whirlwind relationship for a few weeks in the spring that culminated in…nothing,” I said. It had actually culminated in my broken heart, but he already knew that. It would do no good to revisit that. I was slurring my words, but felt pretty clear of head, so I kept going. “Do you even feel like you know me?”
He nodded. “I know you.” He walked over and unbuttoned my cardigan sweater. He pulled the remaining sleeve—the one that hadn’t been cut off—down the length of my arm and gingerly took the other, sleeveless half off, careful of my bandage. I had a camisole underneath it and he pulled that over my head. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re beautiful…” he said, pausing to kiss me. He pulled me to my feet, reached around my back and unzipped my skirt. “You know the difference between a cruiser and a regular car,” he said and kissed me again, “and you’re tall. What more could I want?” he whispered as my skirt fell to my feet. “Oh, wait. And you’re smart. A heck of a lot smarter than me, but hopefully you won’t hold that against me.”
“And I know for sure that ‘killier’ is not a word.” Whoops. As soon as I said it, despite my drug-addled state, I realized that I was having the wrong conversation with the wrong man.
He looked at me quizzically. “What?”
I decided that mounting a good offense was my best maneuver. I put my good arm around his waist and tried to pull him closer. “Do you want to sleep over?” I asked.
He looked down at me and I could see his mind working. Finally, he shook his head. “No.” He smiled.
I sat back down on the bed and attempted to take my stockings off by myself. “A little help, please?” I asked.
He helped me roll them down and pulled them off my feet. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”
“I didn’t really expect that the next time you jumped me we’d be on a dirty city street under the el, but we all adjust. What exactly did you have in mind?” I asked.
He sighed and turned back around to my dresser, not answering. “What do you like to sleep in?” he asked.
I told him that my pajama pants and T-shirt were hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The T-shirt was police issue, navy blue, and he had given it to me shortly after we had first met. He came back with them and helped me get my pants on. “What did you have in mind?” I repeated.
“Well, for one thing, you wouldn’t have a Vicodin monkey on your back.”
He had a point. I saw his eyes drop to my black bra and then come back up to my face. Thank God I had worn some decent underwear; when I had gotten dressed that morning, it never occurred to me that anyone would see me half-naked. He helped me put the T-shirt on and sat down next to me on the bed. He fished a small Ziploc bag from his pocket and handed me another pill. “The doctor gave me these. He said you could have another one to help you sleep.” He put it in my hand and got the glass of water, which I drank down in one gulp after swallowing the pill. “I’m going to call Dobbs Ferry PD and get a car out front. Then I’m going to go home, put some things in a bag, and come back. Will you be all right for a few hours?” he asked, pushing a piece of my hair behind my ear. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I’ll also get your prescription filled.”
I nodded. “What’s the bag for? Are you staying awhile?”
He smiled. “I’ll stay at least as long as the Vicodin doesn’t wear off. When you’re sober, you’re going to change your mind about everything. I know you well enough to know that.” He pulled the comforter out from under the pillows and helped me get into bed. He folded the comforter down across my chest. “Go to sleep,” he said, kissing my forehead. He stood up, thought for a moment, and then leaned over me again, this time kissing me on the mouth for a lot longer than I would have expected, given our conversation. Although my lips were numb and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, I enjoyed it.
I drifted off to sleep, caught in