I hint out.

He shrugs the dark jacket off his shoulders, peeling it off his body in seconds-- he throws it on the leather coach in front of him. He clears his throat, looking at my face. “Anything to drink?” He asks, breaking my attention from exploring the rest of his home.

“No, thanks.”

My phone chimes in my pocket for the second time today, he gives me a questioned look as I grab it out of my pocket. “I don’t mind.” He assures me, walking to the kitchen. When he steps into the corridor, I glance at the screen and my fathers name pops up. I choose to ignore his call again. I don’t want to seem rude to either of them but right now I’m rather busy to have a father-to-daughter talk.

“Why didn’t you take it?” His voice surprises me, he’s back with a glass of lemonade in one hand. He extends his arm, I’m not thirsty at the moment but I politely take it from him. His fingers find their way above my arm and to my shoulder blade, he peels off the bag from my skin slowly, placing it on the hood of the piano.

“I deal with my personal problems the same way I study for tests.” I hide my face, looking at the juice. “I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s no way to live.” he walks to the side of his house, when I don’t follow along he stops his steps and turns back to me. “Well are you coming or what?”

I trail behind him, his thumb slides across the light switch--forcing the fuses to light the space away for us. Each light bulb leading to the end of the hallway lights after another--much like a domino. The long hallways has photographs placed at each corner of the walls in a similar liking to the one near the piano. They seem to resemble the same artist. At the end of the hallways theres a small staircase hidden behind a loose curtain leading upwards.

“Hows that drink?” he asks, recovering his hands from the inside of his pockets, he crosses them over his chest--turning to me. The lemonade is cool against my tongue, it has a sweet taste which I find myself founding over. “It’s great.”

He smiles, a genuine smile, I watch as the grin takes full affect on his features as it firmly rest across his full lips. He averts his attention to the photo behind me, his gaze stays there for quite a while and I turn to look at it myself. I’m attentive to the fact it’s black and white. There are two men seated at a bar. One has his mouth wide open while the other seems to be jotting down ideas in a book. He looks concentrated, not at all disturbed by the individual sitting next to him.

“People don’t listen, they just wait for their turn to talk.” He whispers behind me, I hadn’t realized how much the distance among us has vanished. I can practically feel the temperature of his body radiating into my pours.

We walk again, the lighten hallways fills with portraits of photographs, I notice one that takes my attention away. There’s a man sitting in a bar, his fingernails crease at the edge of a book between his left palm, while his right hand comes up to his face-holding his jaw as his thumb is placed between the center of his lips bitting at the nail.

“Being haunted by desire of authenticity is a horrible thing Miss Amelia. So I take stealthy photos sometimes.” He breaths out. “I am interested to know how people act when they think nobody’s looking.” His words leave his mouth in a careful tone, afraid to say anything misplaced.

I face him, brining the glass cup to my lips. “The world surely does not exist for them at that moment.” He states, smiling. His eyes fall to my face.

“You know what they say about photographers?” I ask, staring back.

His forehead creases, slowly tilting his face. “No, what’s that?”

“If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph.” His eyes lock with my lips as I speak.

“Is that what they say?” He whispers the question.

I shrug. “Maybe.” I finish the lemonade.

He takes the glass cup from my hands, the metal rings around his fingers click against the glass as he slides it from my palms. He places it at the end of the stairwell before urging me to lead. When we reach the second floor of his house, I notice the walls are a slightly different color than the first. It’s more of grey compared to the white of downstairs. There’s no photos or a large piano it’s simply just grey. The marble floor is the only form of given color. It’s radiating green shines beneath my feet. I wonder if he lives alone. He must have someone besides himself taking up this large mass of space.

I take notice of the four rooms on this floor, when my eyes meet his I find him smirking to himself. “Do you live with anyone?”

He shrugs. “I don’t find living with someone a necessity.”

I raise my eyebrows at his reply. “I see.” There’s a single golden key between his fingers, he holds it in front of the lock, but doesn’t turn the knob. He turns back to me. “Don’t touch anything,” he blinks, assuming his position before speaking again. I roll my eyes. “What is in this room is quite valuable Amelia,”

“You’re not going all fifty shades on me are you?” I cross my arms, the sarcasm is evident in my voice.

He smirks, letting a dry laugh fall from his lips. “No Amelia, I do not have a room of pain, quite the opposite actually.” His forehead creases again and he sighs. “Just watch your step.”

He turns the lock, the golden key slides out of the slot and he places it back into his pocket. His fingers come in contact with what is a light switch, and he’s first to step inside. When the lights flicker on--the room comes to life and it’s nothing like what I assumed it would be. Definitely not a red room of pain that’s the least, quite the dissimilar in my opinion.

The room is split in three different section with long white rugs spotted in distinct angles giving it a vibrant feel. There’s three different desks facing opposite from each other, the walls behind them; contrast different sides of people; emotion? I can’t tell. There’s a combination of quality that rests within the room, I can’t find the words but It’s rather in it’s simplistic form of beauty.

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