Dirk's Presence

An unfamiliar scent wafts through my room. I assume it's mainly Dirk's aftershave. But there's something else too. It's intense, as if it has seeped into the furniture and walls.

It is the smell of bodies that have exerted themselves. I remember that my roommate in the dorm had this body odor when one of her ever-changing boyfriends stayed over. Here, it is more present, as if the visit had lasted a week instead of a night.

My mother opens the window wide and hastily puts on new sheets. She crumples the old ones up tightly. You'd think she had something to hide.

Dirk strolls into the room, his hands in his pockets, a knowing smile on his face. He obviously feels at home. A guest would behave himself differently, I think.

Mom opens her mouth, frowning. Before she can object, the visitor raises his hand. It's a half-apologetic gesture, and at the same time, he's directing his surroundings. Even I turn to him and wait to hear what he has to say.

“Don't let me interrupt you. I just want to get my things so Sina can have her space back to herself.”

I'm not the only one who gets the impression that he means more than he says. Concern creeps into Mom's eyes and she moves so that she stands between me and him.

He doesn't let that stop him, puts a hand on her upper arm and simply pushes her aside. “I don't want to hold you up.” It sounds casual, but it comes across as an order. She picks up the dirty laundry and leaves.

Dirk stands close in front of me. So close that I have to look up at him. His presence is overwhelming. I can't do anything but look at him and wait to see what he wants from me.

"I wanted to thank you for letting me stay in your room. It makes me feel like I already know you a little bit. I'm even more excited to get to know you better in the next few days.“

”You'll be waiting a long time," I think. He probably expects me to spend time with him—which I definitely don't plan to do. I shrug my shoulders and look at him with an expression that I hope looks bored, so he realizes that I don't care about him.

“Maybe,” I reply evasively.

He brushes a strand of hair that had slipped over my eye to the side. I'm too surprised to protest the uninvited touch. My skin tingles a little and I rub it to dispel the irritation.

“If you need anything,” there's a deep vibration in his voice, “just say the word. I owe you.”

He grabs his bag and leaves without another word or another glance at me.

What was that?

Although I don't want to, I can't shake the feeling that he has ignored me. That bugs me. What do I have to do with this guy? I don't care about him. A friend of my father's. A weekend visitor. Nothing more.

Or is he?