Repeat - Kylie Scott Page 0,10
undoubtedly him. No tattoo designs, maybe he keeps those at the shop. Instead, these are portraits and landscapes or cityscapes. A picture of the front of his shop with people wandering by on the sidewalk. Gordon sitting outside on the grass rendered in exquisite detail. The man is talented.
Next in the house comes a small hallway with rooms opening off to each side. A similarly renovated bathroom, an office, art studio, or small spare-bedroom type space, and the main bedroom. I reach the doorway of the last just in time to have a T-shirt flung at me.
“Thanks.”
A grunt. “Lie down; I’ll get the icepack.”
His bed is huge with dark blue sheets and comforter. Through the open closet door, I can see half of the space is still unoccupied. Like a line has been drawn down the middle. We only lived together for a bit over half a year, but I guess previous me just moved out what was actually a short time ago. It’d be better if he’d shifted his stuff and taken up all of the space. Because if he’s still processing (a Doctor Patel word) the breakup, then I really shouldn’t be here. This isn’t even remotely fair to him. Then again, it’s not like I’m having the best time either.
I pull the T-shirt over my head and take a seat. Gordon stands by the side of the bed, resting his chin on the mattress. Guess he’s not allowed on. After a moment, he sinks to the floor with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes.
Ed enters with a bag of frozen vegetables in one hand, a glass of water and Tylenol bottle in the other. The water and painkillers he sets on the small bedside table, while the mix of peas, corn, and beans is gently applied to the side of my face. After this, he sits down at the bottom of the bed, well away from me. I think we both appreciate the space.
“Thanks,” I say, lying back.
He gives a nod.
My fingers twist and turn in the hem of his black T-shirt. “I like the darker colors, but all I seem to own is light, happy shit. Why is that?”
“It’s what you liked at the time.”
On the wall is a framed drawing of a woman’s back, the line of her spine, the flare of her hips, and curve of her ass done in simple lines.
“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding at the picture.
“Just a girl.”
“Wasn’t I jealous, having a picture of another woman hanging in your bedroom?”
He turns away, brows raised. “If you were, you never said anything. Then again, getting you to say what you were thinking used to be fucking impossible. Now it all just comes out.”
“I don’t mean to upset you.”
“I know. There’s no filter, huh?”
“Pretty much. Or at least, it’s at a reduced working capacity. Sorry about taking my top off before.” I stare at the ceiling with the eye that isn’t covered in frozen goods. “I heard a story about a woman who was a mediator, really good at dealing with people, getting them to find common ground. She had a bad car crash. Total personality change. She just became this nasty person who said horrible things all the time. Couldn’t help herself. Isn’t that sad?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, forgetting your life is bad enough. But not being able to rebuild . . .”
He sets his ankle on the opposite knee, getting comfortable. “You were going to tell me the other reasons why you stopped texting me questions.”
“No, I wasn’t. But since you’re asking, why not.” I half smile. “The information I get from Frances doesn’t feel totally reliable. I feel like it’s influenced by her personal beliefs and biases.”
“Like her not telling you about me?”
“Exactly,” I say. “We were almost constantly together for the last year or so and she never even mentioned your name. She says she was protecting me and would have told me eventually.”
He thinks it over. “Are you worried about my biases?”
I shuffle around a little, getting comfortable. Trying not to think about how this is the bed where our bodies used to meet in all the ways. Or at least I assume so. “Who I am, the person I become, that’s on me. But I don’t need anyone messing around with what’s left of my head. You said you’re still angry at me. I mean, you obviously are, and that has to affect how you see things, what you tell me.”
“I guess so, yeah.” He nods. “But it’s