He's a Lucky Man

She draped her arms around the back of my neck as we kissed. It was all too apparent that this was indeed going somewhere when she gazed up at me with her hazel brown eyes and told me that her name was Charlotte. I said nothing in return, only lifted my head back as we locked eyes and I pitched the notion of returning to my place. She softly batted her eyelashes over her hazel browns with a tilted nod of agreement. She then unlocked her fingers and reached for my hand inquisitively, suggesting that I lead her outside to my car, which was only ten steps outside and a cue to the valet perched at the key booth away, who's wallet I'd already stuffed with cash on the way in as insurance for taking extra care handling my bright orange Lamborghini. Once he'd retrieved it, I couldn't tell whether the spotless orange paint of the passenger seat door that he held open for Charlotte glistened more or less than the look she gave it as if her eyes had reflected the twinkling tree lights on christmas morning.

When we pulled up to my house she painted a look of surprise and excitement at the apparent curb appeal of my six bedroom, two story manor, with no bell or whistle spared, from the trim to the chandelier, both visible from the section of over-sized window panels bulging outward from the well-lit living room. She grinned towards me, as if she felt she were about to climb to the top of the Eiffel tower and bathe in the view above. I kept silent and humbly smirked at her impressed reaction, as I walked around to open the door for her.

Once inside, she quickly navigated me to the master bedroom, pulling me up the stairs and down the hall with such confidence that almost made me feel that she had been there before. But there was no chance of that, as I'd only just met her no more than two hours ago. She released my hand from her grip just beyond the threshold of the bedroom door and then twisted herself around to begin backing away both slowly and seductively towards the bed. But don't worry, I won't bore you with the (exciting) details, you all know where this is going...

After what I can only assume was about forty or so minutes later, we both heard a loud but distant thud coming from somewhere outside. We both paid no mind to faint distraction. So much so to the point that I soon thought I was just hearing things. It wasn't until the second loud thud that I grew alert to the noise. This time it was significantly louder though, sounding more like a hit against the front door.

I rose from the bed and tediously dabbed the sweat from my forehead while my focus fixed onto the wall in what would have looked like innocently spacing out. But it was really the exact opposite, as I became adamantly still to listen for the anticipation of another unexpected noise.

Whether it was due to my heightened attention or it was truly drawing nearer, I heard the thud repeat once more, except this time sounding far more threatening, with an echoing smash hit that I would swear was the sound of my front door breaking apart and crumbling inward. We both jumped in freight to the eruption of what I pictured in my head to be large splintering wood flying into the foyer from across the house. I turned to Charlotte, still sprawled out on the bed, but laid up against her forearms, and realized that she had a much better idea than I did of what was actually making these noises by the pale look of shock cemented onto her face.

The sound of heavy boots slamming onto each step of the winding staircase filled the silence like the melody of a pounding war drum on the edge of a smoking battlefield. Each footstep against the hardwood stairs was louder than the last, as whatever it was that was climbing to the second story ascended nearer.

I stood frozen, just as she did on the bed, flinching at the sound that shook the house enough to rattle the empty pair of wine glasses left on the nightstand. I turned to the face the door as if expecting it to crash towards me, hinges and all. Then with a panicked dance of finger snapping and flailed arm waving Charlotte quietly demanded my attention to mouth and whisper a simple phrase to me, which was all I needed to know exactly what was happening...

The short few words that dramatically escaped her lips through the look of dread pouring out from her hazel brown eyes were only "You need to hide!", following up by a glance towards the door, pounding from the vibrating steps outside the room, "Now!". Although my mind didn't get the moment I needed to process the situation, I knew that I needed to act quickly, and instantly darted for the only thing in the room big enough to hide in, an antique, handmade wardrobe. I climbed inside, followed by Charlotte hopping out of bed to swing the thick wooden doors shut in front of me, with a reassuring click of the doors fully latching together.

Everything went dark. The repetition of the stomping footsteps became muffled to my ears from inside the wardrobe, sunk into a row of tailor-fitted dress suits. My only line of visibility shone dimly through the thin gap between the dense wardrobe doors, which revealed just enough for me to see a blurry strip of Charlotte's outline standing near the door. I couldn't see much of anything, let alone her expression, but I can only imagine the fear she felt from whatever it was that had finally reached the top of the staircase.

The air wasn't silent for more than five seconds before the door blistered by the impact of a blunt force, like a hammer pounded against a two-by-four. I took one deep gasp in preparation of controlling my breath when a voice blared through the door.

"CHARLOTTE!" The male voice screamed aggressively, "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN THE DOOR!"

Charlotte quickly moved to the window and slid it open with all her strength, causing the double-layered curtains to flap aimlessly in the wind. She didn't so much as glance outside before hustling back over towards the door.

Then the pounding turned violent, causing Charlotte to shriek in fear at each hit. It was obvious that the door wouldn't be able to withstand much more of a beating, so she did the only thing I imagine she could think of; she opened the door.

"Rick, I'm sorry!" She cried out as she backed away from the open door. But her words were cut off by the deep, raspy voice of the man approaching her.

"YOU LIED TO ME!" He screamed at her, while smacking the door further open, slamming it into the wall as he entered the room.

"I'm sorry--Rick--I--" she started to say, but was again cut off.

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT!" He said, pacing around the center of the room and darting his head back and forth. "WHERE IS HE?!" He demanded.

Charlotte jumped in fear at his every word, responding with "He--he's gone", daring to sneak a moment of direct eye contact with him, but immediately turning away from the angry look he returned. "He heard ya' comin', Rick. Ya' sc--scared him so bad that he jumped out the w--window". She then pointed a the open window without turning her body to face it.

The man jolted to the window and hung himself half outside in an attempt to find me running off in the distance. But of course he didn't see anyone, which only made him angrier. He stormed back over to Charlotte and huffed his exaggerated breaths in her face. He didn't say anything at first, looking like he was searching his brain for the words to say.

"He's a lucky man..." He finally growled at her threateningly. Though, I could safely say that I wasn't feeling very lucky, especially not while hiding inside the furniture in my own bedroom. In fact, my luck seemed to only last for about forty minutes since we met.

In the slim gap of the wardrobe doors I could barely make out the sight of Charlotte cowering in front of the man who towered over her like a stern dog owner scolding their pet for chewing up a couch cushion. All the while holding my breath as best I can. Eventually having to resort to cupping my mouth with my hand to keep my short hyperventilation from being heard.

The two continued to argue for several minutes, with the man growing angrier at each of Charlotte's defensive responses. At this point, it was less of an argument and more of a one-sided attack by the time the topic shifted to an anything that could help me figure out what was going on. Which was, of course, pretty much exactly what I thought it was. This man was apparently Charlotte's boyfriend, Rick, and he was under the impression that she was out with her friends, which I'm sure was true for the first half of the night. Surely she must've been with friends before I'd approached her, with not just hopeful intent, but also holding two of the most expensive mixed drinks served on the menu, for them to have been able to tell Rick that she'd left with "some fancy looking guy" in an orange Lamborghini.

Surprisingly, the part that frustrated me the most was the valet that I tipped into the next pay grade was apparently all too willing to share every detail he knew about me, which was all that Rick needed to lead him straight here.

Each breath was more exasperated than the last as the air inside the wardrobe circulated into a stuffy cloud of carbon dioxide and remaining silent became more difficult. My spine starting to ache from the slouched position the short stature of the wardrobe forced me into. I could feel beads of sweat purged from my skin from the agonizing concentration and prolonged discomfort, straining on the collective structure of my bones. But the pain that I silently endured was dwarfed by the immense fear of Rick finding me in the climax of his rage. There's really no telling what a steamed knuckle-dragger like him would do to a guy like me, after seeing the same he insulted his girlfriend, who was now lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled into a fetal position in defense of his verbal attack breaking through the bubble of her ever-shrinking personal space.

Then, just when I thought my legs couldn't bare to stand in the crook of my painfully shaking knees any longer, Rick suddenly grabbed Charlotte by her arm and forcefully pulled her up onto her feet, grunting at her as if he felt insulted by her unwillingness to move.

"We're leaving" He sternly told her as he shoved her through the door, unknowingly allowing her no more than a split second to reluctantly glance over towards the wardrobe I stood hunched inside. The look she gave me was that of a low remorse, darkening her glazed over hazel brown eyes as she passed by my narrow strip of visibility, followed by Rick's security guard stagger.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief after processing Charlotte's worrying situation faded from my thoughts. But I still wasn't willing to risk making any sound until I was sure they had left. So I continued to power through the struggle of my shaking knees and wallowing back while I listened for any sign that they were still in the house.

After several hour long minutes, I finally felt confident enough that they were gone. So I let a dramatic breath loudly escape my lungs, blowing back into my face from the wardrobe doors that stood only inches in front of me. Then I satisfyingly loosened the obedience in my stance with a stretched-out wiggle and then lifted up my sore arms to push open the thick wooden doors.

I pressed my palms against the inner surface and pushed out with all the strength I could muster, only to be stopped short by the almost absent movement of the doors, braced by a metal clatter that clanked like a railroad stake hit against an anvil from just on the other side of the wardrobe doors...