Unfinished- add on
Rena:
He quickly came knocking at my door after a few minutes after I had shut my door and crumpled the card the detective gave me.
“Rena,” he panted out of breath, “please let me in.” I quickly ushered him in, afraid of seeing those three men appear in the hall. “What’s going on?” he asked as he settled the brown package down.
I shivered against the fear. “I don’t know.”
“It happened right outside of your apartment. The cops are going to come back to make sure they know everything,” he came closer. “I know you know at least something.”
I hesitated. “No, I don’t.”
He let out a breath of air and returned to the couch. “Rena, they’re going to tear you apart by hounding you with questions. Those detectives will subpoena you. You might be the key that’ll answer the man’s murder.”
“I’m not the answer to the man’s murder. I have no clue who this person is.”
He rubbed his face with his coarse hands. “Look, if you’re scared of whoever did this, you need to tell the police. They can help you get protection from this person if he saw you. You can put this person behind bars. Trust me, the police only want justice.”
“I know they will come after me,” my heart pounded at the sound of what I said. “If I tell and testify when they get these men, they’re going to hunt me down. I know it. If they don’t do it personally, someone will.”
Matt hesitated. “Who, Rena? Rena, they can’t hurt you. Trust me, the detectives will put the person away and they won’t ever be able to touch you.”
Matt:
We sat opposite each other on the couch. Quiet. She was curled up, her head on her knees. I leaned my elbows on mine, my chin in my hands. Neither of us wanted to talk, but neither of us wanted to be alone. There wasn’t anything to talk about. I stole a couple of glances at her, but she always in the same position. Her back was arched like a sphere and her head was lightly on her knees to the side, facing away from me. Her brown hair was in a high bun, pulled all the way back. Her arms circled her long, toned legs and her worn out toes dangled over the edge of the couch. Her feet were slender, but bulked with the strength of a dancer and the blisters to prove her determination. Her toenails were thick, and had a light purple hue.
Suddenly she whipped her head at me and saw that I was staring at her feet. Embarrassed, she quickly hid them.
“Do you still dance?” I asked her.
She clenched her jaw. “No.”
I sat up straight and faced her. “You should get your feet checked. It looks like you have a fracture that might have healed.”
“Are you a doctor?”
I chortled. “No.”
“Then, what are you?” she rocked back and forth.
“I’m your average delivery man,” I lied. Her eyes lost the bright autumn color and she leaned her head on her knees again, facing the door.
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