Chapter 4

There is a knock on the door and Irene gets up and peaks through.

“It’s the man dressed like a clown. How weird is he? He knows it’s past Halloween, right?”

I chuckle despite myself.

“Should I open it?”

“No. Maybe it’s best to leave it locked. He knows I’m here. He wants to hurt me, but I have to tell him something. I’ll write him a letter. Would you slide it underneath the door and promise not to read it?”

“What on earth would you write this fool a letter for?”

I gasp, then sigh.

“I’d rather keep that to myself,” I answer, hanging my head, but I can see Irene’s brows furrowing, and I add hastily, “I’ll tell you later, if you promise not to judge me.”

“What exactly have you done, Annette?”

“Like I said, I’ll tell you later!”

She nods reluctantly and agrees to slide the letter underneath the door. I get out a pen and paper and this is what I write:

Dear….Man,

I am so sorry for hurting you on that night. I was in so much pain that I thought I was going to explode and I allowed myself to let that out on you. I don’t blame you if you never forgive me, in this lifetime or others, but I hope you know that I am genuinely sorry for the deep pain I caused you and have vowed to never hurt another man that way again.

Sincerely,

Annette Baker

It had barely been slipped beneath the door when another note was returned.

Dear Annette,

I forgive you, but my father hasn’t.

Sincerely,

The man you raped (you can call me Peter Parker. It’s more American...I know you people don’t like Middle Eastern names.”

One more note is slipped underneath the door by my hand.

Dear Peter Parker,

Please do the honor of giving me your real name.

Another note was slipped back to me.

Like I gave you my virginity unwillingly. No thank you. I don’t have to do anything for you. Not anything at all.

Sorry for asking.

I forgive you.

He slowly walked away. We both heard the footsteps and prayed he would not come back, that he wouldn’t find us here, and he didn’t, not for a month or two at least, but someone else did. We turn on the television and the election results are blaring: a fascist versus a reformed fascist who is so open-minded that he hired a half-black woman to be his vice-president. I am so annoyed with the state of the world. At least my bank account is alright. At least I know what is in there. What I would have to lose, and I know it’s safe. I have used every password with the utmost care, writing it down in a small notebook that is...in my desk in my apartment…

After two months of silence, no knocks on the door, Irene and I decide that it’s high time I go back home and get a few things. She says she’ll have her phone on her just in case, and that, if God forbid something happens, someone is there, I should call her immediately and go back to her place.