Chapter 16 - Ash #5
The ride to my building was quick and silent but once I stepped into the lobby, everything slowed down to heavy, aching seconds.
It was like a roller coaster climbing to its first peak, every grind forward loaded with anticipation and the knowledge these were the last moments of relative calm before the splashdown, the next upswing, the spin and whirl.
It was anticipation and it was also relief—I'm getting what I came for—and the end of all my staid predictability before Zelda upended that too.
Low light and the rhythmic hum of the washing machine greeted me when I stepped inside and locked the apartment door behind me with a gentle twist of the deadbolt. I leaned back against the door, the key ring still hooked around my fingers as I listened for Zelda.
The cobalt blue flats abandoned near the bench informed me she was here and that only heightened my awareness of the roller coaster plunge to come. She was here and I had to find her if I wanted my world turned upside down.
Once free from my suit coat and shoes and my pockets emptied, I surveyed the living room.
The television was off, the throw blankets artfully arranged over the back of the sofa.
I moved toward the bedroom but she wasn't in there either.
The bed was in the same crisply made condition we'd left it, the adjoining bath dark and empty.
Save for those cute shoes near the door, it seemed like she'd existed only in my imagination.
I retraced my steps, casting gazes all over for signs of Zelda. She could've stepped out. That was reasonable. She could've gone to the local market or the drugstore. Maybe the pizza place around the corner. It was late but not outrageously so, not too late to run out for a few things.
I turned in a circle when I reached the kitchen and trailed my palm over the stone countertops. Why wasn't she right here, exactly where I wanted her, when I wanted her?
Then I caught sight of the hall leading to the guest room.
More often than not I overlooked that section of my apartment.
It served only as a crash pad for Linden or my parents when they had occasion to come into the city and wanted to avoid a long ride home at night.
Magnolia too, before she and Rob found a place in the South End.
And now it was Zelda's—though she never did sleep in there.
Restlessness fractured the quiet still as I marched in that direction, my socked feet rasping against the rug, my fingertips pressed to the wall as if I was searching for a pulse.
The door was ajar, a soft slice of light melting into the hall.
I flattened my palm on the panel, eased it open.
There I found Zelda face down on the foot of the bed, still dressed in that aggravating skirt and blouse.
Her head was pillowed on her arms while one foot dangled off the side. My discombobulated beauty.
I lost track of how long I stood there, watching while she slept.
It was more than a minute and less than an hour, and I regretted none of it as there weren't many moments where I'd been able to catch Zelda at rest. She was always the first one awake and more than that, she was always in motion.
Always occupied with something. Rare were the instances when she was stationary long enough for me to get a good look.
She must've been exhausted to fall asleep like this. Not the discombobulated part—she was an eternal state of glorious disarray—but in here, dressed for work as if she'd intended to sit down though found herself bowled over by sleep instead.
As I scanned the small room, the evidence seemed to mount in support of that theory.
Her luggage was open on the floor with tidy piles of clothing stacked on one side, books on the other.
I counted three pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, a plum cardigan, two dresses, and a few more of those crepey blouses—and at least eight academic journals and four beat-up textbooks.
A dark gray skirt and short-sleeved pink sweater were laid outside beside the books, her choices for tomorrow.
Both of her phones—the beat-up one she hadn't turned on and the one I'd insisted she have—sat on the floor beside her hot pink sneakers.
All of it combined into a statement that screamed temporary.
Tomorrow we'd handle the matter of her living out of a suitcase while there was a serviceable closet calling her name, plus all the space for her on the other side of the apartment, in my room.
One of these days we'd deal with her phone and whomever it was she intended to avoid.
And someday soon, we'd make this far less temporary.
Tonight, however, we'd sleep.
I stripped down to my boxer briefs and deposited my clothes on a chair in the corner before starting in on the blankets and sheets.
The tricky part was peeling off Zelda's clothes without waking her.
A girl who preferred sleeping in the buff would never survive a night confined to a slim-fitting skirt and a noose-neck shirt.
Against all odds, I removed her skirt without incident. It was the least Zelda article of clothing in the world and I hated it with a fiery passion though I hung it in the closet with care. The top proved more difficult. As I inched it up her torso, she came around with several bleary-eyed blinks.
"Help me get this off you, Zelda," I whispered.
"Oh shit," she rasped, her eyes drooping shut.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep." I lifted her arms and drew the shirt over her head.
Once it was free, I pitched it toward the closet.
I'd send it out with my dry cleaning in the morning.
"I just wanted to put my head down for a minute. I had things to do."
I ran my thumb over her cheek. It was flushed from where it had laid against her arm.
There was more of her to take in—the way those black cotton panties stretched over the curve of her ass, the thin tank top rucked up past her belly button, the purple bra straps sliding down her shoulders—but this, her cheek, her lips, this was enough to send me on another dip and rise of the roller coaster. "I know, love. I know."
As much as I wanted to scoop her up and settle her under the blankets, I couldn't do that. I might've ditched the sling but my shoulder still hurt like hell and the last thing I wanted was to fuck that situation up any further.
"Come on now," I crooned, sliding my good arm under her arms. "Rest your head on the pillows for me. There you go, there we are. Good girl."
Zelda murmured and nodded like a sleepwalker as she flopped down.
I circled the bed, climbing in on the opposite side and drawing the blankets up around us.
Everything about this was foreign—the mattress, the pillows, the light cutting in from the window—yet all the restlessness inside me fizzled when Zelda nestled her back against my chest and tucked herself into my notches and grooves.
I was almost asleep when she bolted up, murmured "Fuck this" and whipped her bra off through her tank top's arm.
When she reclaimed her spot beside me, I smoothed her hair from her face. "Better?"
"Much," she replied.
As usual, she was right.