Was I disappointed he didn’t show up today? Honestly, no. It would have added a layer of awkward to an already stressful day. Plus, I had plenty of other people to help out.
Was I disappointed that he’d volunteered to help and forced an expectation on me I hadn’t asked for? Yes. Yes, I was.
But I was even more disappointed that he hadn’t bothered to text until the evening. It seemed like he didn’t think Adleigh and I deserved a considerate heads-up text or simple explanation. He’d assumed we were fine based on zero evidence and acted in his best interest.
That only reinforced my belief that he only ever acted in his best interest, but I tried not to be too cynical about it. Because alas, this was only one tiny mistake. And I strongly believed people should be given room in relationships to make mistakes. It was going to happen. No one was perfect, blah, blah, blah.
But the disappointment still hurt. And Adleigh’s disappointment was even harder to face.
I set my iPad up in the kitchen, turned on a Netflix binge, and unpacked the kitchen. Finding homes for dishes and pots and pans, silverware, organizing the knife drawer, and setting up my coffee bar was therapeutic. This kitchen had so much more room than my last one.
By the time I’d broken down the last kitchen box and stacked it in the middle of the floor on top of other empty boxes, it was well past two in the morning. I washed my hands in the sink and splashed water on my face because I felt covered head to toe in grime and cardboard dust.
The night had settled down. A few cars were on the street below, and distant voices and laughter could be heard as people walked down the street. But Craft and the other bars were closed by now.
I took a minute to soak in the quiet, the way even this bustling part of the city tucked itself into bed. There was a quiet humming from the refrigerator and a cricket somewhere outside.
Bolstered by my long nap, I decided to explore. The apartment came with keys to the bar, accessed by an adjacent staircase. I slid on some slides and grabbed my phone, then went to see if I could really get in without leaving the building.
Sure enough. It took me exactly thirty seconds to get from the top floor to the kitchen. The key worked. The alarm was directly to the right of the door—although it wasn’t armed yet. And my commute to work was exactly—
AHHHHHHH!
“Ow!” Charlie yelled when he was hit in the head with a set of keys.
“Oh my God! Charlie! Stop creeping up on me.”
I was bent in actual half, struggling to catch my breath. I’d been standing there like an idiot, and he’d popped his head out of the office like a serial killer. And then the keys—
“Oh crap! You’re bleeding!”
“I’m what?” He patted his body until his hand came away wet and red. The keys had sliced his temple right open. At least he’d had the foresight to duck from my attack. I’d been going for his eye.
He stared at the blood and swayed a little.
“You can’t... you’re... oh no!” I rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “Come with me,” I ordered. He listened, but he was increasingly pale, like the color was leaching out of him in waves.
I dragged him into the kitchen and pushed him against the sink, so the ledge supported his weight. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and turned on the hot and cold water until it was nice and warm.
“Charlie, I’m so sorry.” I wetted a paper towel and held it against his temple, then I wet another one so I could clean his injury with soap. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought everyone had gone home.”
“I was closing up,” he said.
“I can see that.” I grabbed his hand again and brought it up to his temple. “Here, hold this.” He turned the exact pallor of a ghost. “Don’t look at your fingers. Just hold the tissue against your head and don’t look at it.” He nodded weakly. “Gosh, I forgot about your thing with blood.” Although I shouldn’t have. We’d nearly come close to killing each other when he had appendicitis several months back. I’d had to practically drag him by the ear to the ER. He hadn’t wanted to go because he had an irrational fear of seeing blood.
Not bleeding, mind you. Just seeing it.
He was planning on rolling the dice with his appendix if it meant he could avoid any risk of seeing blood.
I added a few pumps of soap to my wet paper towel, and then very carefully, so he couldn’t see, tucked the bloody paper towel he was using to stanch the blood flow behind him.
It had mostly stopped bleeding by now, but the keys were dirty. It needed to be clean.
Leaning close so I could avoid getting soap in his eye, I very carefully dabbed the cut until I was satisfied he wouldn’t get a staph infection. I went back in for another round because honestly, I couldn’t be the reason Charlie ended up hospitalized, surrounded by his worst fear—spontaneous bleeding.
He would never forgive me.
I let out a shaky laugh when the reality of what had just happened hit me. “I’m so sorry,” I said, trying not to laugh harder. “You came out of nowhere.”
