I’m awakened…
I’m awakened by the urgency of my bladder and a wolf-like hunger.
I open my eyes, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am, but after a while, I remember everything.
It’s dark all around, with only the faint moonlight creeping in through the window.
I glance at the place next to me—empty. What time is it?
I look around the bedroom, but I don’t see a clock.
This is damn strange because I’m sure I heard a pendulum clock striking during the night.
It’s a good thing Jan doesn’t have a cuckoo clock in the kitchen. That would be quite a symphony.
“Jan?”
The only response is from my growling belly. The pangs in my stomach grow stronger by the minute. I really shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t eat anything all day yesterday. I fasted for Christmas Eve.
I throw back the quilt, sit on the edge of the bed and look for my phone.
It should be on the floor with my clothes.
Gosh, but I need to pee. I look around the dark floor, and my eyes slowly get used to the darkness.
I can’t see my clothes or my phone. I get up, looking around.
In the depths of the bedroom, I see a treadmill, a bicycle, some barbells, and a bench—apparently Jan has his own dedicated gym here.
I look around the room and notice a chest of drawers standing opposite the bed, on which a white shirt and a skirt lie, folded evenly in a neat square, and on that are my bra and cell phone.
It makes me want to laugh. God, Jan, you neatnik.
I walk over to the dresser, put on my shirt (wait, did he iron it???) and glance at the phone display.
It’s five after five. The middle of the night.
Ohhh, the relentless urge. I absolutely have to pee.
And poop, too, I think. I tighten my sphincter and go out into the corridor using my cell phone as a flashlight.
I notice light coming out from under the door of Jan’s office.
My first instinct is to look in on him to ask why he’s awake at this hour, but I really have to go to the bathroom because my bladder is about to explode.
I enter the bathroom, and immediately the light blazes on, and the fan whirs. The brightness dazzles me. The fixtures, glossy tiles and mirrors gleam like jewels in a jewelry store. Wow, what a ‘surprise’.
Jan must have showered recently because the glass of the enclosure is still wet.
I put the phone down on the sink, lift the toilet seat flap and I’m in awe.
Not a single hair, no stain, no yellowing, no scale: pure whiteness, clear water, the smell of lavender.
It looks like the first time I’ll do a number one and two on the seat anywhere other than my house.
Even at my parents’, Toska’s, Nina’s or Artie’s, I crouch over the toilet.
Any woman who has ever caught an acute yeast infection will understand this.
The itching, burning, and swelling are impossible to forget.
And since I learned from my mistakes, I avoid swimming pools and never touch with my own ass a toilet seat that has entertained someone else’s.
This time, however, I’m going to break that iron rule.
I am almost one hundred percent sure that if there was a competition for the cleanest toilet in our country, this one would take first place.
I can already see our company’s health and safety newsletter headline: “We are proud! Jan Engler, Director of the Finance Department, king of the cleanest throne in Poland.”
He, he. But I would love to see his face if he saw such an e-mail.
I sit down comfortably, do what nature tells me to do. Almost immediately, I hear a puffing sound, and the bathroom is filled with a lavender scent. Oh my gosh, I’m impressed. Undeniably, Jan should have his own show on TV— The Perfect Househusband .
Well. Time to satisfy another physiological need. I hope Jan has something good in the refrigerator. I walk out into the hallway, approach the door with a line of light underneath, and knock.
Silence.
I knock again.
Nothing.
“Are you there?” I ask.
No answer.
I turn the door handle and look inside. Jan is sitting bent over the table; a desk lamp illuminates his hands.
One is holding a pair of tweezers, the other a disassembled watch.
He is so focused that he doesn’t notice me at all.
I study him for a while. And there is definitely something to look at.
His hair is slightly damp from the shower.
He’s wearing a gray T-shirt, sweatpants and his feet are bare.
This is the first time I’ve seen him like this. And I damn well like it.
“Am I bothering you?”
Jan raises his head and frowns.
“Maria. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. Can’t you sleep?” I walk toward him.
“Why would you think that?”
“It’s just after five o’clock.”
“I always get up at this time.” He leans over his watch again.
“And what are you doing so early?”
“The usual.”
“Meaning?”
He closes his eyes.
“Can we postpone this conversation until later? I’m busy.”
“With a watch?”
“Yes. I want to finish it at two to six.” He leans over the desk again.
“Why exactly at two to six?”
“Because I exercise at six o’clock.”
“And then?”
“I take a shower.”
“You’ve taken one already.”
He looks at me.
“This was an exception. I do not usually have sex in the middle of the night, so I do not usually have to take a shower as soon as I wake up.”
I want to ask him when he does have sex in that case, but I bite my tongue. It’s too early for such questions.
“I understand. And what do you do later, after the shower?”
“I have breakfast.” He returns his gaze to the watch. He is tinkering with the mechanism.
“And after breakfast?”
“I leave for work.”
“Today is a day off.”
“Well, yes. On my days off, I clean the apartment, do laundry, shop, and iron.”
“I see. And when you’re done?”
“I make lunch.”
“And later?”
“I have lunch,” he replies automatically, not even looking at me. He still sits and fiddles with his damn watch.
“And after that?”
“I work with watches.”
“And then?”
“I have dinner.”
“And after?
“I read a book.”
“And then?”
“I go to bed.”
Right. Apparently, Jan already has a whole day planned and there’s no room in it for me.
“And do you ever modify this schedule of yours?” I ask with a clear suggestion in my voice.
“Absolutely not. You should not change the established order. Unless there is an emergency situation.”
I have a lump in my throat. Well, yes. And I foolishly thought he was serious about that cabin in the mountains and spending Christmas together.
I stand up, look at him, but he totally ignores me.
“In that case, I won’t disturb you.” I walk to the door.
“If you are hungry, please help yourself to anything in the refrigerator.” He does not raise his eyes at me.
What a fucking asshole. I feel like someone punched me in the stomach. Not that I’m hoping for some morning kiss or breakfast together. But, for fuck’s sake, he could at least look me in the eye when talking to me. Is this damn watch really more important than me?
God, how naive I am. I am totally not needed here.
*
As soon as I leave the apartment building, I’m greeted by snow up to my ankles.
Everything is still. And it’s dark, though cloudless.
You can already see a translucent sky behind the apartment buildings.
It must be as cold as in Siberia. I’m shivering all over, and it’s not surprising since I’m only wearing boots, a skirt, a bra, and a jacket.
I decided to leave Jan his shirt. I rolled it up into a ball and threw it in the laundry basket in the bathroom.
Nevertheless, I can still smell his scent on me.
I don’t know if it’s from the shirt or from the fact that we rubbed against each other during our awesome sex.
I need to take a shower as soon as possible. But first I’ll have to eat something.
I take out my phone and track down the nearest 24-hour McDonald’s (because I have absolutely no food at home).
Oh my, what a festive breakfast. McWrap, large fries, strawberry shake, ice cream with caramel topping, coffee and the whole restaurant at my disposal.
I’m the only customer! Christmas music seeps quietly from the speakers, I look out the window at the snowy city and eat my favorite fast food dish.
Only, I feel no taste in my mouth. I’ve got a lump in my throat and my stomach is full of knots.
OK, that’s enough. I can’t eat anything else.
I pack everything in a doggie bag, take the coffee and reach for my cell phone to order a cab. Battery’s dead. Damn. Tough, maybe it’s for the best. I walk back home. I’ll finally smoke a cigarette. Or two. Maybe the wind and cold will dispel my worries.
Not that I’m somehow particularly depressed, but I don’t feel good either. If I had to describe my mood, I’d call it ‘depresso-fuck’. I’m half sad and half pissed off. And definitely severely sleep-deprived.
The first thing I’ll do when I get home is take a hot shower.
Then I’ll lie down on my bed, turn on The Holiday , and then fall asleep to Jude Law’s soothing British accent.
This is the kind of guy I dream about. So different from the gloomy boor of my boss.
Also, why did I get it into my stupid head to sleep with him?
And three times! Or maybe four? At the mere thought of what we did in the office and later in his bed, I want to howl with frustration.
I have total chaos going on in my head. Because, on the one hand, we had such a good time, and on the other, Jan pissed on me afterward—not literally, of course; we didn’t go that far.
I like sexual games, but that is definitely not one of them.
Hmm, I wonder how perverse Jan can be? Does he get turned on by such things? The fact that he loves oral and anal I already know. How far would he like to go with me?