Eric’s flight had left New York the previous night and was scheduled to land around eight in the morning. I’d e-mailed him directions on how to get to my flat. I hadn’t been lying to Addison when I said I was nervous, but I wasn’t nervous about what I planned on doing to Eric, I was nervous about the time we needed to spend together before I put my plan into action. I knew that he’d probably want to have sex as soon as he arrived, and I was steeling myself to go through with it. I told myself it was a test, a way to see how I really felt about him. I knew that being with Eric would never change my feelings about the way in which he had betrayed me, but I did wonder if it might change my plans to end his life. I doubted it, but it was a way to find out. And, if all went according to plan, Eric would only be around for another twelve hours. I could manage.
The buzzer sounded at nine thirty, and I walked up the brief flight of stairs to the chipped marble landing to let him in. He looked tired and wrinkled from the flight, his hair sticking out in the back. We hugged and kissed, and I led him down to the basement flat, showed him around. “You must be exhausted,” I said.
“I am, but I don’t want to sleep all day. Maybe I’ll take a nap, and then we can go somewhere.”
“There’s a good pub down the street. The Bottle and Glass.”
“Okay. Just let me sleep. One hour tops, and only if you join me.”
I told him to get into the bed and I’d join him later, hoping he would fall asleep. But after he entered the bedroom, and after I’d killed fifteen minutes by slowly making myself a cup of tea, I decided I actually did want to join him. It was not just a test—it was a way of saying good-bye. I entered the small dark bedroom; Eric shifted under the covers and I could hear his steady breathing. I took off all my clothes and slid in behind him. He stirred but didn’t wake. He was naked, too, and the feel of his long warm body against mine didn’t make me cringe the way I thought it would. I ran a hand along his hard chest, down his flat stomach, and touched his penis. He instantly became hard, mumbling something into the pillow that I didn’t understand, then slowly turned toward me. I spread my legs and moved him between them. He began to say something but I pulled his head down so that it was beside mine. His hair smelled unwashed but good. I guided him into me, then pulled the sheet and blanket over our heads, and we made love in that smothering dark cave, neither of us talking, moving together in a slow, sleepy rhythm.
He fell asleep again after we finished, and I slid away from him, pushing the sheets down around my waist. The cool air felt good against my naked torso, my skin damp with sweat. I thought about what I planned to do to Eric later that night, and tried to feel bad about it. I compared him with Chet, who wanted to have sex with a child, but at least Chet didn’t pretend to love anyone. Eric was bad through and through, someone who would go through life taking only what he wanted and hurting the ones who loved him. I had handed him my love—my life really—and he had treated each with disdain.
Eric woke, disoriented and starving, a little after noon. He showered and dressed and we went out to explore my neighborhood. I took him to a takeaway spot and we bought sandwiches and drinks and brought them to a small park called Rembrandt Gardens that abutted a canal. It had stopped raining, but the skies were still low and dark, and water dripped from the trees and puddled everywhere. I spread my jacket along a wooden bench and we sat and ate the sandwiches, finishing them just as a sparse rain began to patter at the leaves above us. “Sorry for the weather,” I said.
“It’s pub weather,” he said.
“Ready to get a drink? The Bottle’s not too far from here. No attempting their beer challenge, though. That’s all I ask.”