Page 3 of Secret Guardian

A low feral growl cuts through the silence, and after glancing around the room, it hits me. The sound is originating from my own throat. The shriek tears from me, my mouth opening wide as my frustrated roar echoes around the room. When the sound ceases, my throat is raw and sore, but somehow I’m feeling better, and the heat within my veins has cooled a tad.

What in the fuck is going on with me? The door hinges must have been loose or something. Nevertheless, now my food is going to spoil if this situation isn’t fixed soon. So much for a leisurely day off.

I pocket my phone and keys before heading out into the morning sun. Old Man isn’t outside, but he normally isn’t during the day. He tends to visit at night, probably because he’s accustomed to me coming home from work then.

As I trek across the parking lot to the maintenance office, the lady I cared for in the ICU yesterday comes to mind. You never know if your patient will be there when you come back the next day, much less after a day off.

The bell rings as I step into the air-conditioning, a relief from the sweltering heat. Still, I can’t find any relief from the flames roaring within me, and the outside temperature seems to match my own struggle. I’m too young for menopause, right?

The secretary glances up at me over her glasses, her hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun on top of her head. She’s never rude, but she’s not super friendly. She starts typing as I speak.

“How can I help you today?”

“Yes, I’m Darian. I live in 12C. Umm…” I search for the right way to explain my situation. “My refrigerator door is broken.”

Her fingers pause over the keyboard, and my eyes flick over the nameplate on her desk. Janice. Why can I never remember her name?

“Broken?” She furrows her eyebrows as if she doesn’t understand how this could have happened, and I’d like to tell her that makes two of us.

“Um, yes, the door has fallen off the hinges.”

Evidently, this was the wrong way to explain my situation. Her eyebrows scrunch even closer together, and her lips are now pinched so thinly that the top one disappears.

“I’ll send someone over.”

“Hopefully soon. My food will spoil without the door, you know, and I just bought the value pack of sandwich meat.”And it’s not cheap, Janice.

She just nods, typing away again. Assuming that’s my dismissal, I head back home.

When I let myself in the front door, a soft rustling from the kitchen greets me, and I’m immediately on edge. Surely the maintenance man didn’t beat me here, and if he had, they don’t enter our apartments until we let them in, unless otherwise noted.

I press myself flat against the wall, sliding down the panel to the open doorway and peeking around to find the source of the noise.

An orange ball of fur comes flying at me, and Tiger climbs up my legs, his claws sinking in with each step as he makes his way to my chest.

I wrap my arms around him. “What are you doing here?” He stares at me, eyes wide, and I shake my head, laughing. “How’d you even get inside?”

He meows in response, as if he’s telling me exactly what I want to know, and I scratch him behind the ears. “Did you see the mess I made?” He relaxes against me, his purr vibrating against my neck. “I better text Renee and tell her you’re here. She’ll be worried sick.”

I pull out my phone and type out a quick one-handed message to my aunt, holding Tiger in my other arm. After pressing send, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and survey the junk all over the floor. “This is a disaster. We better get it picked up before maintenance comes.”

I lean over to set Tiger down, but he refuses to let go of my shirt. “Tiger, what are you—”

He grumbles low in his throat, the purring now gone, and even with me trying to pull his claws out of my clothes, hesomehow gets the others attached to me before I can disentangle all of him. With a sigh, I give up and stoop over, grabbing things one at a time to set on the counter.

“You are a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Halfway through collecting bottles and jars—and throwing away a few expired ones that are embarrassingly out-of-date—there’s a knock on the door, followed by the low growl of someone calling, “Maintenance.”

“I suppose you’re coming with me to get that.” I hoist Tiger up and he settles his butt into the crook of my arm, his front paws resting on my shoulder. He’s not super heavy, but after holding him and working, my shoulder is cramped. As I make my way to the front door, I pull out my phone to glance at my messages, but there’s still not a response from Renee. Knowing her, she left her back door open before she went out to set up the coffee cart.

I open the door carefully, not willing to risk another accident today, and when my eyes meet the maintenance man, I stop in my tracks. They look exactly like they did in my dreams, when I furtively fingered myself and pretended it was him.

The injured man from last night.

THREE

“H-hi,”I squeak out, gripping Tiger so tightly that he sinks a warning claw into my shoulder.

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