Around eleven, I would brush my teeth, put on a sweater, take my phone charger, and walk downstairs.
At 6:30 every morning, Ryan sent the same message.
You can come upstairs now.
Sometimes he added:
Be quiet. I’m still getting ready.
I began parking beneath the light near the entrance because it made me feel safer.
I kept a blanket in the trunk and a bottle of water beside me. I learned which position caused the least pressure on my hips and how to climb out quickly when I needed the bathroom.
The building’s front door required a key, so every hour or two, I would leave the car, climb the stairs, use the bathroom, and return before Ryan noticed.
Once, he was standing in the hallway when I came inside.
“What are you doing?”
“I needed the bathroom.”
“You woke me up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Then use the gas station next time.”
