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Feeling cool marble under my feet, I walked the room again, meditatively this time, counting backwards from one hundred as I walked. A method Theo had taught me to keep a handle on my anxiety.
It wasn’t too bad, but my mind just had a way of running away with itself, in what Theo called ANTs, or Automatic Negative Thoughts. I had to squash the ANTs and think clearly.
Things might not be okay— neither of us was gullible enough to believe in that “manifesting desires” bullshit— but we’d at least be best positioned to be able to handle whatever happened.
Right, so, I was voluntarily in a house I’d never been in, owned by a man who was cold at best, for an unspecified period of time. Not the worst situation I’d ever been in.
Sitting on the beautiful bed, my legs dangling over the side as if I was on a ski-lift, I focused on happy thoughts, wondering what tomorrow would bring, now that I was locked down with a handsome, rich, older, yet mysteriously reserved rockstar.
Chapter Four – Adam
My stack of new records was in the trunk, divided into three separate piles for easier storage. One by one, I carried them in, doing my best to ignore the bedroom door as I went through the front room, up the stairs and into the safety of my own domain.
Space was good— both the physical and mental varieties. Keep things uncluttered and you’d be less likely to get confused.
I didn’t like being confused, as it tended to get me frustrated. People were messy and I preferred to avoid them for the most part. Yet they always found their way in, somehow.
For all the tax-exempt billions in the Vatican Bank, I couldn’t fathom what I’d been thinking when I’d volunteered to let someone stay with me. My hand had gone up as the question was asked, like an automatic reflex.
It was a habit I’d picked up in school, where I thought being smart would translate into being popular. That idea only led to one of many disappointments that followed it.
It was then, or soon after, that I decided it was best to keep my head down and focus on my own business. The scar above my left eyebrow, birthed from a rock thrown at my head, was a constant reminder of that goal, in addition to putting me off of most of humanity for life. Certain exceptions were to be made on a case by case basis, of course.
Everything felt better once my new records had been added into my collection. I’d been told that a couple members of Loki’s Laugh—another of Seth’s bands that was signed with the Suspicious Activity label— had similar “listening rooms” in their places, too.
Sometimes it was just nice to sink into a comfortable chair and let the sonic bath wash over you. Particularly in my case as the record player in the room was one of those with an automatic turner, so I didn’t even have to get up to switch sides. A turned to B naturally as rolling over in the night.
The songs came as fast as I needed, and then started again. If only the rest of my life was so predictable.
The melodies wafted, enveloping me in their warmth. It was almost enough to let me forget the mistake I’d made. I’d never had anyone else living here with me before and at best wasn’t used to it.
A reasonable counter argument went something along the lines of: If I’d never experienced it, how did I know I didn’t like it?
Then again, I’d never been whipped bloody with razor wire either, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like that.
I was something of a cynic, to be fair.
Irksome as it was having another being in my house, and a human one at that, I couldn’t deny that she was easy on the eyes. Her curves alone were enough to cure most bad days. Not to mention her transcendently pretty face and soulful eyes.
I could only imagine what might have been lurking between those thick thighs of hers. Warm, tender sweetness just waiting to be tasted.
I told myself to stop thinking about her that way. Petra was a guest and under my care. It would break every moral code I had if I was to take advantage of her. Unless she really wanted me to, of course, except then it really wouldn’t be taking advantage of her so much as seizing an opportunity— one she herself presented to me.
That was an entirely different sort of thing— assuming that any such invitation was forthcoming. A true matter of mind over libido, I dearly wished I would never have the opportunity to find out what I might do. Things would be so much easier that way.
Resurrected like Lazarus, I zombie walked to the rest of the second floor, making for the stairs at a good clip. Something I hadn’t really taken into account with the sleeping arrangements was the kitchen was downstairs.
