Page 6

Three

Present

M y entire day was lost to useless questions that didn’t have answers. Cooper became my weakness. Electric desire buried deep in my soul now.

He permeated my mind, skin, bones. He’s as much a part of me as I am. A fire burns low in my belly with no hope of being extinguished. He caught me off guard. Ripped away my defenses and ate me up, leaving only a pile of half-masticated bile behind.

I’m barely getting through the days. I’ve canceled most of my private appointments and I’m doing the bare minimum at NEL. I can’t seem to reel it in, to focus. My mind is a whirlwind of what-ifs.

Nora’s noticed.

I can see it in her eyes. She’s concerned. Every morning, it takes all my effort to quell my anxiety that today could be the end of my career, and I need to do something, anything. I’m waiting for the final blow.

The knock-out.

I avoid her at NEL, coming and going during off-hours when I know she likely won’t be there. I can’t avoid her forever but I’m a terrible liar and I don’t think I could lie to her.

The humidity is oppressive. I switch on the air conditioner in my room and holler, “Flash, come here buddy.”

I wait at the top of the stairs for the telltale click, click, click of his nails before heading into my room.

Flash hobbles in and it strikes me that he’s getting old.

Tears prick at my eyes. I can’t afford to lose anything else.

I pet his ears and give him a good back scratch before hoisting all seventy pounds of him onto the bed.

I spread the wadded-up ball of paper out until it’s nearly smooth. To date, this might qualify as my weakest moment.

I fished the crumpled letter from the trash can when I arrived home from work today. I left it crumpled on the table while I ate. Stared at it as though it was Pandora’s Box. I watched TV after dinner—avoiding the news, giving the papers the side eye from the living room.

An electric charge shot up my arm when I picked them up. Contaminated, my eyes closed, letting the poisonous memories sweep through me—fill me up as I walked upstairs. I let deviant desires swell as I crawled into bed.

And here I am, blankly staring at the wrinkled pages in my lap. I could turn my lamp off, push the pages off the bed, allowing them to flutter out of sight.

But I can’t. My willpower is feeble and waning every second that ticks by. The little wicked flame he put inside me kindled by his handwriting.

I want to stress that it wasn’t just sexual for me. I adored watching all of you, not just those intimate moments that would follow. There was a time you were at home—alone. At this point, I’d made contact. Become your patient. Seeing you only once a week wasn’t enough for me. I craved more.

I was outside your house—watching from my parked car as you did dishes at your kitchen sink. You must have had music on because your lips were moving—at least, that’s what I assumed. A content smile played on your lips and then you switched off the light.

I was crestfallen.

I noticed a dim light flick on outside. I exited my car and walked around your block until—from the back street tree line—I could see your fenced-in yard. I swear my soul breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of you again.

Glass of wine in hand, you paced the back deck. A deep howl ripped through the quiet night and I watched as you lurched toward the deck rail and cursed.

Following your line of sight, I saw a fat, sausage-like dog whose big droopy ears nearly touched the grass at his paws. He bayed again. You hushed him—again.

But he wasn’t listening and your face contorted into a myriad of frustration and confusion as you set your wine glass on the deck rail and made your way down to the dog.

Do you remember that night Robin?

I had tears in my eyes and wanted nothing more than to help you in the moment, but of course, that wouldn’t have been smart. You didn’t know you were being watched.

You crouched down to his level and unclipped his collar. Your brow wrinkled as you inspected it.

Robin, you barked at it! And then when nothing happened, you pressed it to your neck. Now do you remember?

My gut twisted with the need to aid you, but the tears in my eyes—the tightness in my chest from trying not to laugh prevented me from taking even a single step toward you.

It was moments like that, that I covet; that kept me watching and coming back for more. You can learn so much more about a person in those moments than others.

Grace or lack thereof, is noticed in the handling of those mortifying moments. The ones where you’re walking down a sidewalk and trip over nothing.

Does the person drop their chin and plow forward, pretending, mortified, that it didn’t happen? Do they look back over their shoulder to look for the offending non-existent cause? Or maybe they have a good laugh at themselves and carry on.

Those who hide (or try to) those embarrassing gaffs, in my opinion, can’t be trusted. They’re hiding more—something deeper.

But those who can laugh at themselves, who can acknowledge their guffaw…those are the people in life you want to surround yourself with.

You’re one of those people.

I set the stack of pages on my nightstand.

I turn off the light after a single page, and I sink into the mattress.

Tears that shouldn’t come do—hot and free, like steam rising from a geyser.

Flash stretches out on the bed, snoring his deep, rumbling snores and twitching the way he does when he dreams of chasing something.