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“I can’t talk to you right now.” His voice cracked on the last two words. “I just…can’t.”
He left my apartment, slamming the door. I swallowed hard and started counting to distract myself so I wouldn’t cry.One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…I counted to one hundred and still felt shitty. I tried to think about science, about Fort’s pendulums swinging, about potential and kinetic energy. Relationships had that kind of energy. They were always changing.
But I’d worked for Goodluck for so long. I loved him. He loved me in his kooky way. Managing his art empire was the only job I’d ever known, and it made me feel like I was part of something special. Goodluck had been my world for years now, the only relationship in my life that ever worked. If we parted ways…
Ugh, I wanted to go back to Fort’s penthouse and beg him to hold me. No, I couldn’t do that. I went into my bathroom and picked up Goodluck’s unevenly melted candle. I’d have to buy him a holder, maybe a nice glass candlestick as a goodwill gift. Maybe we could talk about things, negotiate some boundaries for our working relationship. I carried my phone around all day waiting for more messages from him, but none came.
*
I went outfor groceries later in the afternoon, determined to cook dinner, but when I got home, I went straight to the couch and curled up under a blanket. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I flipped on the TV, looking for a distraction. News? God, no. Home improvement shows? A little better. I watched them tear down the walls of an old Victorian, letting my mind drift. I had feelings to process, but watching TV felt easier. Later, when I felt stronger…
My phone rang, displaying Fort’s name on the screen. A surge of excitement was followed by ambivalence. Was I angry with him? Yes, a little. My life wasn’t spiraling out of control on its own.
I picked up the phone and greeted him in a reasonably steady voice. He cut right to the chase.
“Come over. Let’s have dinner.”
I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “I’m sorry, I’d rather not. I’ve had a long day.”
A pause. “Would you like me to come over there?”
“I won’t be good company.”
“You can be any kind of company you want.” His kind, deep voice was melting my resolve to spend the night sulking. “We didn’t have time to talk about The Gallery this morning,” he said. “And I think we should.”
I hugged myself, pushing my head into the sofa cushion. “Then let’s talk.”
“I’d prefer to do it face to face.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I got off the couch and headed to the kitchen. I needed some tea to relax me. “When you’re near me, I can’t express myself the right way.”
Another pause. “Are you grouchy because you had to talk to your boss all day about candles?”
“No. He was too angry to talk to me, because…” I rammed the tea pod into my machine with a little more force than necessary. “Because I wasn’t there for him when he needed me.”
“Did you get in trouble?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Did Goodluck Weirdface yell at you?”
“Yes, he yelled at me. We had a big argument, which was really shitty.”
When he spoke, it wasn’t mocking anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was my fault you weren’t at home. I just thought…after last night…I wanted to keep you close to me, in case you felt post-traumatic stress, or some kind of drop from everything that went on.”
I watched my tea spit into my cup, feeling my resolve melt a little more. He might be dead-set against love, but he cared about me. “The Gallery wasn’t that traumatic, not really. It just…”It just made me feel even closer to you. Every time you hurt me, I feel closer to you and I don’t know what to do about that.
“How’s your ass looking today?” he asked.
“The same. Awful. I mean, I think it looks sexy, but Goodluck barged into my apartment while I was changing, and he saw the marks, and…”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. He wasn’t happy about it, and he guessed it was you that made them.” I took my tea and phone and headed back to the couch, climbing under the blanket again. “It doesn’t matter,” I said when Fort didn’t speak. “It’s my personal life, my personal business. He won’t come after you or anything. I told him it was consensual, that I liked it.”
“What did he say to that?”
I sighed. “He said my soul was crying, and my body was sick.”
“Surely he knows about kinky sex, about sado-masochism? There are enough elements of it in those photos he creates.”
“Kinky elements?” I bit my lip, thinking. “In Goodluck’s photos?”
