She fell for him
by Cheryl, posted on September 30th, 2011 in Fiction, Red Writing Hood
Ryan unlocked the glass door of an unremarkable grey building. We went through a tiny lobby area and up five flights of stairs, the clicking of my heels echoing in the stairwell as we climbed.
We got to the top and Ryan pushed open the door that led us into a long hallway. I stared at the maroon paisley pattern in the carpet as he opened the door to his apartment.
“Come on in,” he said, taking my hand.
I was afraid to look up. I stood, rooted to that carpet. I knew I couldn’t go through with it. What seemed exciting and hot at the bar, and then on the street when he kissed me, now simply terrified me.
“Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything. I can get you a cab home. But I really have to use the restroom, and I don’t want to leave you standing out there by yourself, so could you come inside for a minute? I won’t even breathe in your direction.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling. “As long as you don’t breathe.”
He grinned back and stood aside as I walked in. The first thing I noticed, besides the gazillion-inch flatscreen on the wall, was a curved staircase with an ornate iron railing leading up to… nowhere.
Ryan walked past me, flipping on lights as he disappeared into a small hallway. I wandered over to the staircase and ran my hand along the cold metal. The steps were steep and almost triangular. I slipped off my heels and put a foot on the bottom. Then I took another step. And another, clutching the railing and wishing I hadn’t had that last beer. I took a few more steps before I could see what was at the top.
“Roof deck,” Ryan said from below me, startling the hell of me. I felt ridiculous for snooping, but something drew me to this staircase.
“Can we go out there?” I asked.
He started up the steps and when he reached around me, his chest pressed into my back and I tensed, the attraction I had for him was overwhelming. He pulled down a lever and popped up a fiberglass lid and I felt the night air cool my face. Ryan squeezed past me and stepped up onto the roof and extended his hand to help me up. I held onto it as I stood and looked around. We weren’t high enough to have a view of the city, but in one spot where you could see the lights by the river.
“It’s not much, but sometimes I come up here after work to relax,” he said.
I nodded. It was too dark to see anything and the traffic on the streets below us was muted. We stood there, holding hands, in the quiet.
“I guess I should go,” I said. Ryan squeezed my hand. I stepped back down the stairs, again holding tightly to the rail. I was four steps from the bottom when I turned and looked up at Ryan, who was shutting the lid. I stared at his ass and took another step – and missed. I tumbled down the rest of the way, a scream escaping from my throat as I landed at the bottom.
“Holy shit, are you okay?”
He ran down to me where I sat, my ankle twisted under me. I was completely mortified.
“I guess I’m falling for you,” I said.
Ryan snorted. “Yeah. That must be it.”
He helped me to my feet, which is when I realized I couldn’t put any weight on my right ankle. A sharp pain shot through it. He swept me up and carried me to the couch.
“I’ll get some ice. You’re not going anywhere for awhile, babe.”
I rested my head against a pillow and knew he was right.
This post is a work of fiction. It is based on a photo prompt of a winding staircase from Write On Edge It is the continuation of the tale of the widow and the bartender. You can read the last installment here.
Tags: fiction, red writing hood, write on edge
Cheryl Reply:
September 30th, 2011 at 10:37 am
Yes. The best view was of Ryan, and you see what that got her!
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