She shakes her head. "No, I didn't have time to stop for anything. But I ate last night when I got home. That wasn't that long ago."
I narrow my eyes at her. "How was that not that long ago? Unless you ate in the middle of the night?"
"Well, yeah. I usually get home a little after midnight and eat before I go to bed."
"Midnight? Late night partying?"
She gives me a disgusted look. "Working. Do you seriously think taking care of you is my only job?"
Due to the extensive research Patrick Stevens did on her business, I'm well aware of how many other clients she has. Not that I want her to know that. So I hadn't thought I was her only job but I had thought that once I hired her, she'd assign her previous work to someone else.
"Wait so you’re cleaning my place until noon and then what, you go to another cleaning job in the evenings. Which means you get home late every night? When do you sleep?"
“Sleep is optional at this time in my life. Paying my bills isn’t.” Suddenly she bolts straight up. Then holds up a black thong with the tips of her gloved fingers. “Are these yours?”
Oh hell. I actually forgot I left those there for her to find. Suddenly my plans seem petty and juvenile, especially in light of what we were just talking about. But then I remember watching her walk away and into Andrew Carrington's arms.
She didn't just hurt me when she gave me my ring back. She crushed my pride by making me watch her with the guy who taunted me for being trailer trash. The guy who'd looked down on us both at one time. Before she grew up and he noticed how beautiful she was.
So I shrug, as if finding some random woman’s thong in my couch is an everyday occurrence. Then I smile knowing it’ll just piss her off.
“Well, in that case I won’t bother saving them.” She shoves them deep into the trash bag at her side and resumes looking through the cushions. She pulls out a condom wrapper and tosses it in the trash bag as well. There’s no mean looks or snide remarks but I can feel her shutting down the longer the silence stretches on.
I feel the loss of the connection acutely. For a moment, it felt the way things used to feel between us. Easy. Like we could talk about anything. It’s the kind of thing you take for granted until it’s gone. Until you spend years having unimportant conversations with people who don’t matter and remember what it was like to have someone who really heard you.
"Rissa. You should eat something. You know you get migraines when you don't eat."
She shoves something else into the trash bag. "I'm fine, Finn. You don't need to worry about me. I'm not your responsibility."
I open my mouth to say something. I’m not even sure what, but before I can get it out, the sound of the vacuum drowns out anything else I might have wanted to say.
Rissa doesn’t look my way again.
* * * * *
“Hello? Finn, are you here?”
My eyes open at the sound of her voice. Confused, I turn to look at the time. After Rissa left, I went to visit Mom and then came back home to take a hot bath. My leg was aching so took a few pain pills and let the jets in my soaker tub work their magic. I look down at my state of undress. I hadn’t bothered putting clothes back on rather had just pulled on a pair of boxers and settled in the chair to watch a little television. I must have fallen asleep.
“Finn?”
I turn toward the sound of Rissa’s voice. That’s what woke me up. My mind is still muddled from dreams and the pills. But I’m not so out of it that I don’t realize that she shouldn’t be here.
“I’m in the back. Just a second,” I call out finally before attempting to stand.
Hours of sitting have turned my knees to jelly and as soon as I’m upright, I list to the side, crashing into the dresser. Bottles of cologne shake and rattle on the top and something crashes to the floor. I grab at the wood awkwardly to keep myself upright.
“Damn it!” I want to scream at my own weakness. But this is something I’ve had to learn to deal with. My body is unpredictable now and it betrays me regularly.
Then I feel strong arms slip underneath me, supporting me. Rissa’s arm curls around my waist and she takes my weight against her as she helps me to the bed. She has me sitting before I can protest the help. It doesn’t mean I don’t resent needing it though.
“Rissa? What are you doing here?” I’m aware that the question comes out grumpy as hell and not at all the appreciative thank you that I should be sending her way.
It doesn’t seem to faze her. Once she’s convinced that I’m steady, she takes a step back. “I heard you fall.”
“I’m okay. I was just sitting for too long. But actually that wasn’t what I meant. I meant, why did you come back? Unless my sense of timing is really off and it’s tomorrow morning already.”
She smiles slightly. “No, I left some of my supplies here. Then I heard the noise. Well, I was worried about you.”
I’m not too weak to feel ashamed as her gaze roams over the scars on my chest and my bare leg revealed by my boxers. The thought that she might feel sorry for me is almost too much to bear. I’d rather have her fight me, yell at me, or even walk away before I’d ever have her look at me with pity.
“You remember what I said would happen if you stepped foot in this room?”
Her eyes suddenly turn wary. Her hands are still on my shoulders so she snatches them back. I snag one of her wrists and pull her closer. She stumbles and lands against me.
I narrow my eyes at her. "How was that not that long ago? Unless you ate in the middle of the night?"
"Well, yeah. I usually get home a little after midnight and eat before I go to bed."
"Midnight? Late night partying?"
She gives me a disgusted look. "Working. Do you seriously think taking care of you is my only job?"
Due to the extensive research Patrick Stevens did on her business, I'm well aware of how many other clients she has. Not that I want her to know that. So I hadn't thought I was her only job but I had thought that once I hired her, she'd assign her previous work to someone else.
"Wait so you’re cleaning my place until noon and then what, you go to another cleaning job in the evenings. Which means you get home late every night? When do you sleep?"
“Sleep is optional at this time in my life. Paying my bills isn’t.” Suddenly she bolts straight up. Then holds up a black thong with the tips of her gloved fingers. “Are these yours?”
Oh hell. I actually forgot I left those there for her to find. Suddenly my plans seem petty and juvenile, especially in light of what we were just talking about. But then I remember watching her walk away and into Andrew Carrington's arms.
She didn't just hurt me when she gave me my ring back. She crushed my pride by making me watch her with the guy who taunted me for being trailer trash. The guy who'd looked down on us both at one time. Before she grew up and he noticed how beautiful she was.
So I shrug, as if finding some random woman’s thong in my couch is an everyday occurrence. Then I smile knowing it’ll just piss her off.
“Well, in that case I won’t bother saving them.” She shoves them deep into the trash bag at her side and resumes looking through the cushions. She pulls out a condom wrapper and tosses it in the trash bag as well. There’s no mean looks or snide remarks but I can feel her shutting down the longer the silence stretches on.
I feel the loss of the connection acutely. For a moment, it felt the way things used to feel between us. Easy. Like we could talk about anything. It’s the kind of thing you take for granted until it’s gone. Until you spend years having unimportant conversations with people who don’t matter and remember what it was like to have someone who really heard you.
"Rissa. You should eat something. You know you get migraines when you don't eat."
She shoves something else into the trash bag. "I'm fine, Finn. You don't need to worry about me. I'm not your responsibility."
I open my mouth to say something. I’m not even sure what, but before I can get it out, the sound of the vacuum drowns out anything else I might have wanted to say.
Rissa doesn’t look my way again.
* * * * *
“Hello? Finn, are you here?”
My eyes open at the sound of her voice. Confused, I turn to look at the time. After Rissa left, I went to visit Mom and then came back home to take a hot bath. My leg was aching so took a few pain pills and let the jets in my soaker tub work their magic. I look down at my state of undress. I hadn’t bothered putting clothes back on rather had just pulled on a pair of boxers and settled in the chair to watch a little television. I must have fallen asleep.
“Finn?”
I turn toward the sound of Rissa’s voice. That’s what woke me up. My mind is still muddled from dreams and the pills. But I’m not so out of it that I don’t realize that she shouldn’t be here.
“I’m in the back. Just a second,” I call out finally before attempting to stand.
Hours of sitting have turned my knees to jelly and as soon as I’m upright, I list to the side, crashing into the dresser. Bottles of cologne shake and rattle on the top and something crashes to the floor. I grab at the wood awkwardly to keep myself upright.
“Damn it!” I want to scream at my own weakness. But this is something I’ve had to learn to deal with. My body is unpredictable now and it betrays me regularly.
Then I feel strong arms slip underneath me, supporting me. Rissa’s arm curls around my waist and she takes my weight against her as she helps me to the bed. She has me sitting before I can protest the help. It doesn’t mean I don’t resent needing it though.
“Rissa? What are you doing here?” I’m aware that the question comes out grumpy as hell and not at all the appreciative thank you that I should be sending her way.
It doesn’t seem to faze her. Once she’s convinced that I’m steady, she takes a step back. “I heard you fall.”
“I’m okay. I was just sitting for too long. But actually that wasn’t what I meant. I meant, why did you come back? Unless my sense of timing is really off and it’s tomorrow morning already.”
She smiles slightly. “No, I left some of my supplies here. Then I heard the noise. Well, I was worried about you.”
I’m not too weak to feel ashamed as her gaze roams over the scars on my chest and my bare leg revealed by my boxers. The thought that she might feel sorry for me is almost too much to bear. I’d rather have her fight me, yell at me, or even walk away before I’d ever have her look at me with pity.
“You remember what I said would happen if you stepped foot in this room?”
Her eyes suddenly turn wary. Her hands are still on my shoulders so she snatches them back. I snag one of her wrists and pull her closer. She stumbles and lands against me.
