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When I return to the bedroom, the chair is still where I put it. He’s not here. He didn’t break down the door. He won’t, I think. I think he was as shocked at his reaction as I was.
I pull back the thick, heavy comforter. It feels nice, luxurious. I climb into the bed naked because I have nothing to wear, but I don’t switch off the lights and somehow, I drift off to sleep.
I wake because I’m hungry. Famished, in fact. The clock tells me it’s been almost twenty-four hours since I’ve eaten.
I rub my face and sit up, the events of the evening returning in vivid multicolor. How did I manage to sleep? I climb out of the bed, picking up the towel I’d discarded the night before and wrapping it around myself. It’s still raining. Still gray. It’s been raining for days. New York in the fall can be beautiful but when it rains like this, it kills me. I followed Jones here and not a day goes by where I don’t wish he’d never moved away from Colorado.
But I can’t leave him on his own. My being here, in this penthouse, under these circumstances, is evidence of that. He’s too vulnerable. Too breakable. I need to be there to put him back together if he breaks and I feel like he’s always one step from shattering.
I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, then walk to the bedroom door. After listening, making sure I hear nothing, I pull the chair out.
He told me not to leave my room but I have to. I don’t want to. God, the last thing I need is to run into him. Break one of his rules. Will he still be angry? As angry? Will he have calmed?
I turn the doorknob, wincing at the pop of the lock releasing. It doesn’t creak as I open it wide enough to peer into the hallway. It’s empty. And it sounds like the entire penthouse is empty. There isn’t even a guard stationed at the elevator.
The kitchen is at the other end of the living room. I’m just going to tip-toe in there, grab something to eat. I don’t want to admit that I’m going to scurry back to my room like a frightened little mouse because that’s exactly what I am right now. A scared shitless little mouse.
The apartment is dark. No lights are on and too many clouds hide the sun. I get to the kitchen and have to wonder if he ever eats in here. It’s spotless. Not a crumb on any surface. I open the fridge, worried for a minute there won’t be any food, but it’s stocked. Shockingly full, actually. I’m about to take out a carton of juice when I hear the ding of the elevator and my heart lurches into my throat. I’m standing there, the carton in my hand in front of the refrigerator as the elevator doors slide open. A woman steps out and if she’s surprised to find a stranger wrapped in a towel standing in the kitchen, she doesn’t let on. It takes her all of one second to smile.
“Mr. Killian said he had company,” she says.
She’s older, maybe late fifties. And behind her a man in a suit steps off the elevator. Him I recognize. He gives me a nod. It’s the man who smashed my head into the wall last night.
“It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” she says, setting her bag down on the kitchen counter while she takes off her coat. “Are you hungry?”
I’m so confused.
She comes around, takes the juice out of my hand, guides me to sit at the counter. She closes the refrigerator door.
“I’m Helen, honey. I cook and clean here. What’s your name?”
“Um. I’m Priscilla.” I shake my head. “Cilla.” I haven’t used Priscilla since...well, since mom died.
“Nice to meet you, Cilla. Now, Mr. Killian said I was to take care of you.”
He did?
“What would you like to eat?”
“Uh…I can grab a…granola bar or something.”
“Nonsense. How about an omelet?” She looks me over and I’m very conscious I’m wearing only a towel. “You’re not one of those vegetarians, are you?”
Her expression puts me at ease, at least a little. “No. I’m not.”
“Good. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make you a nice breakfast.”
“Oh.” I look around the living room for my coat, panties and bra. Find none of them. “I don’t have any…”
“Just a minute.”
Well, whatever she thinks of that information, she doesn’t let on. Instead, she disappears down the hallway and returns a few minutes later with a bathrobe.
“You’ll at least be more comfortable in this.”
“Thank you.”
She turns her attention to gathering the ingredients for my breakfast and I quickly slip the bathrobe on. I fold the towel and set it on the stool beside the one I sit on. The scent of bacon frying has my mouth watering.
