DaySleeper

The house is quiet and rather cold when I finally get home, paying the cab driver with a fifty and not bothering with the change. He’d thanked me profusely. I’d waved him off and stumbled inside. I drop my bag in the kitchen and close the door. The air feels wet. I rub my eyes and go up the stairs, exhausted from the plane ride and the crying and the whole never getting to see Warner again thing. I open the bedroom door and undo my belt and jeans before kicking them off. I slip into bed next to Kane, who stirs slightly and drops his arm over my shoulders. I shrug him off and lay on my side, my back to him.

~~
I can tell Kane has grown annoyed. I mean, it has been two weeks since Warner’s death, and nearly three weeks with him getting no action. I feel sort of bad, especially as he hasn’t pressured me, and since he’s been bringing me presents occasionally and making dinner himself instead of making me do it. He’s been great. I just… I don’t know why I can’t seem to stop the game. I roll over and bury my face in the sheets. I am glad Kane’s at work right now.
I don’t want to be around him. Maybe it’s time I moved on.

It’s not like there aren’t other guys out there.

But I do love him. He’s sweet.

I shove my face harder into the pillow and drain my mind of my thoughts. I couldn’t do that. I don’t want to do that. I am happy here.

Scratch that. I am not happy here. I feel normal here. I would call this house, this relationship, my comfort zone. I think I should dump him. It’s not like I haven’t broken up with people before. He’d be on the list. No big deal.

~~
I had planned to break up with him tonight. I had decided to crash at Mark’s place, maybe even see him for awhile. He’s nice enough, after all.

But that had been before Kane came home, smiling a bit tiredly.

“I got a promotion,” he’d said. I’d smiled hugely, hugging him. He’d only been working at the same office for two years now.

“Congratulations, baby!” I cooed. He’d hugged me and told me we were going out to dinner with his coworkers, as a celebration. I’d agreed and gone to get ready.

I guess I will not be breaking up with him tonight. That would be even crueler than it had seemed before.

I step out of the shower and begin getting dressed. Kane is watching TV downstairs, waiting for me.

I finish up, messing with my mostly dry hair, and head down the stairs.

“Ready,” I say. He looks up and smiles.

“You look nice,” he compliments. I smile back and let him take my arm as we leave the house, and begin the walk to the restaurant.

~~
Kane has been drinking profusely with his coworkers. They’ve been drinking a bit as well, but not as much as him. I ask for water after my second drink. I need to make sure one of us is sober enough to lead the other home, and Kane seems to have decided that that’s my job tonight.

I make polite conversation with the girl seated across from me as the waiter sets down my water. I thank him and he winks. Kane tightens his grip on my hand. I smile at him, reassuringly, and go back to my conversation. She’s rather boring, really, but she has nice teeth. I’ll give her that, even if they are just a product of a talented orthodontist.

We’ve been finished eating for some time. I think the restaurant must be closing soon, seeing as we’re the only table left and it’s nearing midnight.

Nice-teeth stands and excuses herself. She needs to be home soon. I shake her hand and tell her it was lovely to meet her. She replies similarly and heads out the door. I watch her slip off her heels and carry them as she teeter down the sidewalk. A car honks and she waves a shoe at them. Another couple says they’ll have to be going as well, and then Kane nudges me. I stand and help him up.

“I think dinner is officially over,” I laugh, and say goodbye to the remaining people at the table. I pay at the front and Kane and I head down the street, to the house.

“That was nice,” I say to Kane. He doesn’t reply at all. I take note of the fact that we’re not holding hands. Usually he gets more affectionate the drunker he is. I stare at my shoes. We don’t talk the rest of the way home.

I slide the key into the lock and push the door open. Kane goes in ahead of me, still not speaking, and goes straight upstairs. I drop the keys on the kitchen counter and follow him. He’s in the shower already, so I simply change my clothes and get into bed, waiting for him.
The shower turns off and Kane comes out a moment later, already in some clothes to sleep in. He doesn’t say anything as he slips into bed.

“Is something wrong, honey?” I whisper into the darkness. I hear him exhale with control and I feel my expression change. “Kane?” I question.

“I can’t believe you,” he hisses. My eyes widen.

“What did I do?” I ask him. He continues to stare at the ceiling, but speaks a moment later.

“Right in front of my coworkers,” he mumbles, showing off his drunkenness, “I can’t believe you flirted with him right there.”

“What?” I ask, “Who?”

Kane is on top of me in a moment.

“The waiter,“ he hisses. I tense under his grasp.

“I didn’t say two words to him!” I insist.

“Is that why you will not even put out anymore?” he demands, “Too sore from other guys?”
I stare up at him in shock.

“Of course not,” I whisper.

“Liar!” he barks. I flinch.

“I am not,” I promise him, hysteria growing in my chest, “I am just sad about—”

“Warner,” he spits. I flinch again. “You’re still hung up on the pedophile? He’s dead, and good riddance.”

“He wasn’t a pedophile!” I object and struggle against him now, anger growing in me. His eyes are glazed over, and I can see myself in them, wide green eyes, staring up at him, reflected back at me.

“You were 16! You were seduced by an older man, and it’s his fault you’re a whore!” he says, growing louder. The vibrations in his chest shake me.

I don’t know what to object to first. The fact that Warner seduced me (which is a laugh), or the fact that I am a whore. Neither of which are true.

“I am not a—” I begin, deciding to defend myself, before a dead man.

“Shut up,” he orders. I pause for a moment before beginning again. “I said shut up!” he commands me. I freeze up, that is, until his fingers reach the hem of my shirt.

“Don’t touch me!” I find myself yelling, furious. He pulls the shirt off my struggling body. “Get off of me, bastard!” I demand. He hits me hard in the face and I stop struggling, staring at him.

It’s as if the world had been spinning very fast, and I was holding onto the grass to stay on board, and all of a sudden he made it freeze, and the force of the screeching halt slammed my head into the ground. Except it was his fist and my nose. I can’t breathe. He doesn't even look sorry.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he orders, “Ever again.”

I nod mutely as I feel a trickle of blood seep from my nose. He presses his lips to mine roughly and I feel the breath leave my body again in a terrible, sickening way.