A wine cooler stretched to meet the edge of the marble. Shelves occupied the space the tile didn’t, leading up to the ceiling. Olive decor filled the spaces it was humanly impossible to reach on any given day.
I lifted the top of the decanter and placed it at my mouth. I sipped slowly. The cognac began to numb my heart and head at once. Lowering the liquor came without hesitation. Intoxication wasn’t my objective, forgetfulness was.
Numbness.
Insensibility.
Carelessness.
Thoughtlessness.
I slid another glass across the bar. The cognac filled the bottom rim. At the quarter mark, I recapped the decanter and claimed the glass. The bathroom was my next stop. It didn’t matter that it was just after five-thirty. It was time to wash the day away.
Warm water poured down on me. My right hand rested on the showerhead as my thoughts ran rampant. The to-do list sitting on my office desk lengthened with each day. However, I couldn’t even begin to scratch the surface with the unwarranted scandal lingering like a bad cold.
I wasn’t sure if it was the anticipation of the images being released or the fact that they would be released troubling me most. Either way, I was suffocating from the unknown. My lack of control was humbling. I despised the feeling.
Finding out who was responsible and forcing them to kiss the butt of my bullets felt much more logical. Easier. Obtainable. Actionable. Yet, here I was, waiting for the inevitable. Struggling to keep from fading to black. Trying my hardest to keep my trigger finger moistened so it didn’t itch too often or too much.
Yes, Mr. Grayson?
I squeezed my eyes together. Everything beelined for the center of my face. There was a noticeable shift in my breathing. My heart drummed against my chest. I stiffened between the legs.
Quietly, I etched her frame in my memory, demanding it stayed for the rest of my time on earth. While I wanted to forget the last few days, I never wanted to forget her.
She’s unforgettable.
And impressive.
And tall.
And pretty.
And knowledgeable.
And mean.
And confident.
And strict.
And striking.
And dark. Just like me.
I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. A white bath towel was waiting for me. I patted my face, neck, shoulders, and chest dry before wrapping it around my waist. Two minutes after entering my closet, I’d switched it out for a pair of black briefs.
7:06p
I reentered my bedroom with my eyes trained on the nightstand. My mattress sunk under the pressure of my bodyweight. I slid the drawer open and removed the natural butter my mother supplied me with monthly. She’d been making it for us since we were kids. Our limbs were long and our skin ashed easily. She vowed to keep us moistened and she hadn’t broken that vow yet.
Her days were lighter, giving her the opportunity to enjoy the things she once discovered while in survival mode with three continuously growing boys. Like sewing our clothes because she couldn’t afford the pieces we truly wanted. Like making our moisturizer because we ran through bottles of lotion weekly. Like thrifting. Like gardening because a pack of seeds were cheaper than whatever vegetable or fruit we wanted.
There’s no one more suitable for the seat than you, Mr. Grayson. It’s yours.
I polished my skin as Royce rejoined me. She crossed my mind so often I was beginning to wonder if she ever escaped. Images of her manicured nails tapping the screen of her phone lulled me to steadier ground.
I twisted my neck, stretching it until it popped. Everything tightened at once. My vision was perfect according to the optometrist. I recognized things that belonged to me. Royce was no exception.
