‘Mutual’s great. Much better than going it alone.’ Feck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
‘Going it alone? Is that what we’re calling it now? Tell me, how does that work, little girl?’
Despite his gravelly tone, my cheeks heat at his endearment, but I feel that’s what he wants; my discomfort and embarrassment.
‘Well,’ I answer deliberately breathy. ‘Sex is much faster when you’re not around.’
Kai’s barking laugh reverberates down the line. ‘I’ll have to see if I can do something about that.’
‘Now?’ My god, how desperate that one word sounds.
‘Would that I could. I’m already late for a function, but next time, I promise.’
Disappointed, I murmur my farewell as he does the same, but right before I hang-up, he asks me to wait.
‘Darling, enjoy your date night for one.’Hmph.‘Please be sure to practise safe sex. You don’t want to chip a tooth.’
And with that, he ends his call.
I’m not feeling as loved-up when I walked into the bedroom in the evening to find the cat has left a little calling card on the bed.
On my side.
On my pillow.
For a moment, I consider this as Martha’s doing. Not that I think she’d shat...that. But maybe she’d relocated something nasty from the litter tray. I decide that’s not a very sane thought. Besides, that particular pile of mess is... messy.
For another moment, a very evil feeling moment, I consider leaving it for Martha to clean. I mean, that’s her job, right? Cleaning and shit.Shit and cleaning?I’m sure that’s what Kai would do.Heaven forfend, darling. Get another maid.
However, my conscience won’t let me leave this for the elderly Martha, no matter what Kai would say.
Damn conscientious conscience.
Lifting the pillow, I carry it at arm’s length to the bathroom, using tissue to try to scrape the... deposit from the pillow and into the pot. All the while, breathing through my nose and trying not to retch.
Laundry room.I strip the bed and drag the mass of bedding up the next flight of stairs to said room.Yep, the laundry room is at the top of the house. The stairwell isn’t air-conditioned, and by the time I’ve reached the top, sweat is pouring from my brow. And to make matters worse, someone has switched off the air-conditioning in the room. Even though it’s dark, the room is hot—hotter than the furnaces of hell. And why the fuck hasn’t Martha shown up? Usually, I only have to step foot in any room she considers to be her domain, and she appears. Like a malevolent ghoul, making its freezing presence felt.
Oh. God, this stinks. I’m so gonna heave.
And then think, did I feed the little fuzz-ball strawberry yoghurt?
Labneh no good for the kitteh.
This could be karma. Or it could be Martha.
I know which I’d put my money on.
