Doors are great keepers of dark secrets. Bedroom doors hide the inner most secrets of an individual’s being. Closet doors hide the chaos of an individual’s life. Basement doors hide that creepy monster-furnace that lives in the basement in children’s eyes, in adults’ it hides the unfinished parts of their life. Bathroom doors hide the insecurities an individual holds about their appearance, and front doors—front doors are in a league of their own. They hold all the secrets of a family, their fights, and their struggles. Of all doors, front doors must be kept shut; outsiders should—and must stay outside of these doors unless they are prepared to know the inner most workings of a person. Visitors-- be warned.
There I sit in a silk “little black dress” in one of the stools at a small table sipping on a drink. My Prada purse sat to the side of the small round table, open revealing a Prada wallet. Across the table sat a dazzling man also sipping on a drink. Before he showed up, I had been alone swaying by myself to the roaring music. Then, he came along, handed me a drink, and sauntered off towards this very table. Intrigued by this gorgeous man, I followed, and here we stayed. We discussed everything from hobbies, our careers, our friends, etc – the getting to know you aspects of conversation.
He leans across the table, his crystal blue eyes blazing through mine, and spoke. “So, Miss Corporate Executive how about we escape this place and go to mine?”
I nod dumbly, a coy smile forms on my face, and I stagger out of my stool to head towards the modern doors of the club.
“It’s just around the corner—no need for a cab.”
With that, he grabs my hand and leads the way. Conversation is not hard between us, it just seems so natural. I look up at the night time sky, and boy, it sparkled—well, sparkled as much as it could for New York City. The streets are still clogged up with angry business men trying to get home to their impatient wives, young adults trying to escape to clubs, teenagers trying to make it home before their curfew, and taxis scouting out those in need of a ride.
We approached an apartment building, passed through the lobby and he directs straight towards the stairs. Once we climbed up to what I believe was the fourth floor, he pulled me into a hallway of mahogany doors. A lush blue-green carpet coated the floor, with a red runway style carpet in the center. The walls were designed to incorporate the color of the blue-green carpet and the red runway on a cream base. We follow the runway until room 426; he pulls a brass key from his pocket, slips it in the doorknob, and pushes the door open for me to go inside. I take note of the dirty kitchen, the dirty clothes in the living room, a sharp, shiny metal thing lying by the table by the door, an odd artsy picture, and an overwhelming smell of bleach wafting into my nose. It appeared that the source was from the tan tiled floor that seems to gleam hints of red under light.
Ew, disgusting…but, he is very cute!
As I stepped into the kitchen, I heard the closing of a door and a click signifying that the door locked. My heart began to race and I froze. There it was; the telltale sign-- the sound of metal sliding off a table by the door. In a matter of a few seconds, everything changed. The sounds of footsteps are approaching, and my heart beat is getting progressively louder. The cool, sharp metal from the table by the door is against my neck, and quickly runs across my throat. The smell of metallic copper began to fuse with the potent bleach. And in an instant, it was all over. I felt my purse being pulled of my shoulder as I slipped towards the ground. A river of thick red liquid began to flow through the tiles’ crevices. The room swirled around me, the smell got stronger, my chest got heavier—then it was all gone.