I sit by the rubbish bins. It feels fitting. Plus, it’s a bit hidden and not too far away from the communal entrance, so if someone opens the door, I should be able to dart up and catch it before it closes.
Yeah, stop snickering at the back. I can totally dart when I want to.
I’ve been here for half an hour now. It’s cold, and my bum’s gone numb, but I’ll stay here all night if I have to.
I hear the unmistakable chatter of other people heading this way. I risk a glance around the bins. No one I know, but they’re getting closer. And closer. And . . . yes! They’re punching in the code to the door! Wish Amy had given me that. Never thought to ask. If I was in a movie, I’d be squinting purposefully now, memorizing the sequence, but yeah—that ain’t gonna happen. Instead I scramble up to a crouch, ignoring the burst of fizzing agony in my buttocks as they come back to life.
I have to time this right. The door is heavy, and so it takes a good few seconds to swing closed. They’re heaving the door open . . . and going through . . . and RUN! Or, you know, stagger over as quickly as I can and catch the door handle by my fingertips. Whatever works, right?
I wait for the lift to take me to Amy’s floor, praying to every single god I can think of that the door to her floor is open. That would make things so much easier. Won’t have to deal with any gatekeepers then—just head directly to Amy’s room. Or maybe she’ll be in the kitchen.
Up, up, up . . . and relax. The lift comes to a stop, and the door opens, and Prayer #1 is dashed: the door is shut. Bugger. Well, time to pull up my big girl pants and knock.
Now, if I was clever, I might have thought about printing off some screenshots so I could write down what was going on, then slip it under Amy’s front door, and yes, I hate myself for not thinking of that a couple of hours ago when I was at home, but oh well, too late now.
I wait. I can hear movement from behind the door, then a shout of “You answer it, you lazy bastard!” followed by some more muffled conversation, and finally a rattle and a click as someone unlocks the door.
Thank the gods, it’s Amy.
Her expression goes from benign to shocked in a split second. The clock is ticking.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I need you to listen to me,” I manage to garble out. Amy is working her mouth, obviously trying to find her voice, but thankfully, her astonishment at my audacity is stopping her from telling me exactly where I can go. “Just five minutes, then I’ll be gone and you’ll never have to see me again—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” This comes from behind Amy. “What did I tell you before? Have you been hanging around, waiting to sneak in? Jesus, you’re fucking psycho.”
“Indigo, I know, I’m sorry, but this is important—”
“Like fuck it is. Amy, just walk away. Beth, I don’t know what you think you’re going to achieve by doing this, but I’ll lay it out as plainly as I can. I know you fancy her, but she does not fancy you. Whatever it is you have planned, it isn’t going to work, okay? Now leave, before I call the police.”
Wait—what? My mouth gapes open. I don’t fancy Amy! Do I?
I do think she’s pretty and sweet and OH MY GOD, this is so not the time to be worrying about these things!
I fumble with my phone, trying to open it so I can show her the screenshot, the webcam footage, everything that proves she’s in real danger, but Patrick and Richard have joined Indigo now; Patrick looks a bit sheepish, and Richard just looks scared, but then again, Richard always looks vaguely scared. Amy, on the other hand, is giving me a look that might just, if you squint at it, contain a morsel of curiosity. I need to seize that . . .
I manage to get a “please” out before Indigo drags Amy back and slams the door in my face.
“I mean it!” she yells through the door. “If we see you around here again, we’re calling the cops!”
Amy didn’t get a word in edgewise. If she was less worried about what other people thought of her, she might have been able to tell Indigo to leave her alone and let her fight her own battles. But she isn’t, not that I’m in any position to judge her for that.
I let out a long, furious sigh that wants to be a scream. If only I’d thought of printing off some screenshots!
But that probably wouldn’t have worked either, because everyone knows Photoshop exists. They’d probably accuse me of staging it as just another example of how mental I am.
I leave the building and trudge toward the bus stop. No point hanging around halls; it’s dark and it’s cold and I’m hungry and I really do think Indigo would call the cops if she found me there, and I don’t put it past her to check. I’d think she was being a good friend if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s also being a complete dumb bitch. Does she seriously think I’m only doing this because I fancy Amy?
Of course I don’t fancy Amy! I just want to keep her safe.