“The bed is mine. The bed is mine. It’smybed...”
I flopped on the couch and noted how comfortable it was. I’d hired a ridiculously expensive interior decorator to furnish my modernist Spanish Colonial home. Other than the bed, which I picked out myself, there wasn’t a piece of comfortable furniture in the whole damn house.
I didn’t care if things were comfortable.
My life was uncomfortable.
Flowers picked up her shopping bags from inside the door and took them into the kitchen area, where she was efficiently unpacking them.
“What are you making me?”
“I told you, Kraft Mac & Cheese.”
“Don’t be prep..pop..pos..oster…don’t be silly. I’m not a child.”
She peaked around the corner of the half wall that hid part of the kitchen from view. “It’s delicious. It will fill you up. And best of all, it’s nice and soft, so it won’t be so bad when you’re heaving your guts up in a few hours.”
She came back into the living room with a glass of water.
“You said I can keep drinking.” I held up my empty hands. “Wait, where’s my whiskey? Did I leave it outside? That’s a four-hundred-dollar bottle of booze. It shouldn’t just be left to anyone to come along and drink it.”
“I have your whiskey,” she assured me. “Drink some water first and I’ll let you have some more.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” I muttered.
“I am when you show up at my apartment. Drunk. Then I am one hundred percent the boss of you.”
She pressed the water into my hand and took the time to wrap my fingers around the glass. Her fingers were long and thin and interlaced over mine. Other than shaking hands with people who came to the office, I really didn’t do human contact.
Her hands were cold, because as mild as a Houston fall could be, temperatures were dropping.
I sighed, my head falling forward. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I admitted.
That was certainly true enough. I’d been wandering around my empty house, standing in front of the Dauphene, wondering how much it did look like a Picasso. My cell phone had been ringing.
It always did on this day, even though my parents and sister knew I wouldn’t answer the phone.
Then of course, there were Allison’s parents. They wanted to stay close, too. Wanted to still be connected to me becausesomehow they thought it brought them closer to their daughter. Their call, I took, because it seemed polite, but it was always the most awkward conversation. It was after I’d hung up with them, that I started drinking.
Eventually, I had to leave the house or go insane. Somewhere, not there. I’d considered a bar, but I didn’t want to make small talk and I didn’t want someone counting my drinks.
Then I’d thought of Flowers.
Flowers wouldn’t judge me. She wouldn’t poke at me. She would do exactly as I asked, even if it was just watch me get drunker. Because I was her boss and she was indebted to me for her livelihood.
If it weren’t for me, she might still be on the streets. Or working in some shitty diner.
I’d never once asked her for a blow job.
I closed my eyes and groaned. God, when was the last time I’d even thought about sex? With anyone. It wasn’t that I’d made a choice to be faithful to Allison for the rest of my life. I simply didn’t care. About anything. I needed to eat food and drink water and breathe air, but that was about it.
I didn’t need to come. Physical pleasure didn’t appeal to me. I preferred the numbness.
Except lately, I’d felt that changing. There had been moments of humor. Frustration. Anger. Jealousy.
Not much. Pin pricks. As if my arm had fallen asleep and was suddenly waking up.
Tingles. I was experiencing tingles.
