What Lovers Do(94)

Ben died and I lived.

The problem: I wasn’t living. I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t changing the world.

Over four years later, everything around me remained black and white with the occasional splash of color that quickly faded. I’m not sure if it was grief or guilt, but everything around me, everything I held dear—family, friends, my favorite city by the bay—became suffocating.

So I left.

Lake: Nothing to tell. He’s 2.5 x my size. Looked at my boobs and my leg then said, “Bummer.”

Lindsay: To your boobs or your leg?

Lake: Lol, my leg. I hope.

Lindsay: A guy that size could break you. I don’t think a relationship would work if he could never give you more than just the tip.

Lake: Thx for going there.

Lindsay: Anytime. ;) Gotta run, babe. Keep me apprised and don’t think about God or Ben in Heaven when you’re getting yourself off. Too weird.





Soundproof walls my ass!

Apollo liked his music deafeningly loud, with an extra side of bass, and he liked it during the hours of my best sleep.

bang bang bang

I rapped my fist against his door until my knuckles protested such aggression.

The door eased open. His manly pheromones, cologne, or over-all sex appeal wafted in my direction. I breathed out of my mouth to keep my brain from liquefying. He brought a tall glass of something that looked like blood to his lips and took a slow sip before licking them.

“Sup?”

“Sup?” I planted my fists on my hips. “What’s up is I’m trying to sleep and it sounds like you’re running a nightclub in here! Am I seriously the first person who has complained?”

He held up his glass, uncurling his index finger from it, and then he turned, disappearing around the corner. I took a step inside, straining my neck to see where he went.

Stark white walls. He needed a decorator. Then again, the walls probably had ten coats of stain-blocking primer on them to cover up the blood. Rumor was the previous tenant shot his wife in the head, then himself. I figured that’s why the place sat vacant for so long. Who wants to live in an apartment where a murder/suicide took place? Talk about bad chi.

I made a mental note to offer my services. Peacock blue. He needed the window wall painted peacock blue with pewter blinds. The music cut off, and I shuffled back into the hallway.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

My eyes narrowed. “The music. It’s too loud. You’re waking up the whole damn neighborhood.”

There it was—and no less brilliant than I thought it would be—a smile. Large, perfectly-aligned pearly whites. I sort of had a thing for smiles.

“Listen, Stick … it’s eleven-thirty in the morning. I reckon you’re the only one in the neighborhood still sleeping.” He took another sip of blood.

If he knew what had happened in that apartment, he would not have chosen beet juice, or tomato juice, or whatever the hell he had in that glass.

My nose wrinkled at the glass then my eyes shifted to his. “Did you just call me stick?”

He nodded once, his gaze making another assessment of my whole body. “Angry Bird, huh?” He shrugged. “Fitting, I suppose. But that shirt is the worst fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Yes, I wore Angry Bird women’s boxer shorts and a 49ers T-shirt.

“What’s wrong with the 49ers?”

“You’re in Minnesota Kings country. That’s what’s wrong with them.”

I shook my head. “It’s a nightshirt. And who cares? It was a gift. I don’t follow football.”

“Are we done, Stick?”

“Why are you calling me stick?”

“Why ya sleepin’ at 11:30 a.m.?”

“I work nights.” That was a stretch of the truth.

He grinned, an enticing one that made the rest of my body wake up, even if my eyes still needed the sleep rubbed out of them. I wanted to climb him like a tree and—

“Doing what?”

“What?” I shook my head. I was halfway up the tree. “Oh … video chatting.”

“Porn?”

“None of your business.” I huffed. No. No was the answer. Why didn’t I just say no? Did I want him to think I liked porn?

Resting his shoulder against the door frame, he sipped his drink again, then smirked. “Now I’m curious.”

My chin jutted forward as I narrowed my eyes. “Are ya, Apollo? Are ya really curious?”

“Apollo?” A boisterous laugh rumbled from his chest. “As in Creed?”

“What?” My eyes narrowed. “Creed what?”

“Apollo Creed. Rocky?”

“Rocky?” My head tilted to the side, eyes still narrowed.

“For fuck’s sake, Stick. Please don’t tell me you’ve never watched Rocky.”

“Boxing movie? No. I have not.”

“Then why the hell are you calling me Apollo?”

“Well, you have not told me your name. And you’re well … um … fit of sorts. Strong looking. Not exactly ugly. So Apollo came to mind. You know … mythical god, son of Zeus?”

He fisted his free hand at his mouth.

“You’re laughing at me?”

He shook his head, but his massive fist still wasn’t big enough to hide his grin. “See the color of my skin? Do I look Greek to you? If you must call me Apollo, let’s go with Creed, even though I’m not a boxer either.” He chuckled a little more.