“Of course, Dread Pirate Roberts. Good night,” I call to his retreating form before flopping on the bed, wondering what I’m going to do with this clean slate I’ve been given.
It’s awkward at first, the way living with a stranger in close quarters would be. We have morning routines to learn, like how he wakes up at four AM to get on his rower. Or that he can’t even talk to me before my second cup of coffee.
I discover that he prefers his first coffee to be an espresso before switching to a latte and on particularly rough days, where he’s barely gone to sleep before his alarm goes off again, he drinks an espresso mixed withMountain Dew. I’ve learned to avoid him on days like this, his mood sour and mercurial, not because he’s rude to me, but when he drinks that battery acid it’s because his dad is putting pressure on him. It’s pressure that he’s getting because he’s here with me, and I don’t want to be an undue burden, not any more than I already am.
I send a thank you prayer to the god of technology that all my passwords are saved on my laptop. Getting into my emails helps to fill in some of the blanks, but not nearly enough. My emails are mostly shopping deals and other nonsense that was easy to filter out. I have emails about commissioned art pieces, and ones from a temp agency warning me that if I continue to be late, leave early or miss work completely, I won’t be able to rely on them for a reference.
The rest of my computer is equally as empty. There are bank statements from the account I set up after my parents died. I have tax returns saved, but no photos on my computer, not even from college. All my social media accounts are shut down. I try to find ones for the illustrations I do, but it looks like I send them out to someone else to post.
I track my accounts like a forensic accountant, trying to go back and see if there are any hints to when things fell off with Vivian. The best clue I can find is from three years earlier, when I started to pay cash for most things, only finding cash withdrawals from my checking account. There are no names of places for me to reach out to that might give me some information about my life.
I’m glad to see that the nest egg my parents left me is still intact. I was lucky, after they died, that their lawyer who drew up their estate documents had the presence of mind to push to sue the contractors and suppliers that caused their house to burn down. The money I got from the lawsuit would never replace them in my heart or in my life, it won’t give me back the moments they missed and are going to miss like this one, but it helped to ensure that I was able to find a real one bedroom and be able to do some of the artwork I had always wanted to.
Soon after I move in, Charlie gets a TV installed in my bedroom so I can retreat in there when he’s working late. I’m in what I’ve come to call my room watching a TV show when he knocks on the door.
“Am I supposed to believe this show is still on? How have they not run out of plot?” I ask, waving the remote at the screen.
“Longest running medical drama on television. I think it’s been renewed for another two seasons.” Charlie leans against the door frame, arms crossed.
“Well, I have to rewatch the first ten seasons, and then catch up on the last five years, so this will keep me busy for the next several months.”
“How was PT today?” he asks, noting the ice packs on my knee and shoulder.
“Good. Dan said that I was ‘lucky’ with the accident and it all could have been much worse. Says I’ll probably be cleared for my shoulder before my knee.”
“Makes sense. You can’t really work your leg with the cast.”
“Nope. He did say that was unlucky. He wants me on one of those knee scooters, but I can’t really put that much pressure on my knee.”
“You’re a mess,” Charlie teases.
“Only the hottest. I did also find out that I had been doing some graphic design work, though I'm not sure what. I guess I had a tablet or something that we missed in my apartment. I have emails from people about my work. I figured out that I had to refund people money for work I promised and can no longer deliver on. I was also a temp with a terrible track record, so going missing for two weeks didn’t seem like a surprise.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to be unreliable.”
“I didn’t think so, but maybe I was someone else's sugar baby, so I didn’t need the money.”
“I would think this sugar baby setup is preferable.”
“For now,” I tease, but for a second my heart sinks and I’m afraid he thinks I’m just here for the free food and rent. I dismiss the thought when he pushes on.
“Come watch a movie, unless you’re heavily invested in Dr. Mcwhats-his-face and who he’s screwing now.”
“Do you have time?” I’m already turning off the TV though, eager to spend more time in Charlie’s presence. I want us to watch a comedy so I can hear his laugh and catch him smiling. I want to have an excuse for him to touch me.
We settle on the couch, his phone and laptop accessible if need be. I’m stretched out again, leg elevated. Charlie made sure to set up the pillows, lifting my leg gently to set it on the pile he’s made for me. I get a light shock when his fingers graze my knee when he places a fresh ice pack on it. When we touch, I wonder at what it would feel like to have his hands all over me. He sits down beside me, much closer than usual, but not quite touching. I can still feel the heat from his body, even at this slight distance.
“Is this okay?” he asks, setting the bowl of popcorn within reach for both of us.
“Yeah,” I agree, trying not to be so affected by his presence. I can’t go and fall for this man. I don’t think my attraction to him is based purely on this savior complex, but he seems to genuinely be a nice guy.
Charlie braces his arm over be back of the couch, casting furtive glances in my direction. I try not to notice, but eventually I look up at him, realizing just how close he is to me.
“Can I help you?” I ask with a smirk.
“I’m just enjoying the movie and didn’t want you to think that my arm was me trying to put the moves on you.”
I try to pretend that it doesn’t bother me that he’s not. I’m not expecting this to become anything, as much as I would love to see his muscles in action up close and personal. But it would be nice to know that I’m still somewhat desirable in this state. “Because I’m so repulsive that you would never?” I try to inject a joking tone into my voice.