“Stenton,” I hear a strained voice. “This can only work if you cooperate. You were able to make it up from the car…after your vomiting episode, and even help me get you out of your clothes.” Her tone is one of exasperation. “You said you have to pee, now pee. Please, Stenton. I’m so sleepy.”
It’s the please that reminds me of better times between me and this woman that relaxes me. I can feel my hands against cold tiles, but my cock is warm, in soft holdings.
“Yes! There you go. Whew!” I hear. I don’t process what that means, but continue to relieve myself. “Okay, now let’s get you into the shower.”
I sense my glide into my shower, but not much after that. Maybe it’s because Zoey inviting me into the shower excited me into oblivion, or that my intoxicated mind cannot process much else, but I went out.
The next time I awaken is in the morning. There’s only a streak of light glaring through my bedroom. My body lies stiff as I manage one eye open. Immediately, I sense my need to take a piss, but before I can urge my heavy body to move from my bed, I smell her. Then I hear her. Her voice is low, almost a whisper. I glance over and find Zoey leaning against the window.
“Bernard, no. I’m fine. No, I’m not about to leave him here alone. Why? Because he’s Jordan’s father. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. He could have had an accident in the middle of the night! What do you mean, where did I sleep?”
For some reason, that makes me look to my left where I could clearly see a dent in the pillow and smell her scent.
“I’m not doing this. I’ll call you later when I get myself together. It was a stressful night,” she grates into the phone, still attempting to control her tone.
So not the thing to say to your man when you’re in the other man’s bedroom the morning after, Zo.
But then something else hits me. Why was it a long night? Then I start turning over memories of last night, at least those I can recall, hoping I didn’t say something I’ll regret. Shit! This can’t be my life.
“Your Excedrin and water.”
I look up to find Zoey gesturing to my nightstand. Slowly, I turn my head to find two white pills and a glass of water. I sigh. So much to get off my chest and yet another reason to feel like shit. I don’t want her to see me like this.
Zoey saunters over and hands me the pills and water to take. I do. I don’t deserve her charity. She did say she’d do this for her worst enemy.
There’s an awkward silence.
I sit up, slowly. “Zo,” my voice is scratchy. “I need to talk to you and I don’t know how to begin.”
“Is it about your depression? Is that why you’re talking to a therapist?”
“Depression?”
“Yes.”
Why does that sound so familiar?
“Where did you get that from?” Then it dawns on me. “Fucking Alton!”
What’s worse than a loose lip fucker is a loose lip fucker with the wrong information.
“No, Zoey. It’s just that there are a few things I need to share with you and it can’t be on a whim, but we need to talk.”
“So, you’ve not been diagnosed with depression?”
“No.” Not clinically. That shit sounds absurd.
She exhales while changing her stance, placing her hands on her hips. Zoey’s not the only one exasperated. I exhale long myself and rub the hangover sickness from my face.
“I’ve always been so fuckin selfish with you.” I don’t know where to begin, but with that simple truth. “I need to explain some shit to you.”
“Stenton, you’ve been a lot over the years, but not selfish. An asshole of a heartbreaker, yes, but never selfish.”
My eyes dart over to her. Zoey never uses profanity. Have I brought her to this point?
Shit! This isn’t going to be easy.
Her phone goes off again. And she sighs even harder as she looks down at it.