responsible, loving, tender, and faithful. Or I’ll be alone forever. Those are my only options.
By the time I get home I’m so wound up and aggravated I don’t even think to knock. I barge in and find Kent between Samantha’s legs. The lights are off in the apartment, but the porch lights flood in, illuminating their naked bodies.
I slam the door. “Don’t mind me, folks. Just passing through. Seriously, don’t stop on account of me.”
Fucking manwhore.
They do not stop. In fact they get louder. Poor Samantha sounds like he’s torturing her. And Kent, groaning, all beast in heat. I quickly change my clothes and crawl into bed. I plug my headphones into my iPhone and blast their sex noises away with some Miranda Lambert. Now she’s got the right idea. I play “Gunpowder and Lead” on repeat until I fall asleep.
When I wake up it’s still playing. I take my headphones out and set my phone on my new dresser, letting the empowering lyrics serenade me as I set to organizing my room. It keeps me busy and prevents me from picturing Kent’s thrusting, muscled body. When I’m done my room looks like somewhere I can disappear and hide from Kent’s overpowering and downright disgusting behavior.
I grab a change of clothes and a towel, then tiptoe into the hall. I don’t hear any grunting when I close the bathroom door behind me. That’s a good indicator that Kent is done punishing his latest conquest. I take a long, calming shower, washing last night out of my hair and off my body. I could probably put it off longer, but this is my house now and I should be able to walk around it freely.
Kent is the only one asleep on the couch when I come out. He has a blanket pulled up tight around him in a strangely childish position. His long, fair eyelashes touch his cheeks. He looks younger when he’s asleep. Awake he’s much older than twenty-one. He’s a destructive grown man doing grown man things. Asleep he’s an unhindered, approachable twenty-one-year-old. He isn’t worried about sex, alcohol, or chasing either. This is a man I could want. But Kent will wake up, his eyes will open, and he will overlook me for the mud pit he’s used to rolling around in.
I wonder who he is without his vices. There’s someone there. Someone who takes a chance on me, helps me move my things, and makes sure I’m safe at night isn’t all bad. His current personality came from somewhere. His vices are either hiding deficiencies or protecting them. If you’re comfortable with yourself and your life, then drinking and hooking up with different women doesn’t seem like the correct course of action. What is Kent running from?
On the other hand he could be like my father. His reasons could be mundane and devastating.
Behind me I hear a sound. James comes shuffling out of the hall. When he sees me watching Kent he smiles. He touches his ear and then gives me a thumbs-up.
I roll my eyes and straighten up, worried he saw me ogling Kent’s flawless sleeping face.
I need something to do when I’m upset. My negative mood from last night still hasn’t left me. And seeing Kent, knowing he’s probably naked on the couch, makes it worse for unknown reasons.
I find spicy sausage and potatoes, concocting possible meal options in my head. After chopping some garlic I add all the ingredients to a pan and the house begins to smell like breakfast. It reminds me of Becca. She’s a great cook. When Mom and Dad were out getting drunk she’d get up every Saturday, take her earnings from babysitting the neighbors to the store, and make a huge spread. We’d shove our faces in front of the television and talk about school, her boyfriends, and the books I was reading. For what it was worth, Becca never pushed me to date. She didn’t down my choices. She simply didn’t understand what I was so afraid of.
My fears wake up at the smell of food.
Frumpy and sexy, Kent comes into the kitchen in a pair of low-hanging black sweats. “It smells good,” he rumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.
His abs are particularly mouthwatering this morning. The trail of fair hair leading down to his nest of pubic hair almost shimmers under the kitchen lights. He rubs his jaw and hugs himself, waiting for me to respond.
“Of course it does. I’m cooking. Have fun last night?” I