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I’m back with Emily. Anxiety weighs heavily on me because I think I could have gotten here faster; what if she just left? What if she’s been waiting for the last week and that was her limit?
    I shouldn’t have left in the first place. I should have told her how I felt so we could be living a happily ever after. Regret won’t change things, though. It doesn’t serve any purpose now.
    I pass the city limits sign, and a smile spreads across my face. I’m happy and hopeful. A hundred and one scenarios play out in my head as to how Emily will react when she sees me.
    She throws open the screen door and rushes towards me. I catch her in my arms and spin her around. I tell her I love her and want to spend eternity with her. She smiles and says she wants the same thing...
    We barely make it to the bedroom before I fully make her mine…
    I open the door and call her name but no one answers. All her things are gone, and she’s nowhere to be found...
    As I make my way up the walk, she stops me and tells me she doesn’t ever want to see me again. That I broke her heart and I’m a fuck-up she wants nothing to do with…
    I’m brought out of my thoughts as a car horn blares behind me. Dawn has broken and there is slight traffic moving about. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting at the stop sign on the corner before the car behind me demands attention.
    It’s now or never, and never isn’t an option.
    I stand at the door, my door—her door—ready to knock. It occurs to me how odd this is; I’m about to knock on my own door. Suddenly, I’m embarrassed. I look down and my clothes are dirty and unkempt. I smell—it’s been two days since I’ve cleaned up at all. How can I look her in the eye, kiss her lips, hug her body, when I look and smell like a homeless man?
    I am homeless, though. Without her, without her love and care and warm eyes, I’m a man with a heart that has no home.
    So I knock.

~Waiting~
    I knock, but there’s no answer. I let myself in and I’m immediately relieved to see Emily’s things still around the house, including her bedding on the couch. Remorse creeps back into my chest as I think about the numerous times I’ve tried to convince Emily to take my room—my bed—but she never has.
    I kneel down on the floor in front of the sofa to worship the scent lingering in the sheets. She always smells like baby powder, the cheap off brand they sell at the Dollar Tree, but regardless of the price, it smells like heaven to me. I close my eyes and enjoy her essence while also promising myself to buy her name-brand lotion. No more generic.
    ~
    The shouting startles me awake.
    “I don’t care! Get the mother-fucking money. I don’t pay you to lose my shit!” Then I hear the unmistakable sound of a fist meeting flesh. My blood runs cold as I wonder if it’s Emily next door. The thought hits me like the fist from next door: What has she done to get money for herself?
    I’ve had many neighbors while I’ve lived here. It’s to be expected, as the downtrodden are a transient population. That unit was empty when…. when I left , so I hadn’t thought about a new tenant. I also hadn’t figured on undesirables moving in. I’d never worried about my safety, but now I have to think of Emily’s safety and protection. This is no place for her.
    I hear a feminine scream amid the sounds of skin being struck and I know it’s not my girl. I know what her scream sounds like after a spider infestation and that’s not it. It’s not Emily.
    “Get up, Punta!”
    I hear more ramblings and shouts in Spanish; the female cries in response. All I can think is, Thank God it’s not Emily . But it is someone—someone’s daughter, sister, or friend. I do the only thing I can. I call the police and let them handle it. While I’ve read heroic tales of men saving the day, it’s not safe or practical in this case. It’s very likely that the monster next door has a weapon, and I’m no good to protect Emily if