Justin’s POV
Brian’s mouth opens and it feels like my lungs are going to explode if I don't release my tightly-held breath. Perhaps if I never exhale he’ll never speak, we’ll never leave this moment, and I’ll live forever under his indifferent gaze. It would be better than living forever without him.
“Justin,” he says my name quietly, as if he feels sorry for me. He probably does. He probably thinks I’m weak for revealing feelings like that. For laying my heart on the table just so he can chop it up into tiny bits and feed it to me. But I’d let him, and I’d chew with a smile on my face if it meant he’d forgive me when it was all over. Just forgive me Brian…
Shrill ringing pierces the air and startles us both. Instinctively, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and unsuccessfully attempt to shut the ringer off. My nervous hands nearly drop the phone as the tiny pocket of my memory that stored information about how to use this high-tech gadget ceases to work. I want to scream and yell and chuck it onto the cement, but Brian grabs it from my hands. He hits the volume button on the side, silencing the screaming monster. His eyes linger a moment too long and before he says a word I know what he’s thinking and what he’s about to do.
With rehearsed nonchalance, he returns my phone and says through clenched teeth, “Go home to your boyfriend Justin, clearly he’s looking for you.”
When he turns to Jeep, I think about running interception as he opens the door and slides inside. I think about screaming and making a scene right here in broad daylight; I think about throwing myself in front of the car but instead I watch him start the engine and buckle his seatbelt. I think about throwing myself in front of the car as it pulls away, squealing tires revealing his anger, but I don’t. At least there was emotion, at least he was mad enough to speed away, at least I still affect him. At least…
I wander back toward campus and ponder the long-term ramifications of my temporary loss of sanity. Have I driven Brian away forever? Have I blown the shot we had at eventually becoming friends? Have I smothered the last tiny glimmer of hope that remained between us? I have. I’ve done all of that and so much more.
I want to cry, but the tears don’t come. I had Brian, I HAD him, and I lost him. I got two amazing years - albeit filled with insanity and anger and lots of other not-so-nice emotions - and I have to face that they’re over. We’re over.
When I get to school, I find an empty studio. My detour set me an hour behind schedule, but when I arrive at 8am there are still spaces to be had. I find an easel and set up my supplies. The entire morning disappears as I fill canvas after canvas with shades ranging from a depressing deep blue to a heart-breaking dark red. I finish pieces in progress and I start new ones. I work at a manic pace, not even walking away when my bladder is so full I have to cross my legs to ease the pain.
My six-hour stretch of intense productivity (like many good artists, I get the most done when I’m feeling tortured) is broken by an urgent voice calling my name, “Justin! Justin!” I finally look up to see a somewhat perturbed Ethan standing in the doorway to the studio. Have you ever had a moment when your cheeks flush with embarrassment because you realize that for a span of time, a minute or an hour, you forgot someone important in your life even existed?
“Yeah?” I finally mutter, disoriented.
“Why didn’t you answer me?”
I wipe my brush on the smock tied around my waist, “What?”
“I was calling your name and you didn’t respond.”
“Sorry, guess I zoned out. What’s up?”
“'What’s up?' is you were supposed to meet me for lunch an hour ago and you never showed.”
Shit, he looks pissed, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just…” I just what? I leave the explanation unfinished.
“You just what?”
“I just forgot. I’m sorry. Do you have time to go now?”
“No, I have class in a minute, it’s Wednesday, you know that.”
He’s looking more pissed by the minute, “Sorry, yeah, I knew that.” Fuck, I’ve been apologizing to him a lot lately. My mind is always somewhere else and our conversations often go like this. How can he stand to date someone who’s only half there?
In a moment of clarity (or is it insanity), I lock eyes with him and say, “This isn’t working.”
“What? Your paintings?”
“No, us. I’m so sorry Ethan, I guess I knew…”
His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens as he waits for me to continue. I think of crossing the room to him, but suddenly I don’t think being close to him is best, “I knew it wouldn’t work. I wanted it to, I really did. You’re so wonderful, really good to me and good for me. It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” He knows. He knows but he wants me to say it.
“It’s just impossible to have a relationship with you when I feel like I’m still with someone else.”
His eyes are blazing now, “But you’re NOT with someone else.” His words are quiet and hard and he emphasizes the “not” so that my body jerks in physical reaction.
“I
know it’s crazy. I know. I’m crazy. I know everyone will think I’m an idiot for
ending things with you. But, you have to believe me when I tell you that I want
to be fair, to us both.”
“Fair? You want to be FAIR?”
I rub my hands over my face, thinking that I might finally cry today. It’s
about fucking time. When the tears start to come they fall fast and hard,
unrelentingly wetting my cheeks and streaking my neck.
“I’m sorry. There isn’t anything else to say.”
“Don’t fucking cry, don’t be sorry and don’t fucking call me when you decide to
grow up and have a real relationship with a man instead of a child who strings
you along and only keeps you around for good sex. And I will give you that
Justin, you’re fucking great in bed, but honestly…that’s about it.”
I’d yell back, I’d defend myself, but I know he needs to be harsh. I know he
needs to hate me to walk away and not fall into despair. He needs to hurt me
more so that it hurts him less. So, I’ll let him. It’s the least I can do.
He turns and walks out of the small studio in which I’ve set up shop for the
day. As he passes through the doorway he barks over his shoulder, “Leave my key
under the mat when you move all of your shit out, it better be gone by
tonight.” The words make me shiver. But, I don’t know if it’s with sorrow or
relief.
I turn my head to stare through the window behind me, knowing that momentarily
he’ll pass it as he exits the building. I stare until I see him walk quickly
by. He doesn’t give me a backward glance. I doubt he’ll give me a second
thought. Seems to be a reoccurring theme in my life. Perhaps I leave less of an
impression than I thought.
I try to go back to painting, but I can’t concentrate and my head is stuffy
from crying. I finally pack things up, deciding to let someone else have the
space for the afternoon. Briefly, I wander around campus and decide it would be
good to go back to my mom’s and get some rest. I feel like my life’s been on
running on high for months - maybe it’s time for a break.
Walking toward the bus station, I pass a sandwich shop that Brian used to love.
They have wraps and pitas and salads, exactly the kind of healthy shit he’ll
actually eat. I find myself opening the door as I remember how good their tuna
salad always was. I haven’t eaten today, so a late lunch is a good idea. At a
little after 2
o’clock
the place is empty. The guy behind the counter smiles widely in recognition,
clearly recalling that I used to come in here a lot on the weekends
“Haven’t seen you around in a while, what can I get for you?” He asks in a warm
tone that makes me smile back at him.
“I’d love a tuna sandwich with lettuce and tomato and extra mayo…and a
lemonade,” I answer, suddenly really hungry.
“Taking anything to your friend?” It takes me a moment to absorb and comprehend
the seemingly strange question. I finally wipe the confused look off my face
when I realize he’s talking about Brian. We were always in here together and,
in his own subtle way, the attractive clerk is probably digging to see why I’m
alone today. I should answer that “my friend” and I don’t see much of each
other any more. I could tell him that I poured my heart onto the cold pavement
in his parking garage this morning and “my friend” drove off and left it laying
there. I could even tell him that I fucked up my chance at true love. I could
tell him a lot of things about regret…
Instead I answer, “Yeah actually, why don’t you make me a turkey on whole
wheat, no mayo and another lemonade. I’ll take him lunch. He never eats if I
don’t force him.” Just masquerading for a moment as Brian’s boyfriend feels
familiar and right. It warms to me pretend I’m taking care of him again. The
clerk’s face falls ever so slightly, but he goes about crafting the delicious
sandwiches without another word.
When the order is bagged and ready to go I pay him with a smile and a twinkle
in my eye. I’ve decided to not give up so easily on Brian. For some reason
standing in this little café reminded me that once upon a time I had courage,
determination, and resolve. It reminded me that when I first met Brian Kinney I
wouldn’t take no for an answer. Why should I now?
I stand in front of Brian’s office building not nearly as confident as I was 20
blocks ago at the café. Clutching two big cups of lemonade and a brown paper
bag in my hand, I look up at the high-rise and wonder if I have the balls to bare
my soul again. Could I take another brush off? Could I handle another
rejection? Guess there's only one way to find out what you’re capable of.
When I enter the offices of Vanguard Advertising I immediately feel out of
place. I’ve been to Brian’s office before, but always with him at my side, and
never uninvited. I walk up to the receptionist and tell her who I’m here to
see. When she asks if I have an appointment I tell her no. Her skeptical look
makes me nervous so I add, “Could you call Cynthia and tell her I’m here?” I
know Cynthia won’t turn me away, I know that at the very least she’ll try to
make Brian see me.
Moments later Cynthia walks into the lobby and hugs me warmly, “Justin! It’s
been too long. How are you?”
I smile back and try to embrace her without dropping my packages or spilling
lemonade on her. “I’ve been okay. And you?”
“Oh fine, you know…just slaving away for the big bad wolf,” dropping the volume
of her voice significantly she adds, “he doesn’t know you’re coming, does he?”
I shake my head nervously and try to fight back the tears welling in my eyes,
“No, but I really need to see him Cynthia.”
“Have you talked to him lately? He’s in such a bad mood Justin, I don’t know if
it’s a good idea.”
“I
talked to him this morning, so I’m probably the reason he’s in a bad mood
today. Let me try to fix it. Or make it worse.” I kind of half smile and beg
her with my eyes.
She finally sighs and pats my shoulder, “He’s in a meeting for another 10
minutes or so. I’ll let you into his office if you want to wait, but the rest
is up to you. You know he’ll try to fire me for this.” We both roll our eyes.
“Yeah, but he tries to fire you at least three times a day. What’s one more
time going to do?” I try to lighten the mood by reminding her that Brian’s
always a short-tempered asshole. An impromptu appearance from me isn’t going to
change that.
I wait in an oversized leather chair facing Brian’s impressive mahogany desk,
clutching the deli bag and my backpack in my lap. Concentrating on the lemonade-filled
Styrofoam cups, I watch as beads of condensation slip down their sides, pooling
on the gorgeous wood surface. I think about the water rings they’re leaving as
I sit idly by. I realize that those water marks will continue to mar the
perfect surface of Brian’s desk long after I'm gone.
When the office door finally swings open, the encroaching chaos makes my head
spin. I turn to see Brian moving at a frantic pace, his hands filled with
paperwork, storyboards and a binder. Cynthia’s on his heels, taking notes and
trying to warn him about my presence. Her message falls on deaf ears, but the
moment Brian sees me sitting in front of his desk, the whole world comes to a
screeching halt. I think I can actually hear the birds flying through Arsenal Park stop dead in
the air and plummet to the ground.
For a moment everything is quiet, painfully quiet. Finally, without breaking
eye contact with me, Brian whispers to Cynthia, “Please tell me why you let him
in here?”
“Brian, I…I,” she stammers.
I go to bat for Cynthia by interrupting her. “Brian, don’t. I begged and
pleaded with her and threatened to make a scene. None of this is her fault. I
need to talk to you. Look, I brought you lunch. I bet you haven’t eaten,” if I
just keep talking he might forget he wants to throw me out. “I walked past that
deli we used to go to on Saturdays and I got you turkey on whole wheat, with no
mayo. And I even brought lemonade. Remember, we love their lemonade. It’s tart
and sweet at the same time. Here, try some.”
I hold out the big white cup and the Styrofoam bends slightly in my grasp. I
feel the sweat beads slide over my fingers. I resist the urge to turn my head
and look at the stain the water made on the desk, but I don’t dare draw
attention to it. I extend this silly cup of sticky lemonade to him as some sort
of twisted peace offering. But Brian – never one for keeping the peace –
doesn't accept it.
“Keep your fucking lemonade and get the hell out of my office.” I can’t breathe
in the tense moment and feel myself having a sort of out-of-body experience as
I look around the room for Cynthia. She’s gone, though I didn’t see her sneak
out. I bet she’s perfected her disappearing act working for Brian for the last
four years.
“I meant everything I said this morning, Brian.”
“How nice for you.” He walks past me and takes a seat at his desk. Setting down
the storyboards and paperwork, he starts looking through his email and deleting
nearly every new message.
“I broke up with Ethan this afternoon.”
I see a flicker in his eye, I see something. I swear I do. “Once again, how
nice for you.”
“I didn’t break up with Ethan because I thought it would help get you back.”
“Get me back? I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you.”
My voice drops to a whisper and my gaze falls to my lap, “You know I didn’t
mean it like that. I just meant that the reason I broke up with him…”
“I do not want to hear this. I’m busy.”
And I’m persistent. “The reason I broke up with him is because I never loved
him. I might never love anyone ever again.”
”Don’t sound so damned pathetic, Justin. You’ll date a million guys and when
you grow the fuck up you’ll find the right one and live happily ever after.
It’s what you’ve always wanted and what I’ll never give you, end of story. My
couch fee for this therapy session is 200 bucks, but I guess I’ll take a turkey
sandwich. Have a good day.”
When I look up to meet his eyes, they’re almost soft. His anger from moments
ago has dissipated and he just looks kind of sad. I think my window of
opportunity has just opened.
“Do you hate me?”
“What?” He’s totally confused and kind of pissed off by the question.
“Then could you forgive me?”
He sighs loudly and puts down everything he’d been holding. He rocks back in
his high-backed, black leather, executive-looking chair and looks toward the
ceiling for a long moment. “I don’t know and I don’t care to know. Can we leave
it at that?”
My eyes start to fill with tears and I silently pray to a higher power that I
can keep my shit together long enough to get through this. Who knows when I’ll
ever get face time with Brian again? Anything I need to say better come out
now.
“So
you ‘d be fine if you never saw me again? And you’d be fine never knowing if we
could work things out?”
He clenches his jaw. “Jesus Justin, do you have to be so dramatic?”
“I just need to know. I need to know where I stand when I walk out of here.” In
a moment of boldness I get up from my seat and walk around the corner of his
desk. He backs away from me as I sit on its edge right in front of him, my legs
brushing his knees.
He puts his head in his hands and I continue. “Tell me that you hate me or feel
nothing for me or never want to see me ever again. I’ll go. Just say it Brian.”
The room is silent for what feels like a lifetime until finally I whisper, “You
never were good with words were you?”
His hand flies up and catches my wrist, holds it tightly as he hisses, “You
never did fucking listen, did you?” His fingers grip me tighter and I can feel
them leaving a mark. It’s painful in a way, but more importantly, it feels good
to be branded by Brian again.
We sit, in a stare-off, for seconds that drag into minutes as tension fills the
room. My voice sounds meek when I push the words out, “Maybe you could talk
louder and maybe I could listen harder?”
He shakes his head and loosens his grip; my heart sinks to my stomach as I
await the inevitable dismissal. He looks at the ground for so long I finally
start to get up from his desk. I’ll beat him to the punch this time and kick
myself out.
When I turn to walk away he pulls me back. I fall into his lap, sideways and
strange, but I don’t dare move an inch. My wide eyes fill with confusion as he
lowers his lips to mine. I’m so shocked I can’t move. It takes seconds of his
warm, wet mouth pressing against mine for my body to respond. I turn in to him
a little and my hand reaches up to find the back of his neck. I suck him in,
take all of him. I can’t get close enough or kiss hard enough. I can’t help
thinking this could be a goodbye kiss - what if it’s the last one I ever get?
Imagine how you’d savor moments with a lover if you knew they were your last.
The heated kiss finally breaks. My lips, already raw, quiver as he releases
them. He leans his face into mine and slips his mouth to my ear. His warm whisper
tickles a bit, “Can you hear me now?”
I nod slowly, the quiver in my lips now moving through my entire body. I
suddenly understand that he’s not going to push me away; he’s going to fucking
give me another shot. And I’m definitely listening this time around.
Being me – never satisfied, always a brat, dying to push the envelope – I have
to ask him, I have to know: “So when you said this morning that you showed me
you loved me…”
He stops my words with a kiss. It’s a good kiss, an amazing kiss…but I still
need an answer. As much as I need forgiveness, as much as I’m groveling for him
to let me back in, I’m not naïve enough to believe I’m the only person who
fucked up in our relationship. We have one issue of business to discuss before
we’re back in session.
“Brian…” I plead quietly. Finally he looks at me, for the first time since I’ve
been in his lap. His eyes belong to a different Brian now, one I used to know.
God how I missed him.
He rolls his lips into his mouth, “Maybe I’m not good with words and you’ll
know I’ll never say all that shit you want to hear, but know this…there are a
million and one ways to show someone you love them and I haven’t even made a
dent in that list.”
My eyes fill to the brim with tears, but this time I let them fall. He kisses
my eyelids before he starts a full-fledged assault on my mouth. Christ, his
tongue…the way it tastes and feels and licks and moves and swirls in my mouth.
Pure heaven. I melt into his arms and forget where we are or who we are or what
we are.
His hand, cool against the warm skin of my belly, snakes up the front of my
shirt, moving higher until his fingers find my right nipple, circling it around
and around until I moan into his mouth. I can feel his dick stirring beneath me
and I grind my hips a little to let him know I need this, now.
I turn my body to face him, standing a bit so I can straddle his lap. I climb
up in the chair and sit so that our bodies touch in all the right places. I
grind against him and search for the buttons hidden beneath his tie.
“Hey, hey,” he huffs as he pushes me away a little. My eyes fly open, but I’m
immediately calmed when I see the look of satisfaction on his face. I figure he
probably doesn't want to do this in his office, which is disappointing, but
makes perfect sense.
“Go lock the door,” he says with a cunning grin that takes my cock from hard to
throbbing in less than a second. I jump out of the seat and fly across the
office, flipping the bolt on the door. The blinds are closed and the only thing
we’ll have to be careful about is noise. Which, considering this is Brian and
me, could be a problem.
I practically leap back into his lap, which makes him laugh, “Watch out fat
ass, you could hurt somebody with that thing.”
“My ass is anything but fat, round, perfect…yes. Fat, no!” I smile so wide my
head practically splits in half. Brian and I went from anger and hurt to happy
and lust-filled in one day. I know we’ll have problems, probably tomorrow. But
for now, I couldn’t be any happier.
We kiss and kiss and pet as clothes start to come off. He moves his hands all
over my bare chest as he pulls a nipple into his mouth and tortures it with his
teeth. I throw my head back and gasp, trying not to moan as he does all of the
things that he knows make me crazy. I missed the sex as much as I missed him, I
won’t even pretend that isn’t the truth. I love Brian, but I really love Brian
in bed.
I hear papers flying when he reaches his hands around me. I kind of want to see
what the fuck he’s doing, but I’m way too busy sucking his earlobe. Suddenly he
lifts me, and my bare back lands on his hard, solid desk with a thud. I look
around to assess the situation, surprised I didn’t break the thing right in
half (he must be familiar with the amount of weight it holds, no shock there.)
The papers I'd heard were actually stacks of work falling to the floor. I just
smile as he lowers his body to mine.
“Fuck me,” I growl as he unbuttons his perfectly pressed designer pants.
“Mmm,
I think I will. I should probably fire myself for this.”
We just laugh together as his body rubs against mine. He pins my hands above my
head and starts to lick long, warm trails down my torso. The moisture left
behind cools when it hits the air and makes me shiver. He does it over and over
again until I beg him, “More Brian, more, more, more…” He knows what I want,
but he’ll torture me a little. I suppose it’s the least I deserve.
He yanks at my waist, pulling my ass to the edge of the desk. The swift motion
knocks a lamp to the floor. Our heads both twist in that direction and we sigh
in unison when we realize that it hasn’t broken. Since the phone is sitting
next to my head, the intercom buzzes right in my ear and Cynthia’s timid voice
says, “Brian, everything okay in there?” I realize by her tone that she’s
assumed Brian’s in here trying to kill me. He and I lock eyes and begin to
laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“Fine, Cynthia. Thank you.” I’m sure the sound of our laughter and Brian’s
breathlessness clued her in to what’s really going on. All I hear is “Oh,
okay,” before Brian hits a button to cut her off.
He wrestles with my pants, trying to pull them down without sliding me off the
desk. I lift my hips and lock my ankles around his waist for a moment so he can
get them off. Then I extend my legs as he removes them completely, my shoes and
socks all flying off with them.
He parts my legs and kisses my thighs. He buries his face in my crotch and
inhales deeply. I know exactly how he feels. The smell of your lover, something
you grow accustomed to, something you grow to love, is something you miss so
much when it’s gone. He takes me in, a deep breath fills his nostrils with my
scent; a long gaze fills his head with my image; soft strokes fill his hands
with my skin. I’m so jealous I could scream. He’s doing to me what I want to be
doing to him. But, just like fucking and being fucked, there are highlights to
both giving and receiving - I’ve always been conflicted over which is better.
He steadies my legs on his bare shoulders and sits in his chair. I watch his
head dip between my legs and my eyes roll back in my head in anticipation. His
tongue flicks my balls before wandering south. What on earth I did to deserve
this I will never know.
I start to shake as I feel his hot breath on my eager hole, feeling it pulsate
as it waits to be pleased. I feel the first bit of moisture, just the very tip
of his tongue as it lightly grazes me and I buck in response. “Easy,” he says
very quietly, but I hear him…I’m listening now.
He licks longer strokes, pausing to blow on the warm trails he leaves, making
me ache for more. “Please, please, please,” I chant raggedly, begging him to
come inside.
As he holds my hips, his tongue finally enters me bit by bit until it's finally
deep enough to make me gasp and twist in his grip. Within the rings of muscle,
his tongue is being clenched, pushed and pulled as my body reacts to the
delicious invasion.
He swirls his tongue, pulling it almost all the way out before pushing deep
inside on the return stroke. His nose touches the soft skin just outside of my
hole as he pushes in so far that I feel like I’m being fucked. “Jesus,” I gasp
and then remind myself to remain quiet. Yeah fucking right.
His tongues moves in, out, and all around, brushing my prostate, making me
sweat, squirm and silently beg to be fucked. He reaches up to grab my dick,
swirling the pre-come, leaking out at an alarming rate, all around the tip. I
grab his hand to stop the motion, pleading, “Not yet, not yet,”
He stands up; his tongue leaving a void that I hope is filled quickly, leaning
over me with a Cheshire-cat grin. I'm so giddy that if I weren’t so fucking
horny I might giggle.
“I’ll beg.” I state in a low, lust-filled voice.
“Go on then.” His voice is a low rumble. His voice alone is almost enough to make
me come.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, I’m begging you Brian…please fuck
me.” I say it in the sexiest voice I can muster so that there isn’t any way he
can refuse me.
He rolls his eyes as he grabs a condom from his desk drawer (I always wondered
if he kept them at work.) “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” He says
sarcastically as he kisses me. I feel his hands move between my legs as he
pulls the condom on and positions himself.
“I can think of a few things,” I smile as I lean up to meet his mouth. Our lips
touch as his dick slides in, our moans flowing into each other’s mouths,
getting lost deep inside of us.
He pulls my hips toward him, impaling me on his dick as his thighs steady him
against the edge of the desk. I take a moment to wonder if he couldn’t fuck me
right through this thing, as sturdy as it is, it might not be enough to
withstand Brian.
We find a familiar rhythm in moments. He holds my hips as I clutch at his neck,
his hair, his face. We moan, as quietly as we can. We kiss, as hard as we can.
I whimper as he touches my dick. I push his hand away again, “No.” It takes one
tiny word for him to understand. I don’t need that, not today. Just him inside
of me will be enough.
He releases my lips as his head moves to hover above my chest. Our breathing is
so ragged it takes all the strength we can muster just to perform the simple
act of inhaling and exhaling. I feel his warm, moist, breath wash over my
nipples. It’s just breath, it’s just air, but it makes me crazy.
The tip of his dick hits me in just the right spot and I let out a low,
guttural moan that's quickly smothered against his hand as he covers my mouth.
I lick his palm so that he’ll release me. I know that if anyone in his office
didn’t know what we were doing in here before, they do now. I know I should
feel guilty, but I just can’t.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters into my neck. I know he’s getting close. I can tell by his short jerks, the way his dick remains almost completely inside of me with each thrust, how his breaths are short and labored and have a little hiss at the end.
“Now, now,” I moan softly, letting him know that I’m ready when he is.
As he empties into me, I hear him struggle to contain an animal-like scream. He grunts and huffs as his body arches, and on the final deep push I come. I clench him hard, wrenching every last drop of come from his dick. I try to reach my dick to stop the come from flying all over Brian’s pristine office, but his hand is already there. I jerk under him, pumping more salty white liquid than I’ve ever seen. I gasp and thrash and bite my lip bloody, trying not to yell out in ecstasy.
When the curtain is finally drawn on an amazing fuck, Brian lifts me from the desk and sits me down in his chair. He cleans himself up, puts his suit back on, runs a hand through his hair and sprays himself with cologne from his top desk drawer. In less than five minutes he looks better than he did to start, bastard.
I sit naked, surely getting sweat marks everywhere, on his black leather chair. I watch intently as he restores himself to his usual impeccable state. I’d move, but I can’t. It takes forever for my breathing to even out, and I think if I try to stand my legs wouldn’t support me.
He finally turns to meet my gaze, “If you’re going to sit there all day I’ll have to put you to work.”
The corners of my mouth turn up, “Being your slave boy wouldn’t be half bad.”
“Who are you kidding? You already are.”
I shake my head at him and laugh softly. He tosses some of my clothes to me. “It’d be nice to have you waltz around here naked all day, but I don’t think anyone would get much work done.” I nod and start to dress myself. I think about what a strange, strange day it’s been.
“You know, this all started when I heard some dumb song while I waited in line at Starbucks this morning."
I expect him to look confused; instead he looks alarmed for a second and then calm, “That ‘everything you want’ one, right?”
Now it’s my turn to be alarmed, and confused. I nod slowly, feeling a Twilight Zone moment coming on.
He shakes his head in disbelief, “That’s what was playing when my alarm went off this morning, I never switched it back to the beep after you left…I kept the radio wake up on. I heard those damn lyrics in my head all morning. Some coincidence.”
I feel a deep shiver slowly move up my spine, making every hair on my body stand on end. “Maybe no coincidence at all.” I say quietly, trying to shake off the eeriness of it all.
We stare for a long moment and then he finally nods at me. “Maybe not.”
“Now what did you say about a turkey sandwich?” He rifles through the brown bag that holds hope for my future inside.
The End
Feedback to throughthelens78@yahoo.com