Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
I open my eyes and see the devil standing near my door.
He is dressed in gray trousers that highlight thighs capable of Sparta-kicking a gate down, or competing in ultra-competitive soccer if they play that sport down there in the bowels of hell.
The long-sleeved black shirt is a smidge less formal than usual simply because it has a smaller collar, though crisply lined buttons still go down the front of a terribly fit torso.
He’s also got dress shoes on that encase (camouflage?) beastly claws which the Prince of the Underworld must be hiding because otherwise he merely has overly large human feet.
Squinting, I search through the treacherous perfection of his pale hair for curved horns.
“I’m not the devil,” he says, apparently able to read minds. “And I’m not reading your mind. You are speaking out loud, Rita.”
The use of my name is a finger snap inside my head. I stop all feverish wayward talking and take in the scene in front of me with sudden and painfully sharp clarity.
Luke Abbot is here?!
He is not only in my apartment but standing in the doorway of my bedroom.
How long has he been watching me? I have no clue. All I know is I had fallen asleep with a jacket wrapped around my face, head slumped to the side, and mouth drooling saliva down my shoulder .
There’s a wet spot to prove it.
Awake now, I yank my blanket up to my chin—despite sweating and being unbearably hot—and glare at the man through a hole made amongst all the material covering me. “How the hell are you here?”
“The side entrance to your building was propped open, and apparently in one of the city’s grimier neighborhoods, you’ve decided to leave the door to your flat unlocked.”
“I must have—maybe?—”
Post-doctor’s visit there was a lot of stumbling back home. It’s likely that in a sickly daze I didn’t lock the door behind me. Not that I will admit such justification to Luke since it’s my home and I need not defend it to him.
“So what if it was unlocked?”
That answer makes his jaw clench. “So any person with bad intentions could have walked in?”
“Are you a person with bad intentions?”
“Of course not, but, Rita, you have to be more careful?—”
“My place, my choice. I can be wildly dangerous if I want to be,” I screech. “What I still don’t know is how are you here right now?”
“Your previous employer gave me the address,” Luke says with a scoff. “All I had to do was feed them a lie about my lawyer needing to contact you for confidential reasons, and they coughed it right up. Rather unscrupulous privacy guidelines, if you ask me.”
“ No— that’s not what I meant—” I say, trying and failing to lose my shrillness. “ Why are you here?”
“You haven’t answered any of my calls.”
“What calls? Not that it matters. I—left.”
“I told you to leave.”
“Do the details even matter? You haven’t explained why you’ve shown up here without an invitation.”
I wave my clutched blanket around a bit because Luke apparently needs a visual reminder that he is the unwanted guest trespassing in my home.
Though, by the way Luke is looking around at his surroundings, it appears he doesn’t perceive the hint and is rather getting further disturbed by what he sees around him.
I refuse to feel embarrassment rushing down the line of my back.
It may be more hovel than home, more closet than bedroom, more dingy than bright, but I have done the best with what I had.
Any scrubbable dirt has been lifted off the walls and baseboards, and the quilt bedding and small bits of decor I got (a flowered lamp, yellow pillows, three-footed stool doubling as a side table) are of decent quality.
Adding more to the room wasn’t a priority, for it would take money away from other necessities.
“I pay you better than whatever this costs,” says Luke. “Why do you live here?”
Is that?—
How can he ask?—
ERRRRR .
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I snap, “but I was using more than half the money you paid me on more important things.”
Luke steps one foot inside the room, then looks promptly down. He has seen the carpet. He lifts his foot away and puts it safely back down on the hardwood side. His eyes darken. “Tell me, what is more important than spending money on living conditions that don’t have mold sprouting on the walls?”
“Crypto.” It’s the first nonsensical word to pop into my head.
“You are lying to me. Why are you lying to me?”
Not having enough pillows to sacrifice (only two), I don’t want to throw one in his direction, but I am sorely tempted.
I’m also afraid that if I get on my feet to shoo him away, I’ll lose balance, so the only avenue left to make Luke leave is for me to use my words.
“I’m not lying. You’re being rude once again.
What déjà vu. This has been one horribly long dream sequence. Lucky me.”
“Rita—”
“What I would love to know is what deity I’ve insulted that I’ve got to suffer being questioned by Luke Abbot not once but twice ! Twice! First, it’s why did you show up with your soup, and now this?—”
My tirade is cut off by the sound of a cell phone ringing somewhere. Lifting my head to look around the room feels like an exhausting feat of strength, but I attempt to do it. My bag isn’t anywhere on the floor that I can see.
“Do you want me to find that for you?” Luke asks, above the noise. “It might be more concerned parties trying to reach you. I would hate for them to have to come here.”
I think he’s about to insult my flat again, but apparently, the insinuation of insult is enough for Luke.
“No. I’ll find it myself later,” I insist, right as my cell phone goes silent.
It’s probably Uncle or Kiren or Noor calling, and even though they are too far to visit, I have no intention of talking to my friends and family while my ex-boss overhears the conversation.
More so since I’ve realized he is a giant bag of dicks.
I’ve got no idea why he is here, but he’s not a force I want to expose to my personal life longer than necessary.
Which is why he needs to leave. Immediately.
“Explain crypto to me,” he demands, obviously eager to poke apart my earlier lie.
Crypto is…
Not something I’ll ever understand even when I’m in the best state of mind, which I’m nowhere close to being.
“Mm,” I say, pretending to collect my thoughts. What might also help is closing my eyes briefly. I do that and angle my body away from Luke, burrowing back into the blanket and the jacket half-wrapped on my head.
“Rita?”
My eyes open, then flutter close again. If only I can get a few more minutes of rest, then I’ll have the energy to get out of this bed and deal with him. Or maybe he’ll get tired of talking to an inanimate lump and leave, unable to stand being in my shit apartment for any longer.
Unsightly brown blinds clot up most of the window, but there is enough of a breeze that sunlight peeks through the edges when they hover up.
Flickering yellow shapes dance along the edges of my bundled-up hair.
I sigh deeply into the mattress, wondering how I feel both hot and cold at the same time.
At least, finally, blessed silence has descended upon me.
“Rita?”
Or not.
His voice is closer now. A lot closer.
I force my eyes open.
Luke is beside the bed, having braved the carpet despite its putrid color, spotted pattern, and overall ragged appearance.
And as always, his height dwarfs objects within the vicinity, but in this case, in the particularly tight space of my bedroom, I can’t help but feel especially minuscule with him towering above me.
It takes a bit, but I find my voice again. “I’m not answering anything about crypto,” I say, “because it will go over your head, and I don’t want you to feel like a tittering idiot.”
Those last two words are spat out, but it’s like Luke can’t discern my tone because his mouth curves up. “I’m glad. Really glad. If you’re thinking about sparing my feelings, it means you don’t hate me.”
Is he serious? Has he forgotten what happened in his office? Has he forgotten everything he’s said and done to me? He thinks I don’t understand the real world because all I do is dilly-dally in his kitchen and bake cakes. “Of course, I think you are the worst! That’s why I want you to go away.”
I shut my eyes again.
Above me is a fractured release of air, akin to a ragged sigh. Luke clears his throat before speaking in an oddly low and deliberate voice.
“You can’t live here.”
Snapping awake again, I fix my gaze on his face.
“You can’t stay here.” His eyebrows furrow. “It’s not safe. It’s not—not you. You can’t live here.”
“What makes you think you can dictate that to me? Not after you’ve been so horrible. Do you even remember everything you said to me?”
“I know?—”
“Do you? It was proper bullying. I fucking bought you soup.”
“ Rita , I know.”
“Do you?” I repeat because I’m not convinced, and also because I’ve not told him off in enough scalding detail for him to really understand his wretchedness, which is an unfortunate consequence of my current sickness.
I can’t think as clearly as usual, and therefore can’t insult as proficiently as I normally would.
Though in retrospect, further scolding is not needed because Luke picks up that gauntlet himself.
“You—you surprised me the other day,” he slowly admits.
“When I’m in the office, I have to be—different, not myself, and then you were there.
And all I wanted was for you to not be. To not see me like that, but what I said to make you leave…
I had no right to say any of those things.
” He sighs again. “If you hate me, fine. I’ll take it, but don’t leave.
Come back and yell at me, insult me, abuse me, but come back. ”
That’s as close to an apology as Luke Abbot delivers.