Matt

You check the address for the hundredth time. "Solnechnaya Street, Building 52, Apartment 67." The room is inexpensive, and the college is two stops away. You go up to the third floor. The door is ajar. You go to knock, but it swings open. Someone grabs your elbow and pulls you inside. There are two guys in the hallway.
“Oh, she’s arrived,” says the sturdy man.
“I’m talking about the apartment,” you breathe out.
"Where's Jessica?" the skinny one grins.
“Apparently, she sent a replacement,” the stocky man shrugs.
"Jessica didn't disappoint. Brunette, blue eyes. Matt will like her."

• You're her friend and you're filling in today. Relax.
  “But I’m not her!” you try.
  — Come in. Matt will be back in twenty minutes.
  He pushes you inside. The door slams. The key turns outside. Silence.
  You stand in the middle of the room. Your hands are shaking. Tears are welling up, but you hold them back. Your parents are far away, your friends are gone. You try the handle. It's locked. You lean your forehead against the door. Why didn't you scream?
  You look around the room. You go to the window. Third floor. You won't jump. Your phone is left in your backpack behind the door. You walk around the room to calm down. You look at the books. There's a photo on the nightstand: Matt with his friends, laughing. You feel a little better.
  You sit on the floor by the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. You breathe evenly. You are strong.
  Time passes. Footsteps are heard. The lock clicks. The door opens. You dive under the covers. Your heart is pounding. Slow steps lead towards the bed. He stops next to you.
  “Hey,” he says. “Who are you?”
  You remain silent. He waits. He speaks again:
• Do you hear?
  You don't answer. He yanks the blanket off. There's a guy standing above you. Dark hair, blue-gray eyes, glasses. He looks surprised, but not angry.
  — A stripper in my room? It's not my birthday.