I'm having trouble breathing and the thick air of the apartment is stifling. I choke with oppressive gasps and my eyes begin to blur. My hand wipes my face, trying to scrub the irritation away. Looking down at my palm, I see it's wet. Tears are falling. Shit!
I turn and storm into my tiny kitchen. Everything is new and sleek, but boxes still lay on the counter unopened. After living here for two weeks, I shrugged off the kitchen unpacking, relying mostly on take-out.
I need it.
My hand is shaking as I reach for the door handle of the refrigerator. Pulling the stainless steel door open, I see a box of baking soda, a bag of grapes, and an unopened bottle of sparkling white wine - a gift from my realtor on move in day.
I rush to grab the bottle and almost drop it from the resting place on the inside shelf along the door. Setting the dark green bottle on the granite counter a little too firmly, I rip off the black foil surrounding the cork. It's one of those plastic corks, a cheap bottle.
Gripping the neck, I try to pull and twist the cork but my hand keeps slipping. I wipe my palm on my pants and try again with no luck. I need a towel.
Hastily I open and close drawers causing the utensils to clatter. The last drawer I rummage through has some wooden spoons, a small brown hand towel, and a package of wintergreen gum. My eyes dart between the towel and the gum.
"Fuck you! Fuck you!!!" I yell at the top of my lungs at the gum.
My whole body is trembling as the anger reaches a boiling point. I take the bottle and hurl it into the sink. It doesn't shatter, just cracks. There is a hissing sound as the golden liquid starts to spray out.
My hand pushes into the drawer and from deep in me, a chuckle bubbles to the surface as I withdraw the gum. Unwrapping a piece, I pop it into my mouth as the snicker turns into hysterics. I have to grip the counter until my laughter dies down.
The memory of all the times that shitty drawer at the office stuck when I needed this gum floods my mind. The first time Morgana helped me with the drawer and fell into my lap. If I had to write a book about my life, I would name it Drawers and Gum.
Fucking drawer. Fucking gum. Fucking Morgana. God, I miss her.
Wild thoughts race through my brain. Images of her bent over my desk, my lap, when she first begged me…for more. My synapses keep firing in my head, and now she has lipstick smeared across her face as my thumb traced her cheek when she first visited my condo, slowly wiping the color away.
I groan as I remember how I purposely pushed the tissue to her lips, trying desperately not to touch her puckered mouth. My fingers aching to thrust past her glistening lips and watch her suck me down.
I want her beneath me, to encase her, fill her, and breathe her in, but none of this can happen. They are all just memories now. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to dissolve her from my thoughts.
I need to get out of here, away from myself, especially my thoughts. Grabbing my keys and phone from the desk, I head out of my place. As I enter the elevator, I text Tiffany.
Me: Where are u?
After a minute, as I turn the corner of my street heading toward the red line El train, my phone buzzes with a text.
Tiffany: David's Physical Therapy appt. Why?
The hospital finally released David a week ago. He woke from his coma two months ago, when I was in London. I was so angry with myself for not being there, especially when I got back. I hid away in my apartment until Tiffany came over and told me her son was awake and talking, a week after I was fired from Mimir.
It was a sucker punch. I was already down from losing my job and watching Morgana walk away; then to hear David was asking about me and I was too self-absorbed to be there for him.
The real shitty thing was, after Tiffany told me, I decided to stay home and drink even more rather than go see David. That's how much of a selfish fucking coward I was.
This time I won't be. That green bottle looked so easy, so good. But then I would have lost everything I have worked on for the past month and a half. I know if I had drank that bottle, I would have just holed up in my apartment again. I would miss out on watching my business plan become real and seeing a little boy learn to walk for the first time. These moments outweigh a stupid drink any day of the week.
I type into my phone, barely paying attention to where I am walking and knocking into people as I go.
Me: I'm coming to visit. Lurie's right?
After a few seconds, my phone buzzes again.
Tiffany: Yeah. David will be happy to see you.