Chapter 2
When I wake the next morning, I swear I feel as if I’ve had a night of sexual exploits that rival anything I’ve ever actually experienced. My body feels pleasantly used and sore in all the right ways. I can’t explain why I feel this way, but I’m not hating it. Not at all.
Faint memories of a sensual dream flash through my mind. Hands roaming. Tongues trailing carnally along skin. Gasps of ecstasy. Sighs of pleasure. How fascinating is the human brain that a dream could make me feel so much and leave echoes of the visions buried in my muscles?
It’s been a very long time since I’ve had any kind of sexual experience, much less one that was enjoyable.
Confused, I sit in my breakfast nook and sip my first cup of coffee as I try to figure out what’s going on with my body.
How strange to feel as if you’ve been ravished when you’ve clearly not.
I mean, I haven’t had sex in over a year - longer really, as I reached a point in my marriage where I couldn’t stand for him to even look at me, much less touch me.
Suddenly, things begin to make sense. I sigh into my coffee cup as I realize the feelings I’m having must come from being sexually frustrated. I should probably try to do something about that, but I just don’t know if I’m ready to jump back into the world right now - dating or otherwise.
I may have to invest in a vibrator. In fact, I’m not certain why I haven’t done that already. I was forced to get rid of the one I had when I got married. I thought nothing of it at the time, but looking back now, I realize it was one of many red flags I should have seen.
He was obviously intimidated and jealous that my vibrator could get me off far better than he was ever able to. I’ve never understood why men don’t realize sex toys aren’t competition. They’re a tool and can be an excellent aid for everyone involved.
Mind made up, I grab my phone and go shopping. Fifteen minutes later, I have a same-day delivery on the way and a second cup of coffee in hand.
It’s time to get my day started. I’ve got a lot to do, and though I’m not in any rush, I want to get myself set up and organized sooner rather than later. I’ve decided to try to tackle one room at a time, and first up is my library. I have to have my books. I don’t think I could live without them.
I give the sliding doors to the library a gentle push, and they glide smoothly into the wall pockets and out of the way.
This room was another selling point for me.
The large fireplace is gorgeous - one of three in the house - and the mantle is made of the same wood and design as the banister for the staircase.
There are boxes and boxes of books stacked around the room, and very little furniture.
The small loveseat and matching chair are temporary.
I have plans to replace them with something that better fits the size and style of the room, something infinitely more comfortable for curling up in front of the fireplace and getting lost in a book for hours on end.
The bookcases are massive, built-in, and line three walls of the windowless room.
I can’t wait to see all my beloved tomes sitting on the shelves.
I grab my bottle of furniture polish and a dust rag and get to work.
It doesn’t take long before the wood is gleaming, and I begin filling the shelves one perfectly placed book at a time.
It takes me a little over three hours to get through all the boxes and get the books organized just right on the shelves.
Organized by genre and then alphabetically by author, the colorful spines seem to smile at me, pleased with their placement.
The only books I’ll not put here are my own.
Those I intend to put on a shelf in my bedroom as a reminder to me that I can write the books, that I have written the books, and that I should continue to write the books.
I work hard late into the afternoon before I take a break.
I hadn’t intended to do quite so much on the first full day in the house, but I completely lost track of time in my happiness at seeing my home starting to come together.
By the time I finish scrubbing one of the guest bathrooms, I’m starving.
I wander downstairs to the kitchen to warm up some leftover pizza.
The microwave beeps, and I’m so hungry I don’t even wait to take the first bite, scalding the roof of my mouth in the process.
I suck in air in an attempt to cool my mouth off as I carry my plate into the library.
I want to curl up with a book while I nibble on my dinner so I can get lost and relax a bit after all my hard work.
When I walk into the library, my mouth drops open in surprise and disbelief. My bookshelves are in disarray. Now, instead of the way I organized my books, they are color-coded, and my library looks like a rainbow.
What in the actual fuck?
I stand there staring, mumbling to myself as I try to figure out just how in the hell that happened. My heart starts to race as it dawns on me that the only logical explanation is that someone got into the house. Someone came into my home. I begin to panic as I look around.
A weapon. I need a weapon, and I need to search the house. I frantically go through a couple of boxes I’ve not unpacked and find a pair of heavy brass candlesticks. I grab one, take a deep breath, and gather my courage.
Holding my makeshift weapon like a baseball bat, I begin to go room to room, checking closets and anywhere someone could possibly be hiding.
At first, I’m scared out of my mind, but the more rooms I check without finding anyone or anything else amiss, the more that fear begins to turn to frustration and anger.
By the time I’ve searched the house, that frustration and anger has multiplied a hundredfold. I return to the library to get back to my forgotten pizza, completely confused and resigned to the fact that I’m going to have to reorganize my library.
But when I walk into the room, the shelves are back the way I originally set them. This time, I can’t keep quiet in my astonishment, and I drop the candlestick, which thuds as it hits the thick carpet.
“What. The. Fuck?”
I can do nothing but stare. Did I imagine it? Did I seriously imagine my books being rearranged? Am I so damn tired that I’m hallucinating?
I shake my head to try to clear the confusion. After a moment, I conclude I did imagine it, and my imagination seriously ran wild. There’s really no other explanation.
I put the candlesticks back and get back to my dinner. I curl up with my book and finish my now-cold pizza. I read late into the night - much later than I intend - and by the time I crawl into bed, I’m simply exhausted. I drift off to sleep immediately.