There was an unmistakable metallic scratching of a key entering a lock. She looked at the door. The handle turned.

She expected to see Mary and Brian - maybe they felt bad, maybe they returned early to pick her up… - or the hotel staff. Instead, there was a man. With a suitcase.

He was so tall that he had to bend forward a bit to avoid hitting his head. He stepped in, this unknown man, he pulled his luggage inside, he closed the door and happily sighed as he shook off his blazer and hung it up - and all of this in her plain view. She watched, mouth agape, as he kicked off his shoes, one of which landed straight on top of her little Vans.

“E-excuse me?!” she called out.

No reaction. He didn’t even seem to notice her as he walked in and pulled his suitcase inside. He walked towards the coffee table, and she stood up, shaking, as he approached, and then he simply pulled out a keychain and a smartphone out of his pocket and dropped them on top of the table, right next to her. There was no way he didn’t notice! No way!

“Excuse me!” she almost screamed as he turned around. She saw him carelessly kick her suitcase shut and then he pushed it under the bed with his foot. He pulled up his out suitcase, opened it up and started pulling things out, clearly intent on occupying the room. Her room.

“You can’t do this!” she called out to him, stamping her feet in place and feeling utterly powerless. “I-I live here for now! Stop! Leave! Please!”

She was only shaking air fruitlessly. He kept on unpacking. The outrageous display continued as he opened up the closet and pulled out the drawers, some of which had her clothing in there already. Cynthia watched in shock as he pulled everything out and flung it to the floor, including a nice evening dress that she brought to accompany Mary and Brian to classy bars. Everything thrown down… and then carelessly walked upon as he kept unpacking.

It was then that the phone rang. It rang with this old-timey zing and for a moment Cynthia had hope that this is the hotel calling to tell the guy that this was a mistake and they put him in the wrong room. The man picked up the phone. She couldn’t make out what was said on the other side, but she did clear his replies very clearly. He had a deep voice and spoke with a light English accent.

“Yes?”

….

“No problems at all, thank you”.

…

“Seems fine to me”.

…

“Will do”.

…

“No, don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll understand. I’m assuming I’ll end up talking to them today. Which room did you say that was?”

…

“Five ten. Got it”.

Cynthia’s blood ran cold when she realized that five and ten was the room number for Mary and Brian - which could only have been mentioned in connection to her. She called out to him again, jumping up and down on the table, but he still didn’t pay any attention as he finished unpacking and took his toiletries into the bathroom. On the way there he stopped, looked down on the floor, leaned down, picked up a nice woolly sweater that Cynthia brought, and took it to the bathroom, too. She couldn’t believe it. What the fuck?