Lacerations and trouble

“Are you here?” A voice called from the hall.

Seattle leaned out her door and began whispering to someone, probably the roommate.

I continued to study the pictures as the girls spoke. There was something amiss in the pattern, places where it looked patched up. Just in the say that some photos looked like they were pulled further out of the group, like a cut tightening the skin around as it sealed.

Seattle closed her door softly and strode back beside me. “Are there pictures missing?” I inquired.

She didn’t have to look at where I pointed. “Yeah they were of someone who’s since fallen out of favor.”

“The old boyfriend.” I asked.

She nodded slowly. I didn’t feel the need to press her for more. <y discovery was apparently not planned and had soured the moment. “I like it, different style to hanging pictures up.”

She smiled. I wasn’t getting tired of seeing that, “Beats frames.”

For a while we talked and she explained the places she’d been and what they did. She didn’t bother too much with names, instead focusing on the experience of each location that was shot and tacked to her wall.

There was a quiet knock on the outside door. A shuffling indicated that the roommate was scurrying to answer it. Seattle continued to weave her tales. She stopped weaving when we heard a chirp from outside. She stood straight up and looked at her door. From the expression on her face I expected it to burst open.  

Quiet voices were heard on the other side. One voice was sternly quiet and the other was insistently quiet. Then came the footsteps. They were heavier than the roommates. They were also slower and cautious. I could feel the hairs on my neck standing on end.

               “I know you’re in there.” Came a gruff and insistent voice.

Something small and frozen inside of me burst and filled me with a chill. “The old boyfriend?” I asked, a shiver running down my vertebrae at the look on Seattle’s face.

“Don’t say a word.” She commanded.