by Daisy Allen
“Ready?”
“Noooo! Stop please!!!” My scream pierces my subconscious and jerks me awake.
The reality isn’t any more comforting that the nightmare.
The room is pitch dark, but I know I’m not in my own bed.
Footsteps are coming my way, hard and fast, I give in to instinct and feel for the edge of the blanket and sink down into the mattress, pulling the cover over my head.
The door swings open, throwing light into the room, filtering through the fabric of my blanket shield.
“Ms. Sinclair! Are you okay?”
It is a voice I recognize. But it isn’t the one from the dream. Or the one that has saved me... twice. But I recognize it. Under the blanket, I search my foggy brain for a face to go with the voice, but I can’t find one.
The footsteps come closer and I pull the blanket tighter around me, my heart pounding so hard I am surprised I can even hear the footsteps over them.
A hand lays gently on the blanket.
“Ms. Sinclair? Are you okay? I heard you scream. It’s me, Xavier.”
Xavier? Now even the name sounds familiar.
“I’m Xavier, Jade. We spoke on the phone earlier today.”
It finally dawns. I can’t put a face to the voice, because I’ve never seen it. But at least I know who it belongs to now.
I slowly poke my head out from under the edge of the blanket.
“Xavier?”
An insanely good-looking face peers back at me. So good-looking I think I blush.
“That’s what I’ve been told, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am. Where am I?”
“I’ll answer all your questions in a minute, just after I make sure you’re okay. That was a pretty scary scream you let out there. I heard you from all the way on the other side of the apartment.”
I feel like crawling back under the covers. I don’t really know what is more embarrassing, screaming so loud that a hot stranger has to come running, or the reason behind it, having a nightmare.
“I’m fine, um, I can’t really remember what it was, maybe it wasn’t even a scream, maybe, er, I was just singing in my sleep? It kinda sounds the same.”
Xavier looks at me like my kindergarten teacher once did when I told her I didn’t know who drew on the turtle, even though I was still holding the pink marker in my hand.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying hard to hold his gaze, without wavering. He gives up and drops his questions.
I take the chance to ask him again, “Where am I? What happened?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
I close my eyes, but all I can see is the glint from the knife in my nightmare. I flip them open again, fast. “What am I supposed to be remembering?
Xavier squints, focusing his eyes hard on me and I can almost feel him rifling around in the back of my brain. I wonder what kind of a lawyer he is, because if I were a hostile witness, I’d probably crumble on the stand under his questioning.
He finally looks away and I guess he’s content with the fact that I truly do seem to have suffered some sort of short term amnesia. But that doesn’t help me. What the fuck happened and where the hell am I?
“Please,” my voice comes out with a tremble and I suddenly feel more vulnerable than I have since the mugging. “Tell me what’s going on, Xavier.”
He sits down next to me on the bed, and smiles gently, “A crazy fan mob was waiting outside your office; they pushed in around you, and you fainted and nearly hit your head on the ground.”
My hand instinctively comes up to feel for a bump, but there’s nothing.
"He got to you just in time, just as you were falling. He saved you."
And in the silence, I could hear the unspoken word, “again.” He'd saved me again.
"But... what were they even doing there?" I ask him, not yet ready to ask the question I was really wondering about, “what was he doing there...”
"Ah, Miss Sinclair...”
"Ew. Stop it, Xavier. We’re probably, like, the same age. Jade. Please."
He smiles and tilts his head. Now he looks like an insanely good-looking puppy dog. "Jade—you're not as naive as that surely. A heroine looking for her savior? Even wearied New Yorkers can't resist a story like that."
The fuzziness in my head starts to clear, and I can remember the feeling of air being sucked out of my world as the mob closed in around me. I shiver a little at the memory.
"And..." And him?
"K? I don't know why he was there. But he was. Lucky he was, too! They were going to make minced meat of you. Crazed women are the worst!" Xavier shudders a little and stands up, reaching for a switch on the wall.
The room is suddenly illuminated and I can finally see where I am. It’s a large but cozy guest room. The decor is minimal, not sterile but bright and tasteful. And for the first time I notice the bed I'm in. Firm and covered in soft, luscious linens. I already feel comfortable in this place. This... wait, where am I?
"So, he saved me, again. And brought me here?"
"Yup." Xavier reaches for a chair and I notice my bag and jacket are hanging over it.
As I’m slowly feeling more alert, I’m growing frustrated at Xavier’s reticence. "Man of many words, are you?"
He laughs and I can't help but like him.
"When you're used to charging by the letter, you learn to value each word."
"At the rate we're going, I'll be able to pay you from the change in my couch!"
He laughs again and join him, the interaction making this weird day feel not so weird.
"Fine.” He gives in and winks at me before continuing, “You're at K's apartment. But, now you're up, I'm to make sure you're okay and take you home."
The laughter empties from my lungs.
"He's not here?"
"No, he left once I got here to watch over you."
"And when's he coming back?"
"I don't know."
"Well. I'm not leaving until he does." I cross my arms and lean back against the bedhead.
"Miss. er, Jade. I'll be honest with you. He's not going to come back with you here. He's a very, very private man."
I pull the covers off me, and for a moment, Xavier looks relieved. He obviously doesn’t know me well yet.
"I told you once that I wasn't going to give up finding him, so I can thank him. So, now that I'm standing inside his house, what chance do you think there is that I'm leaving before I get a chance to talk to him. You're a smart man, Xavier. Surely you can figure it out."
I bite back a tremor but refuse to break my gaze. Poor guy, he looks like I just made him choose between eating his pet rabbit and a live cockroach.
Then, without answering, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, pressing “1” on the keypad and holds it out to me.
"You tell him," he says to me as the dial tone starts to ring.
And I wonder if I've bitten off more than I can chew.
Before either of us can speak another word, the call is answered.
"Yeah."
It's him.
And something in the bottom of my stomach drops. Drops all the way onto the floor and through to the other side of the earth.
One syllable that's all it takes. Something in his voice that undoes me. It's just cos that's the voice you connect with being saved, an uncertain voice inside my head tries to convince me. But it's not doing a very good job. My hand reaches out to take the phone while my voice simultaneously retracts deep into my throat.
"What is it, Xavier?" The same voice, annoyed, speaks again. I snap my hand back.
Xavier cocks an eyebrow and looks a little too amused.
"I'm here with Jade."
Apparently, he charges K by the word as well.
There's a pause on the other end, a long pause. So long I wonder if he's still there.
Xavier breaks first.
"You’re on speaker."
"And?"
Apparently I’v
e found myself in the middle of a skirmish of monosyllabic men.
"She won't leave."
I think I hear a snort, but I can't be sure. It might've been a snicker, or a sigh. All I know is it's a sound. And I want to hear more.
"Make her."
I didn't want to hear that.
Fuck this.
"I'm not going,” I say. My hand is now pressing against my chest to calm the vibrations.
I’m definitely hearing snickering, but it's not coming from the phone. Xavier is biting his lip so hard I think I might have to take him to the ER for stitches. But I'm not focused on him right now; I'm focused on the man on the other side of the phone. This mysterious, intriguing, man who with his seven words has me mesmerized.
And I hang for the eighth.
“Miss Sinclair.”
Oh God, he said my name.
“Go.”
And the phone goes quiet.
Chapter Ten
HIM
It's only seconds after I hang up before I realize my cock is hard. Rock hard. Achingly hard.
And allow myself 15 seconds to consider how long it would take for the car to drive me home, and for me to be driving myself home into her.
That mouth, that body, twice now, warm, giving, in my arms, completely at my mercy.
And then I shut it down.
But it comes back.
Her.
In my house.
Not leaving.
My worst nightmare and my newest fantasy all at once.
Fuck.
Chapter Eleven
HER
The apartment is deathly quiet even though it's only about 9 p.m. I've never heard it so quiet in Manhattan before. Even at 3 a.m. with my window open only a crack for air, it sounds like a whole life is being lived on the streets. Life coming, and at times with the ambulance sirens blaring, life being taken away. Loud, garrulous, scary, fun. But never quiet.
Fifty stories up, I guess sound waves get lost in the wind.
I'm standing in the living room in front of a giant expanse of clear glass. Other than the white couch behind me, the soft, cloudlike white shag rug under my feet and a large tv on the far wall, the room is almost completely empty. And I know why. He doesn’t want anything to interfere with this view. I walk up to the streakless window and press my body against it. Reaching my arms out, stretching my fingers out, I feel like I'm flying over the Manhattan skyline.
I could stay like this forever.
That is, until the apartment suddenly isn't so silent anymore.
A loud rumble echoes from my stomach. I'm starving.
I wander through the archway, counting how many of my studio apartments I think could fit in this space and stop after I reach about 20.
Next to the living room is a spotless, beautiful kitchen. The view is no different from there. But this time, instead of a couch, a kitchen island spreads out in front of me. I gingerly open a cupboard and see every possible kitchen appliance spread out in front of me.
Another seemingly inconspicuous door opens into a huge, fully stocked walk-in pantry.
He cooks? The thought tugs at me somewhere. Possibly, I’m going to guess, at my stomach.
I check the clock on the oven. 9:39 p.m. No wonder I'm hungry. Xavier left hours ago, having given up on trying to get me to go. Physical threats to his baby-making capabilities had him shrinking away when he tried to suggest getting me to leave by physical force.
My tummy rumbles again, reminding me of my priorities.
Well, if I'm hungry, he'll probably be starving by the time he stops being a baby and comes home.
I might as well cook us some dinner.
I open the fridge and reach for some pork chops.
Chapter Twelve
HIM
“Mr. Ashley?” The doorman says my name, for the... well, I don't know how many times, but I know it's not the first.
“Yes?”
“Are you going up to your apartment?”
“That's a very good question, Clifford.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“And the answer is?”
“I'm going to get back to you on that.”
“Okay, Mr. Ashley.”
And I can almost hear him thinking “they might call it eccentric when they're rich, but crazy is still crazy.”
Is it crazy to be standing in front of my own building staring up at the 31st floor wondering what the woman who's squatting in my apartment is doing right now?
Or crazier to know what I wish she were doing?
Me.
The light flickers on the right side of my apartment.
She's in the kitchen.
And now I can't help imagining her bent over the kitchen island.
Her hips warm and soft in my groping hands as I hold her firm as I...
The phone in my pocket rings saving me from a thought that could have me pushing through the door faster than Clifford can open it for me.
It's Xavier.
"You're fired."
"I'm quitting! Good luck with her!"
"You couldn’t just get her to leave? I need to go home, Xavier."
"So, go up and see her. Let her get in her thanks of whatever and move on. She doesn’t seem unreasonable.”
"She’s squatting n my apartment."
Xavier’s laugh irks me. But it could just be because I've been imagining him being with her for the last few hours. When I was just fantasize about it.
"I said she's unreasonable, not unstubborn."
"Get her out, Xavier. I mean it."
"What are you so afraid of?"
I pause. Maybe a little too long.
"Wait, you ARE afraid, aren’t you? She's a harmless woman. One you've saved twice now, by the way, so what could it hurt for her to say thank you?"
It already hurt too much.
"Xavier. It's not your place to ask why. Just fucking do it."
I hear him suck in his breath, and I know, I'm about to get a dose of what he calls "Xavier Reality Check".
"Oh, man. It's moments like this I remember that you never had an older brother. So here I am to tell you that she's just a sweet girl wanting to do what's right. Stop being a jackass and learn to let your rules go for once. They’re stupid rules anyway. Just fucking grow up."
And for the first time ever, he hangs up on me.
He’s not wrong. I need to grow up.
I need to not be having a kindergarten crush on this woman I’ve literally only said 10 words to, one of them being “go.”
I need to not be thinking of her every single second of every waking moment.
I need to not be wondering if she's okay, if she's thinking of me, if she even cares who I am beyond a pair of sturdy arms.
She means nothing. I'm just stressed from work, worried about this ‘J’ guy and she's my outlet.
Or she could be, that niggling voice is telling me, she could be what's distracting you.
I look down, and her effect on my body hasn’t changed.
Maybe I could just fuck her once and rid myself of the fascination.
Or maybe I could just fuck her once and lose myself in her forever.
"See you later, Mr. Ashley," Clifford calls out to me as I fling myself across the road and away from him, the building, and her.
Chapter Thirteen
HER
"Come on!!" I let out a short dramatic sob and let my head fall on the dining table while I clutch my stomach as it rumbles in protest.
The smell from the pork chops staying warm in the oven has created a nonstop stream of drool in my mouth for the last hour. I tried to distract myself from the hunger by setting the table, but now, two intricate origami paper napkins later (thank you, YouTube), it's 10:30 p.m. and he's still not home.
"I'm soooo fucking starving!" I yell out to no one in particular, but irrationally I’m hoping the sound will travel down the elevator and out to his ears wherever he is, so he’ll take pity on me an
d come home so I can eat.
My stomach roars this time, to emphasize the point.
"Stubborn prick!" I yell out again, this time definitely for his benefit.
"Fuck it. He can eat when he gets home. Better than him finding my malnourished body dead on his kitchen island."
I get up and grab a plate, then pile it up with roast vegetables and a pork chop warming in the oven.
Plonking myself on the living room couch, I lose myself in the food for a moment.
"Omygodsogoodahshittoohotttt!" I let the offending, steaming piece of squash fall from my mouth back on to my plate as I suck in some cool air to soothe my tongue.
I lean back against the sofa and stare back out at the twinkling lights, letting my food cool for a bit
The view really is stunning, but there’s something so... lonely about it. My apartment might feel like it’s in the middle of a fish market most of the time, but it’s part of the reason I love New York so much. You don’t live in Manhattan to be alone. You live here to throw yourself into the wonder of life and sound and people and new experiences. Watching it from up here makes me feel so detached from it. It makes me wonder if I’m only one thing on the long list of things that my hero is hiding from.
I stab the cooled piece of squash and let it melt into a sticky, orangey sweet goo in my mouth before I savor it as it slides down my throat.
I cut a juicy piece of pork off the bone and wave it around in front of my face, cooling it down, absentmindedly watching the steam draw little patterns in the air as I contemplate K’s life.
I wonder if he lives here alone, or even has a girlfriend. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want me waiting here for him. I bet she’s freaking gorgeous. Ugh, she’s probably a gold digger, I send out a glare to his imaginary money-grubbing girlfriend.
“Why do I even care?” I say, rolling my eyes at myself. I don’t even know his name.
But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that I don’t even know his name, or really seen his face, or haven’t spoken more than three words to him. Something makes me want to be close to him. Not just to thank him, but to get to know him. Maybe there’s something to the myth that your life belongs to he who saves it.