Chapter 8 #2
I stifle a laugh. “Nothing wrong with a little trial and error.”
“You only say that because you weren’t the one who had to chase them down with spoiled orange juice.”
I choke on a chuckle. “I’m sorry. You should have called me.” Would I have answered while sleepwalking or would I have been fully awake? Would he have heard someone screaming in the background? My teeth press so hard together I can almost feel them cracking.
“It’s okay. I figured out how to label everything so I don’t make the same mistake twice. Good thing I found that pack of rubber bands in the junk drawer. Two for the peanut butter and one for the mayonnaise. The jelly got three.”
“That’s a good system you have going.”
“It’ll do for now. Turns out there are apps where you can scan items, but knowing me, I’d just keep scanning the wrong place a hundred times before finding the label.”
I make a high-pitched sound. “I’m sure you’ll find what works best for you soon enough. Can you read brail?”
“Not really. I’ve kind of got the numbers down, but it’s not as easy as it appears in the movie Aging Adeline.”
“You watch a lot of movies, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Or I did. It’s not the same as it used to be, but I’m trying to make the best of a shitty situation any way I can. I do miss all my favorites.”
“I’ve actually seen that one. Well, kinda. My brother’s wife had it on in the background once.”
He snorts. “That doesn’t count.”
“It does to me,” I say back. “Wait . . . aren’t I supposed to be helping you with something?”
His eyes lift, face turning beet red. “Oh, right.” He faces the shower, reaching between the wall and curtain to twist the knob. “I’ll have to let the water heat up again. Sorry, I get to talking about things I like and then forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“No worries,” I say, running my eyes over the freckles trailing down the center of his chest. His pink nipples are hard and cause my mouth to water the longer I look at them.
Focus on what you’re supposed to be doing.
Stop being a pervert. This isn’t helping him.
It’s doing no one any good. And yet I struggle to avert my gaze from his pretty pebbling nubs.
“I was calling because . . . well, I need help identifying the shampoo from the conditioner. I thought I could figure it out by pouring each one into my hand, but I think I may have put face wash in my hair.”
I laugh. “Face wash, huh?”
“Yeah, and I think I brushed my teeth with shaving cream. I don’t know why my sister gets me all these fancy toiletries every Christmas. Just give me things in normal bottles.”
“I can see where there might be a problem. Show me your shower caddy or wherever it is that you have everything at.”
“Okay. Let me . . .” His tongue hangs out the side of his mouth as he taps the screen and then he spins around with the camera still on him, lowering his phone as his towel begins to slither down his body.
“You see it? I think I’m pointing the right way.” Metal scrapes metal as he opens the shower curtain more.
“Um . . . I don’t think you have me looking in the place you need me to.” Each word sticks to the roof of my mouth.
His eyebrows jump and his towel falls lower.
His happy trail is revealed, and my eyes feel cheated by the towel blocking me from seeing where it leads to.
“Wait . . . do you not see the shelf in the corner?” He curses under his breath, stomping his foot as he moves the camera from side to side.
There goes that towel showing me a little bit of what I’ve been wanting to see.
“Better?” There’s a hint of frustration in his voice.
Head spinning, I look up at the ceiling when the base of his cock peeks out. Think of something else. Think of something else. My mind going back to the rotten pizza from earlier. I start to breathe easier and say, “Depends on what you mean by better.”
“Huh? Do you not see anything?”
“Oh, I definitely see something.” I keep my eyes on the ceiling with them twitching to go back to where they were before.
He’s making this so much harder for me right now.
I’m really trying not to be worse than I’ve already been.
This is supposed to prove there’s still good left in me.
Helping people is what I need to do to make up for all the ones I’ve hurt. But will it ever even be enough?
His eyes blink and then his face pales. “Oh, fuck. I’m not pointing the camera the right way, am I?”
“No, Honey, you aren’t.” Shit. That little nickname was supposed to stay in my head.
Hopefully he’s too flustered with embarrassment to have noticed.
But that doesn’t sit right with me either.
Why can’t I have some kind of empathy when sleepwalking?
Can two different types of people really live inside one person?
“I’m sorry. Fuck. I don’t think things can get worse than this.”
“I beg to differ. Things can always be worse.” I look down at my stained fingers, flexing them out in front of me. They can be way worse.
He taps the screen again as he holds his towel up higher. Seconds later he disappears from view and all I see is white tile. The camera moves to the right and I shout, “Right there,” when it finally lands on what he actually meant to show me.
“Man. I’m so tempted to hang up and block you from my profile now,” he says between nervous chuckles.
“No,” I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice. “Don’t do that. I still need to show you my recently learned movie-description skills.”
He laughs and the tightness in my chest eases. “Yeah, that is something I don’t think I want to miss out on.”
“You don’t have to. In fact, maybe after your shower you can call back, and I can give you a demonstration tonight. You can pick any movie you want too.”
“How generous of you,” he mocks. “I did take a nap today, and I’m nowhere close to being ready for bed, so tonight could work.”
“Good. Let me help you wash that shaving cream taste out of your mouth with the wintery freshness you were hoping for the first time.”
“Okay,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his tone.
I help him mark everything he plans to use on his trip with rubber bands, and before he says goodbye, he brings the camera back to his face. His smile is so bright, and I wish it was closer to mine. “Thanks for not making me feel bad about being the mess of a human I am.”
“I don’t see this mess you speak of.”
“Oh, please.” He blushes. “You can stop trying to make me feel better now. No need to have pity on someone who needs help deciphering cooking oil from Lysol.”
I laugh. “I don’t take pity on you. I’ve made similar mistakes before using oven spray instead of cooking spray, and I have twenty-twenty vision, so maybe it’s me who needs to be pitied.”
His teeth peek between his lips. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I sure hope you didn’t eat whatever you sprayed it on.”
“Not all of it. Only enough to throw up my dinner once that night.”
He sputters a laugh. “I’m going to turn the water on now, and I need to hang up before I forget it’s running again. Thanks for your help tonight.”
“You’re welcome. Think about which movie you wanna see tonight while you’re in there.”
“I will. Bye, Raf.”
“Bye.” I bite back the next word that almost flies out of my mouth, not sure he’s distracted enough not to catch me calling him Honey this time.
My Honey.
Only he isn’t mine, but like before when his towel was falling down his body, I can’t help but want what a person like me doesn’t deserve to have.
I don’t deserve the smile he left me with either, or the joy from looking forward to telling him how much a house looks like a house in the next movie we watch together.
Oh, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure there are so many more movies.