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Probably too long. My buddies encouraged me for years to take up the women who pity me, to fuck them, to lose myself in them even in momentary pleasure. Before the accident—before her—I would have had no problem being with a woman and using her body. None. Then I met Patricia. I fell for her. I fell for her hard. I convinced myself I wanted her, loved her. That I wouldn't be happy in life if I couldn't spend it with her.
I was wrong. In less than twenty-four hours, this tiny woman has wiped away everything I felt for Patricia.
In less than twenty-four hours, Sadie has shed light on all the negative that Patricia left in my life.
Patricia was fake. Fake nails, fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake devotion. She was beautiful. But there was work in that beauty. She was maintenance, and she was proud of it. She felt she deserved it, was owed it, even. And there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing, if that's what a man and a woman agree on.
But I wasn't that man. It was a constant argument between us, the shit she did. The time she spent, the time I had always felt she wasted.
I have yet to even see Sadie put makeup on. Not that I mind makeup, I don’t. I like it, even.
I want a woman to care enough about her body to put a little effort into keeping herself. But the effort Patricia put in had been extreme. She worked part time, and expected me to supplement her salon expenses, which were weekly. I hadn’t minded the money, so much. I had plenty. I had enough money in trust from both my mother’s and father’s side, I didn’t need to work. Still, I worked.
That had been another bone of contention in my relationship with Patricia. She didn’t like that I worked. Why, she’d demanded, would I bother when I didn’t have to. And why, she persistently wanted to know, would I settle to live in a house so small when I could afford more. Better.
Sadie looked at my home like it was her most treasured dream come to life, and I liked that. I liked everything about Sadie, from her effortless beauty to her sunny personality.
She’s beautiful. Flawless inside and out. Enthralling in her simplicity. There's an innocence about her that I should not crave, a youthfulness I should not desire.
I don't even know how old she is. And me? I'm thirty-two. She's too young for me, too innocent. And right now, watching the fear flashing in her eyes, the wind howling, threatening to blow the house down, the snow pelting the windows with its soft pitter-patter like feet on glass, she's scared. I want to comfort her. I want to touch her.
I settle for giving her words. “You're safe here, Sadie.”
Her eyes flash from the window to mine, and she blushes. She blushes a lot, and I like it. A lot.
“You’re a good man, Nick.”
Nick.I like the way she says my name, softly. I like the way it rolls off her tongue. Her quiet breath giving a hitch at the end.
Damn, but I want to hear her moan my name.
Fuck my mother.
She knew what she was doing when she sent Sadie to me. She had to know.
She always hated Patricia for me. And Sadie is everything Patricia isn’t. She’s so much more. She's the exact woman my mother, with all her ideas of what would make me happy, would pick for me.
And I'm annoyed to know now that she's right.
Sadie is curled up on the couch under my blanket, and I’m alarmed to realize that I like seeing her inmyspace. I like knowing she's sitting onmycouch. I like the thought that she's usingmythings, eatingmyfood.
I want to take care of her.
“Nick?” she calls my name. I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I almost don’t hear her.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
I have a feeling I’m not going to like this. “You can ask.”
“Why are you alone?” When I don't answer right away, she hurries to continue, “Lucy—Lucy sent me an email. In the email, she says that you've been alone for a long time. Three years. I just—I guess I wonderwhy?” When I still don’t respond, she waves a hand. “You don't have to tell me. It’s not my business, I shouldn’t have…”
She's rambling again. She does that when she's nervous. I like it. I like that I make her nervous.
I shouldn't fucking like that.
“Sadie,” I start, cutting her off. “You can ask me a question. It's fine.”
