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“So…” he shrugs. “You wanna grab a drink?”
Yeah. We’ve danced this dance before.
Felix is a nice guy and all. And he’s not unattractive. He’s actually pretty cute, in a way. But he’s really not my type. Plus, he’s my coworker.
Unfortunately, six or seven months ago, in a moment of alcohol-fueled loneliness and self-pity, I agreed to go home with him after a night out. It was probably the fourth time he’d asked, and that evening he got me at just the right low point.
Nothing much happened. We made out, and I was almost immediately turned off.
Because I’m broken. Ultimately, there’s something wrong with me.
Felix is a nice guy. He’s cute, he’s a junior partner at Crown and Black, and he’s a genuinely good person.
But.
He also kissed me like he was asking permission with every furtive stroke of his tongue, and touched me so lightly it was as if he worried he was allergic to me.
And neither of those things “do it” for me. What “does it” for me is the exact opposite. The things I want in a man and crave from him are…dark.
Not okay.
Something to be kept hidden, and never admitted to.
Bad.
I ended up leaving Felix’s apartment roughly seven minutes after I arrived, without having removed any article of clothing but my shoes. I apologized, and I swore to him it was just because we’re coworkers. But there’s been this awkward shuffling dance between us ever since.
“I would…” I venture, smiling. “But I should get home to my dad.”
He nods quickly, and his brow furrows. “How’s he doing?”
My dad, Hideo, has stage two lung cancer thanks to a lifetime of Lucky Strike cigarettes. He also lives with me, as I’m his primary caregiver these days. I make very good money at Crown and Black. But cancer treatment costs a fortune, and our insurance is a nightmare. Plus, I’ve just given almost every cent I had back to Crown and Black to buy the equity shares. So for the last year, he’s been living with me while he goes through treatment.
“He’s good,” I smile. “Thanks for asking.”
“No problem.” Felix’s brow furrows. “Fumi, I…”
“I need to go, Felix,” I say quietly.
“Yeah, no, for sure.” He shrugs too casually. “See you tomorrow, then.”
I smile and wave down a cab. I’ve been taking the subway after work to try and trim my costs a little. But it’s late. Let’s call it a luxury I can afford. It also gets me away from the awkward tension between Felix and I quicker than walking the block and a half to the 6 train.
“Night!”
Slipping into the cab and giving the driver directions, I pull out my e-reader and open up the latest Emily Shiner thriller.
“Free time” is not a luxury I have much of, between the demands of work and taking care of Dad. But when I do have a minute or two, this is usually what I do for escape: lose myself in thrillers and true crime books.
Taylor loves to give me shit for it. So does Dad. But whatever. I like being slightly creeped out sometimes—when it’s on my own terms and conditions.
I manage half a chapter as the cab weaves its way east into Alphabet City. When I made junior partner at Crown and Black, I splurged on this insanely gorgeous place in the West Village. I was even occasionally touring even swankier places in anticipation of making equity partner. But then Dad got sick and the bills started piling up and I moved into a much more modest—i.e., affordable—place in the much less glamorous Alphabet City, on the eastern edge of Manhattan.
I thank the driver and step out, shouldering my bag. Then I frown when my gaze lands on the front door to my building, which is ajar, and the lower glass panel cracked into a spiderweb design.
Fucking kids.
I scowl at the door as I step inside and lock it behind me, making a note to call the super tomorrow morning. I trudge up the four flights to the two-bedroom apartment I share with my dad. Just as I reach for the door, my blood runs cold.
