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I’m afraid that if I go to sleep, I’ll wake and she’ll be gone, as illusive and fleeting as a sensual dream.
Eighteen
Roxanne
When I wake the next morning, sunlight is streaming through the big side window. When I try to sit up the mother of all headaches stabs me right in the eyes. I hear my own moan echo around the room.
My mouth is dry, my stomach is trying to crawl out and relocate itself somewhere high in my chest. I stagger up to my feet and groan again.
When I stop to give my feet a moment to steady up, I look at the space under the window where Helen tied me last night.
In the softly lit dark, the shaft of light from outside made the apartment ethereal. I had been so tired and drunk that the entire experience slipped by with an essence of the sublime. Just thinking about it now my skin wakes up and my nipples pucker.
But now I’m literally seeing it in the harsh light of day. I don’t know if it’s the hangover or just plain reality, but the entire experience seems to have tilted.
I struggle my way to the bathroom. I’m not going to be sick, but my stomach is heaving. I get into the shower and the warm water instantly makes me feel better. I stand under it long enough to get my shoulders and arms loosening up, then start washing my hair.
The sound of the water pounding the glass doors is rhythmic and soothing. It’s like being inside your own little world in the shower, a tiny place where you can’t see or hear what’s happening outside. Most of us find it comforting.
Usually I would too. Especially being in a bathroom as nice as this with no checkout time or people banging on the door telling me it’s their turn.
But I’m worried. I only remember last night in little snippets. I know I was laughing too loud and waving my arms and falling off my high heels. I know that Helen was happy at dinner. I know we did a tie and we didn’t have sex.
So why do I feel so upset? Is it because we didn’t fuck? I know I wanted to. I think she did too. But why didn’t we?
And why do I feel it would be worse if we had?
I get out of the shower slowly, wrapping in one of Helens thick towels then finding her robe. If I had any money, I’d buy her a new one to make up for stealing this one from her.
I haven’t checked the time, but the sun looks high. It’s probably late morning. Helen must have gone to work. While I make a coffee, I think about texting her.
What the fuck am I going to say?
Anything I’ve got to talk about can certainly wait until she gets home. I’m not that desperate. Besides, I don’t even know what I want to say yet.
I take my time drinking my coffee and looking around. The place is still a mess and I start tidying up, just a little. I’m not good at this stuff. I decide to wash my clothes and in the stack of stuff Helen gave me I find a black pair of pants and a grey blouse that I can live with.
I’m not putting on a goddamn bra though. Nothing will convince me to wear one of those maniacal torture devices.
Finding the washing machine proves to be exceptionally difficult, until I realize there must be a laundry room or service somewhere in the building. I leave the dirty cloths in a bundle and keep cleaning up.
I’m actually shocked by how much mess I’ve made. Candy wrappers everywhere, biscuit crumbs, small puddles of champagne. I sure do know how to make a mess.
Maybe that’s all I’m good at. Making huge fucking messes. At least this time, I’m cleaning it up myself.
I find the work somehow satisfying. My mind clears as the thoughts run through it. There are things that I have to accept.
I love it here. The beautiful apartment, the safety of it, Helen taking care of me—I love it all.
I’ve never felt like this before. Even with Karen it seemed like a temporary stop. I knew it wasn’t forever, because nothing ever is.
And that’s my problem. I desperately want this to be forever.
But Helen can’t possibly want me. She’s just using me for this deal with her boss. I suppose after she’s got her section and it’s all a done deal, we’ll get a divorce or something.
Then where will I go?
The thought depresses me so much that I focus on scrubbing a particularly bad stain from the carpet. Erase myself from Helen. Just like this stain on the floor.
