Cake Love: All Things Payne(52)

Once we are at the front door, he opens it and turns to me before I step out. "I understand Morgana; I'm not happy about it, but I understand. The only problem is I can't have you in my life if you don't want to be with me. I am not saying that to be mean, I am telling you this because it will hurt me too much to see you and not be able to touch you. I still love you and will forever be grateful you helped open my eyes. I’ll miss you Morgana."

Once I am outside his place and in the hall, I turn to tell him how I’ll miss him too, but he closes the door gently. I am left staring at blackness.

In a dazed state, I meander the hall to the elevator and decide to slowly walk the streets of Chicago in search of home. My eyes not really seeing the people, cars, and buildings as the images of the past hour race in my head. I’m numb as I wonder if I did the right thing.





Chapter 7

Payne’s Anti-Rule 1: When You Understand People You know How to Push Their Buttons.

Six Weeks Ago

"We’re better off without her. Ifyouthinkaboutit, she was just too good to be true. We need sssssomeone more real…real…listic in nature. Morgana was funny, sssexy, sssmart, and refreshingly ssssweet. Ha! That’s fun to sssay. Someone like that doesn't exist. YouknowwhatIthink? I think sssshe was just a figment of my imagination." After my profound speech, I turn dramatically, slightly stumbling, because that's what they do in movies after the hero comes to some significant realization.

As I turn, the whiskey from my crystal tumbler spills on the window I was looking out of. I watch it drip down the glass and remember only a week and a half ago Morgana smeared her lips on this exact window. I bring my lips to the liquid drenched spot and begin to lick up the smoky alcohol. Before I realize it, my mind is racing to images of kissing her soft lips. How her greedy tongue would whimper for more.

"Do you need me to clean the window sir?" Winston's British cadence breaks me from my fantasy and I realize I am making out with the window. Instantly I right myself and stumble slightly in the process.

"Not right now Winnnsston, can’t you see I’m in the middle of s-something?” I continue to look out the window at the unusually calm lake water below, needing him to leave so that I can find the nerve to turn around.

"Very good sir. Mr. Edgar Mimir is on his way up. Shall I show him in here when he arrives, or do you need some more time with your something?" His tone is as dry as usual, but I know he is mocking me.

"No, ssssend him in. Did he say whyhescoming?"

"No sir. He gave no excuse, just like yesterday and the day before that."

"Yes, well," I clear my throat still refusing to turn around, "that will be all Winston."

"Very good sir. I will take the decanter with me for refill and return it momentarily."

I hear his hard-soled shoes brush over the rug before landing on the hardwood floor, the sound diminishing until there is silence.

The decanter can't be empty already. How much have I been drinking?

"Pillow, where was I?" I glance over at the blue pillow taunting me with how it sags on the beige couch. Lazy pillow. "Oh yes, Morgana… isanillusion. Perhaps I have a… a… a split personality and I don’t realize it.” I pause to reflect in my whiskey haze the idea of two personalities in one brain. My eyes grow wide and I whisper, “Or…. Iseedeadpeople…” I glance up, startled by Edgar strolling into the room looking confident, no, smug. As if he has the best life in the world.

Look at his perfect white teeth and golden, no, flaxen hair, like he just stepped out of a Thor movie looking all...Thorish! He probably has a mighty hammer at home that can destroy pain. I want that hammer.

"Henrik, I see you are having a liquid lunch, again."

His god-like ass makes itself comfortable on my leather couch. He's wearing cream colored pants and a brown cashmere sweater, unwittingly matching my décor. Looking down at my stained gray t-shirt that I’ve been wearing for three days and ripped dark blue jeans, I look like Loki's urchin son compared to him. My pants would be fine if the rip wasn't in my crotch. To my defense, the tear happened this morning when I dropped my sock while putting it on. It took a couple tries but I got the sock on my foot; the other sock proved to be more difficult.

"Are you just here to point out factsss or is there … a reason for your visit? Last I checked, I don’t work for Mimimmiirrr… Mimi R…. Mimir..… anymore."

I watch as Winston comes back in the room, setting the full crystal decanter down on the mahogany coffee table. Without a word, he turns and exits the room, while I am fixated watching his silver ponytail swing like a pendulum. My eyes fall to the amber crystal and walk over to pick it up.

"Why don't we have lunch?" Thor, I mean, Edgar blurts out just as I reach for the bottle. My head swivels in his direction as I close one eye so that the three of him become one.

"Not. Hungry."

Turning back to the whiskey, my hand cradles its neck as I see another hand cover the top. Do I have three hands? I count, one is on the decanter, the other is holding my glass, and one is on top of the decanter. I look up the arm of the third and nod as I discover it's not mine, but Edgar's hand.

"Henrik, stop this. Are you just going to sit here and drink everything away?"

"Yes." I swat at his hand but find I don't seem to have much strength. Sighing, I stumble back on the couch, spilling the small amount of whiskey that was in my glass on my shirt.