And that’s the last time I want you over here.
[Text: Ophelia]
Don’t break into my house.
[Text: Ophelia]
Don’t worry about me.
[Text: Ophelia]
Don’t text me.
[Text: Ophelia]
Leave. Me. Alone.
I send each text in rapid, angry succession. When they’re done, I stare at the screen, my blood fizzling and burning inside of me.
I wait. I wait for him to give me a reason. I wait to unleash this animal snarling inside of me.
Instead…worst thing ever.
He does as he’s told.
19
Phantom.Now.
I watch the steam rise from my coffee mug.
Princess made the mug. She makes a lot of things. Mugs. Lanyards. Unicorn-populated fanny packs. And when she gifts them to me, I enjoy them.With pride.
This mug in particular is a favorite. It reads: “Grumpy Old Man.” Which is…accurate. Incredibly accurate right now. I’ve never felt older. Or grumpier.
My phone sits face down beside me. If I turn it over, I might be tempted to text her back.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
She put up boundaries, and she needs me to prove I won’t cross them.
As impossible as it feels.
Ophelia might as well have carved her texts into my skin. Her words itch like fire ants across my body and I can’t shake them free.
The sound of slippered feet shuffling across the floor gets me to lift my head. Princess walks into the kitchen. “Morning,” she says.
“Morning.”
Her blonde hair is pulled apart in her signature pigtails. She’s still in her pajamas, a lengthy robe patterned with Anime creatures. It’s from a TV show she likes, and she tried to tell me the plot once, and I listened and nodded, but nothing stuck. Still, I like the way her voice lights up when she talks about it.
“I have a present for you,” I tell her. I remove the progesterone prescription from my pocket and hand it over.
“Merci, monsieur.” She puts it in the pocket of her robe before helping herself to the pot of coffee.
Princess and I divide the house; I live in the basement apartment, she lives upstairs in the attic. Her “princess nest.” Years ago, I found her while I was working with the street team—a band of volunteer medical professionals who walk the streets to provide medical care to the unhoused. I took her in. Gave her a place to stay. And she’s been here ever since, helping me run the club. We take care of each other, in our own ways. For a while, I thought her platonic company was enough to fulfill my need for companionship.
