you know where the fuck we are. We’re family. You can always come back home.” She blew a loud kiss and disconnected the call.
Moments later, he pulled up to his place, slid his silver parking card into the slot, and waited for the garage gate to lift and allow him inside. Around and around he went until he found a spot on an upper level. Heading to the elevator, he pressed the first-floor button to go grab his mail and packages.
He scanned the contents of the mailbox. Most was junk mail and bills with one box containing some socks he’d ordered. With his stash in hand, he walked into the lobby of his apartment building, where he was greeted by the familiar sounds of light jazz music, the scent of fresh brewed coffee, and the faint odor of chlorine from the indoor swimming pool. A sense of comfort washed over him.
He worked out a kink at the back of his neck as he approached another set of elevator doors. He pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and stewed in his own thoughts. Taz’s words hit him hard, as surprising as that was. She doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t think I can do this.
He made it to his apartment, finding the temperature inside borderline freezing. Setting his jacket, mail and briefcase down on a small table by the front door, he adjusted the thermostat, then washed his hands in the kitchen and turned on some music.
“Alexa, play ‘Joni Mitchell’s, ‘Help Me.’” The song began to play as he poured himself a gin and tonic, then toed off his shoes. In the living room, he plopped down on the couch and took some deep breaths, smiling.
That’s her perfume. I can still smell her in here. He picked up one of the pillows and gave it a hearty sniff. Just then, he felt something hard against his back. He turned and noticed Yasmine had left the journal he’d given her on the couch.
He stared at it for a long while, then picked it up. After a moment of hesitation, he flipped through it. Without actually reading it, he confirmed she’d been writing in it and was surprised to see she’d actually filled up several pages, including even a couple drawings and sketches.
Before he could see more, he quickly snapped the book closed. Honoring his promise to her. He then ventured over to his briefcase, fished around for his phone, and dialed her up.
“Hello, this is Yasmine. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now. Please leave your name and number and I will return your call as soon as possible.”
“Yasmine, it’s me. You left your journal here. If you were lookin’ for it, I have it. I’ll bring it with me when I pick you up for dinner tomorrow. See ya later.”
He disconnected the call, returned to the couch, and turned off the music. Grabbing a different remote, he switched on the fireplace, then the television, putting it on CNN. Polishing off his drink, he slammed the glass on a coaster on the coffee table and leaned forward, clasping his hands.
Is this what I want? Day after fucking day, for years and years, I’ve come home alone. Sometimes I have women over, but I always wake up alone. By choice. I don’t blame my parents. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I’m the master of my own destiny, right? All the shit I think a woman wouldn’t understand or like about me, Yasmine does. If she didn’t, she would’ve never come over here. I don’t have to bullshit her, even if I wanted to. She knows exactly who the fuck I am. Hell, maybe I’m believing in karma, ya know? It’s coming back to bite me in the ass. Like, there’s some universal law in effect that is gonna swoop in and pay me back for all the bullshit I dragged so many through. It’ll all backfire… payback. This shit is real. This is happening. It’s not a game or a test. I am trying to get this woman, make her mine. I have demons… lots of ’em. BIG. IRRATIONAL. FILTHY. DEMONS. She’s going to see them. I can’t hide them.
I like my demons…
And I won’t stop them from coming to the forefront, marching out, showing themselves before her. They’ve already started and they’re here to stay. I just hope she can take it because I like the shit outta this woman…”
He rested his forehead on his linked hands. FUCK. I