“Give me a break,” Lucius sneers over from a cedar beam he’s currently leaning against in the study. “That’s so fake.” But to Lucius’s horror…
Josephine says, “Oh, Drake, I’m not mad at you.”
“I am,” Lucius braces his stomach.
Josephine travels over toward Drake, hunching over comforting knees.
“Baby,” Lucius pushes from his leaning position. Every muscle in his back and gut tenses. “Get away from him.”
Drake pouts mournfully. Bitterly grabbing onto an upper dress strap now inches from his chest. Squeezing closer to her and crying harder.
Lucius bites his fist.
A smooth touch rubs across her back, a diversion drowned out by wailing in her ear. He changes position under the guise of simply hugging her for counsel. He presses an ever excited pelvic against a silky dressed thigh. He sobs louder, “I have no one, Jojo.”
A little squeezed in, Josephine taps his back. She’s clutched firmly. “It’s okay,” trying to stretch her chin, squeezing through a small opening over his shoulder for air, “I’m here.”
“Everyone leaves me,” gliding his paws over her bottom back. Smooth skirt material grips between studious fingers. He presses harder, elevating his arousal… and goal.
Josephine can barely concentrate, “You’ll be okay.” She clears her throat. In her mind, stretching her arm around him would help to alleviate some of the pressure over her ribs. But would it be rude to seem uncomfortable when he’s crying? Just as she finds a little wiggle room for circulation in her rotator cuff, he clasps her waist between the crease of his thighs, keeping her from moving freely. His weeping disguises every bit of his purpose. Somehow, she feels insensitive to say otherwise. His sobbing. His body language. His recent testimony of disastrous life circumstances. She says, “I’m not going anywhere,” hoping it’ll buy her a breath pretty soon, “You can depend on me. It’s okay.”
Drake manages maneuvering under her dress with every tussle of her pretending to hug him while getting comfortable. He raises paisley material over his pants.
Lucius solidifies with a step closer, placing his swords back, searching for another alternative to keep from breaking laws. Breaking laws and making him lose the permission he seeks so badly. His eyes are scanning for any substitute
and
Drake makes a move, placing lips against her neck. His breathing changes. His sobbing transpires into a subtle moan. “Thank you… for…”
Josephine pats his shoulder, “Okay, Drake,” somewhat more than uncomfortable with hostage hugging, “you’re okay.” When she tries pressing away from him, she’s snug in his grasp.
He heavier breathing covers over her, pressing her against him, “It’s okay,” he asked. “Is that what you said,” stroking warm, bare skin of her thigh.
Her eyes broaden, “Stop! Drake, stop,” and she tries pushing him away.
Crash
Pebbles and seashells blast like fireworks from the banister. A shattered rock filled vase glimmers over living room flooring and rug. Shards and glassy dust litter a once quiet and clean area, partially over stairs and entryway. Clear from the bathroom and all the way to the front door. Drake jumps to his feet, “What the hell was that?”
“My vase fell…” Seizing open opportunity for air and space, Josephine races a small trail around glass from Drake, “It was the one from on the loft up here,” gathering at least seven steps upstairs from him. More thankful than anything for the mess.
Drake asks, “Where’re you going?”
Two breaths from nearly hyperventilating after the episode and her thoughts are clearer. She says, “I told you I don’t like cuddling. I’m sorry if you’re used to it. That can’t happen again. I said stop. I meant it.”
His arms drift through pseudo-apologies, “Sorry, Jojo,” pleading as a blameless victim, “I thought that’s what you wanted. You said okay.” He wipes a dry cheek, “Hard to know what anybody wants anymore…” cupping hands together like sharing a broken heart out toward her, “… because I’m so sad. I’m so sad all the time. I don’t know what people want from me. I thought you wanted that when you held me… and… I didn’t know what to do. You said it was okay. I thought…”
Guilt never felt so heavy. So out of place. But it is what happened. Or what she saw. Her expression carries into a different direction, “I didn’t mean like that,” sheepishly gazing down at him, “I’m sorry you misread. That’s not why I was holding you.”
His voice, like daggers, continues, “I didn’t instigate anything when I walked off. I’m innocent. You… were touching me. You knelt down when I was getting away.” He pats his chest, “What am I supposed to believe? All I am is used by people, and can’t tell the difference anymore. Like I’ll never be more to anyone. Just used. A piece of meat.”
Josephine’s heart thumps in her stomach. Heaviness and guilt thin the air in her lungs. Her expression speaks when her lips won’t. “I was… just…” she swallows a whisper, “being nice.”
A millisecond of study, and Drake’s vision lowers, arresting her reflections toward shards stretched across the rug, allowing her a moment to witness the mess he stands in. Somehow all of it is her fault. He says, “I’ll always be a victim of trying to make people happy I guess,” successfully labeling himself before Josephine’s mind could even fathom such a construct. And he continues, “I’m lonely, Jojo. Just a lonely guy,” forcing his expression to meet hers. His voice lullabies his final statements of encapsulating a perfect crescendo. An amazing performance of being a harmless victim, “I’m gonna go to bed by myself, like I always do.” His gaze steadily descends downstairs from the bottom of her dress and back onto the shards. “Maybe I just had too much to drink. Or why I’m acting so sensitive. You’re just being nice. What do I have to complain about?” As if, heroic in saying. A jab of a testimony.
But it worked. All of it. Josephine stands stunned by her actions.
I must look like a user, she thinks, a tramp. He was willing to give himself away, her eyes fell, just to make me happy. I must sound so cruel, so…
He breaks through her thoughts, “I gotta wake up early anyway for a delivery,” shoving his defense deeper, “Waking up another day. Knowing I’m there for others in need. Their hero. At least, they’re too young to break my heart… like the last woman who killed me inside.”
Josephine squeezes her lashes tightly.
“Sorry,” he studied her. “I’ve had too much wine. Must be it. My fault. I misread. Just a fool thinking of you holding me like that…” championing a soft baritone voice, “on your knees. Between my legs. I need to say goodnight, before I give anymore of myself in trying to please someone else. Or look stupid the next day… having made my last mistake. My last nail in a coffin already too studded to count. Let’s forget this whole thing. I’ve already forgiven you.”
Part of her wants to say thank you. Silence drops the temperature of the room, staring off in opposite directions. Steadily, Josephine climbs her staircase, realizing she’s too embarrassed to respond. Too guilty from misleading a lonely man. Partially feeling dirty and wanting to wash it off. Seems a growing list of men she’s tormented when thinking of Lucius. Her feet feel weighted down over that last top step. Drake memorizes from the corner of his eye. She’s tiptoeing over loft, trying to make herself invisible from supposed regretful misleading. The master bedroom door latch fastens quietly.
“Trick,” he whispered under his breath, “Such a tease.”
◆◆◆
Josephine hides behind shower glass, washing her day off. Lathering away awkwardness into a faint subtle step of mistaken identity. Her gathering thoughts meld together.
But I didn’t do anything, she thought. Glad that’s over with.
Warm soapy water soothes her from the inside out, allowing frayed nerves to finally calm enough to sing an old hymn. Granting her some comfort.
Lucius stares at her bed, “Bless his perverted heart,” his mild fo
rm of Texan cussing slipped. A bit lip and a swallow of mild indigestion finally subsides, listening to her humming voice. He leans against the wall watching swaying curtains massaged by wind. I love her voice, he thinks. He relaxes in her melody. Much quicker than he thought he would. He’s half a chorus in when he realizes, “She’s keeping me accountable,” placing twirling daggers back into quivers, “Without even knowing it. God, I need her.”
Josephine stops halfway through her hymn when crying ensues, engulfing a sweet melody with tears. “I miss you. Lucius. I miss you so much. Please say I didn’t treat you like I was a cruel woman. Please say I didn’t make you lonely. Or feel used.”
“Never…” His head hangs, squashing lids together as if anchoring in place. “My breath isn’t wasted because of you.” He’s almost in the bathroom from want of holding her. In want to transfer his thoughts. Pour peace upon her. “Don’t you dare step in there,” he tells himself. “Give her a minute.” His heart is struggling to countdown backwards from ten. “Give her a minute,” and then he starts counting back over from twenty-five. He’s at fifteen and…
as gentle as the sun’s rays dance along his cheeks in the morning,
he exhales from how she does this…
the miracle of her always knowing — without knowing. Humming a comforting melody like a mother over a wounded child. His breathing quiets in turbulence, “She’s milk to me,” bringing him back into solace. A balanced state of mind.
“Do you remember this song,” her voice sublime, “You were singing it when you stayed.” And carries on as though she speaking to him. Answering for him, relaxing her muscles quicker than warm sudsy water.
“She’s okay,” arching his back over walling, “She only needed a minute.” His thoughts climb down from a border. A boundary set in place for his safety… and hers. “It’s because of him. I’m on edge,” exhaling, “Those jerks made a clever move with him.”
◆◆◆
In the midst of his secret moment, shuffling feet make headway outside her door. Lucius glances over, but Leo is already resting in his spot on the sewing table. “No way,” he uprights, watching shadows of someone sneaking toward the knob. “Does this guy wanna die a gruesome death or something?” Quickly redirecting his thoughts, “Not by me… ugh… he’s testing my loyalty to law and order.”
Josephine rubs conditioner through her hair, rinsing out suds, combing tangles with her fingertips. Lucius soon gazes at her silhouette just beyond misty glass, “She’s in the shower. Wait,” and glances back toward moving shadows from under the door, “That little perverted turd,” biting his lip. “Not happening.” Lucius grabs rolled up vacuum cleaner cord against the desk, wrapping a knot around dresser handles. He pulls it taut and squats over the porch’s roof, waiting outside her opened window. “Is it bad I want him to break his nose?”
The knob slowly turns. Lucius strangles vacuum cord within infuriated palms. A small line of dim light bleeds through the crack. The door swings gradually more, growing until open. “Don’t kill him,” Lucius fights angry tears. Trembling. He reminds himself, “Don’t kill him.”
Drake enters like a black silhouette over dark surfaces. Lucius tightens wire to his chest. Making a straight line from the dresser knob by the cord.
and…
Thunk
Drake’s step snags as graceful as a fat man learning ballet, banging his head over the bed corner. He tries regaining his foot landing and…
Thud
he bumps furniture with his tumble, knocking several items in a cling and clang across the dresser.
“Hello,” Josephine calls out, “who’s there?” Her towel gathers sprays of water, covering moist skin and shuts the faucet off, “Who is it? Leo?”
Drake races downstairs. His trundling feet catch loose shards left to gather traffic. This time… his body meets the floor under a properly lit up room. He’s cradling his feet closer, removing bloodied pieces of glass from his flesh, as Josephine’s oversized camo pajamas stick to wet skin from her bedroom. She hunches over the banister to witness Drake cradling an injured foot. “What happened,” she asked. A couple lines of blood drip over two of his fingers with his groaning. Josephine gasps, “Are you okay, Drake? Is that what I heard?”
“Yeah, what does it look like,” he snapped. Followed by signaling in several areas with thick blood between his fingers. “Your house is falling apart.”
“Excuse me? You knew that vase broke too,” and lightens her tone as her eyes measure up a bloodied glass pile. “I thought you were in bed. I was in no rush to get down here. Had I known…”
He raises crimson skin with a monitored calm voice, “Look, I’m sorry I snapped. I was trying to find the broom and vacuum for you. I was wrong earlier to think of you as using me. I didn’t want you to feel bad. I wanted to erase this whole thing from happening. You know… clean it for ya before you finishing your shower?”
“Oh,” she nods, “that’s sweet of you.”
“Lotta good it brought me.”
“Sorry you got hurt. Looks painful.”
“Yeah… painful. Only reason I snapped.” He removes the final piece with an exhale, “Truth is… I’m angry with myself because I didn’t get to make it up to you for getting me out today. I realized you were helping me get my mind off of depressing stuff because you’re so great,” he grimaces, “and… uh… I was just trying to give you a gentlemanly gift of good faith. You know? Make it up to you? Stupid stuff should never come between friends.”
“You’re right.” Her hand covers her lips, “Sorry. I should’ve cleaned it.” She travels across loftway toward the stairs. “I’ll clean it for you instead. That way there’s no bitterness between us.”
“I’ll be fine. You can finish your shower. I’ll just —
“Go ahead and get rested for work tomorrow. I got this. You need your rest,” trying to leave a small hint of her generosity, “if you wanna be able to get back on your feet again,” her smile teasing with him, “preferably without glass in them.”
Drake’s expression hides scorn as she walks by. “Thanks.”
Josephine gathers remaining shards, sweeping with a broom and brushing all steps. Twice, she sweeps the area, and twice she catches shards glimmering like glitter in light. “Mother Teresa,” her shoulders hunker down with another chore driving through her mind, “I need to vacuum this.”
She enters her master bedroom and flips the light. And discovers a cord mess lying tangled across the floor. “Uh,” unraveling cord from handles. Her eyes follow a trail leading to her window, “What’s this? I didn’t do this.”
Lucius hunkers beneath the windowsill outside, “Whoops. Probably should’ve rolled that.”
Luckily…
She glances at Leo, “Whatcha doing,” scratching her head, “you’re a weird cat, Leo.”
Meow
Lucius bobs his chin, “Well said, Buddy. Blame it on the perp.”
◆◆◆
After collecting her vacuum arsenal, she travels downstairs with lines of cord following behind her. Heavy. Clunky. Wishing she had an answer for a late chore buzzing at her already tired muscles, “Exhausted.”
Strayed shards snap and crunch into the bag from around the living area, rug, and wood flooring. Josephine wipes her brow, rolling up cord. Done, but… gawks at stairs that appear like they’re farther now. “Ugh, I don’t wanna…” dropping her arms, “maybe tomorrow.” She places her vacuum in the entry closet. Every step feels as though climbing stairs could be compared to scaling a mountain. She’s more tired than normal. Emotionally drained from role hats donned over her throughout the day. Landlady. Maid of honor. Reminding her renter of boundaries as a friend. She tries to float, instead, falls into her bed. “Having a purpose in life is exhausting,” she huffed. “I’m almost sweating.” Blankets are kicked away from her, and faces a welcoming cool draft from curtains floating a soft rhythm. Josephine drifts to sleep from the wind singing to her. Night air floods her room, m
aking warm damp skin turn cold.
Lucius is outside, finishing his early rounds of the property. He balances baton blades over a couple fingers, “If I’m not careful with my instincts for her,” catching blades before tossing them again, “I’ll lose her too. It’ll be all my fault. My weakness.” He stops outside Drake’s window, “Inconsiderate jerks,” condescension drips over gnashing teeth, “A smudge in society.” His nostrils vent like fumes toward blinded panes, raising a bladed fist, “You almost met my sword tonight, pervert. The only glory you would’ve ever had.” He unsheathes his sword, staring at the inscription. Ancient Jett Commdearadea. Glory. An inscription he had placed out of hope. Someday obtaining that part of him again.
◆◆◆
Lucius jumps up over banister from the bottom floor. “She’s cold.” He carefully locks a closed bedroom door, linking himself bio-empathically. “Now… you knew you would get cold,” shivering for her. He exhales, “Baby…” blanketing her with a tuck of material under her like a caterpillar, “… are you doing this on purpose… so I’ll come up here and tend to you?” He smiles, “Sometimes I wonder.”
He eases into his normal seat beside her. Clockwork. A nightly occurrence. Josephine rolls toward him, still asleep. He says, “You always know.” She reaches out through a blanket opening. “Don’t you?” Calmer than before hands rest over her back, snuggling her like a lover. “I’ll warm you,” he said with warming chills rushing through his body. “You’re warming up already with me.”
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