Shit

The handle turns in my grasp, and I jump, covering my mouth with my hand to curb the terrified squeal and I hold my breath again, biting down hard on my tongue to distract myself with pain. My body is against the door pushing with all my might so that he meets resistance when he tries to open it. I pray he thinks it’s jammed and moves on, but he persists. Nudging, bumping into my spine and heightening my already sky-high fear levels.

There is another movement of the ...