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CHAPTER 8
SELA
I froze when I saw him. In my mind, I had watered the hate like a plant, gave it sun and water and it grew. I wanted to scream at him to drag my nails across his face, but all that happened when I saw him was I froze, the voice in my head just said, 'No, please no'. I went away inside myself, weak.
Thank god he didn't see me, but when Jenna came over she could see my face was pale and asked “It looks like you've seen a ghost, are you OK?”
“Take me home, please,” was all I could say. Not my home, his home. I was a guest. I needed to leave, but it was the only place I felt safe. All of this time with Oren, I didn't realize how weak I had become, how far back I went. It wasn't always this way.
I craved excitement and adventure once. I was fearless once, not a cowering dog hiding from Oren. I had felt strong again with Dorian, I had felt safe, at peace, like I knew who I was, even if only for a moment.
She left me at his apartment after making sure I was alright. She gave me a card, not exactly a business card, a nice white card with a phone number and an address, no name the only thing it had was the red swirl I had seen on her arm and Dorian's, and said use it if I needed to. I took it and I told her I just needed to sleep and take a bath, a lie. I needed a drink. Something to take the edge off. I poked around his kitchen. Stainless steel appliances and copper pots hanging, it was all beautiful, and pristine. It didn't look they were ever used. There was nothing in the fridge. Literally it was empty! Bottled water was all I could see in it. I didn't want to move them to see if there was anything behind them. Not even ketchup and mustard and relish and odd condiments most guys had. Nothing.
It was like the entire apartment really. Very cold and sterile, no warmth. It felt like a museum more than an apartment, more than a home. I didn't want to be nosy, but of course I snooped around a bit. A guy like this probably had a wine cellar, maybe behind a secret door or something. How do you have a wine cellar in a penthouse? There's no cellar. I didn't know but I'm sure people did. Even if I stumbled upon a wine cellar, I didn't know the difference between a great wine and a ten dollar one, I didn't want to risk drinking something worth more than my car.
There was nothing in the cabinets either, no 100 year old scotch bottles full of dust, or anything like that. Finally, in the fridge again, I moved the pack of bottled waters and found a six pack of beer. Domestic beer, regular old aluminum cans. I couldn’t believe it. Everything in this place was intimidating, with blacks and whites and grays and concrete floors and brick walls. But then the old red and white cans in the back of the fridge. He didn't seem the kind of guy to get off work and crack a beer and watch TV, but then again, he was full of surprises.
This I could do, even with no money, I could pay him back a six pack. I opened one, and drank, and felt better. I always liked beer better than liquor. Alcoholism ran in the family, and beer was harder to abuse it seemed, it filled me up too much to lose myself too much. And if I had to drink with reporters I could sip a beer and take a few shots, and not worry about losing control of myself. Or a glass of wine. Or if it was something important, a party or something where I had to be professional, I would have gin and tonic because I hated it. I could sip one gin and tonic all night and be sure I wouldn't embarrass myself drinking because I would never finish one, just sip and sip and hate it- but not embarrass myself.
My dad used to drink gin, often straight and not even chilled. And he went from one drink to ten drinks to a bottle a day by the time I left for college. When I came back, I would take care of him, but he chose the bottle over me. Just like Oren. I was beginning to realize I had fallen into the same habits as when I was a kid. Taking care of the alcoholic man in my life, being loyal even though they chose a bottle over me and over life.
It was terrible, but when father died, I was happy. I was happy I didn't need to take care of him anymore. I was free, and when I graduated college, I sought adventure. Needed adventure. And Oren gave me that. For a while. Then he liked the drink too much too. Was it my fault? Did I drive men to drink? I would do the same to Dorian if he let me. No, that's not true. He's never weak.
I couldn’t believe I had repeated my same mistakes. And had not realized that's what I was doing until right now, this moment. I wasted my college experience coming home weekends to make sure Dad had food, using student loans to support him until his disability benefits came through. And I was doing the same thing with Oren. Putting my life on hold to take care of him, to make sure his wasn't lost. But it was already lost when he started drinking again. I wouldn't go through that again. I needed to make sure I wouldn't fall in the same traps again. I needed knowledge. I needed strength. I needed whatever Dorian could teach me. If it was some defect in me that made me want to be a slave to men I hated, then why not to one I loved, to one that could give me pleasure? If he would have me. The idea of knowledge, of confidence again seemed sexier than anything else.
I walked around his place again. Three bedrooms, his, the room I was sleeping in and a third, that looked almost exactly like mine. His room was drab and almost cold like the rest of the apartment, but this second bedroom, had a little bit of life in it.
The walls were nearly covered with African art, oranges and reds and bold shapes. And tribal masks of huge, almost cartoonish faces, carved from ebony wood. Some scary, some kind looking, some silly. There was a sculpture of someone running up a ladder and throwing the rungs off as he went, escaping something that was not in the sculpture, but it seemed like he was escaping something funny rather than something scary.
The room was definitely out of place. When I made my way around the bed, there were even old ratty stuffed animals, elephants and lions, and a giraffe. There was also what must have been an ivory tusk on the bed stand. The ivory made my blood run cold, slaughtering elephants and rhinos like they did. I left the room and closed the door behind me. Whatever all that was he could keep it.