HIM

I’ve gotten no work done. None.

There are messages on my desk and emails dinging on my phone every few minutes.

But all I can do is watch the figure on the screen.

In my hoodie.

And no underwear.

Even now, sitting here with two of my department heads updating me on the week’s progress, I’m hearing none of the words that are coming out of their mouth. My eyes are fixed to the screen.

She’s talking on the phone right now, and it’s taking everything that I am to not kick them out of my office, so I can turn up the volume and listen to her voice.

“So, we’d love your input on that, Mr. Ashley.”

“Hmmm.”

“Mr. Ashley?”

“What?” I snap, looking up from the screen just in time to see them passing a look between them. Great. More people to add to the list of people I’ve yelled at for no reason today.

“Sorry. I was distracted, what did you say?”

“Er, just that, um, we really need to start hitting hard on the campaign for the launch of FireFree.”

“Yes, of course. I’m just waiting for the numbers back from the marketing department, hopefully get them this afternoon.”

“Okay, great. Anything else you need from us?”

Oh, they’re leaving. Good.

“No. Thanks. See you later.” I get up onto my feet, waiting for them to leave before pressing on the button to close my office door.

They’re barely on the elevator before I reach over and turn up the volume on my computer.

“Thank you, Xavier. I owe you.” I catch her saying.

Xavier? Maybe he’s convinced her to leave after all. The thought leaves me relieved and terrified both at once. She hangs up the phone and then dials another number. Who is she calling now?

There’s a small ring of the phone on Jemima’s desk. She answers it after the first ring as she knows I prefer.

Just then, Jade on screen starts to speak.

“Yes, this is Jade Sinclair, can you please put me through to Mr. Kaine Ashley. It’s urgent.”

Shit. How did she get my name? And my direct number?! Fucking Xavier. I look over and I see Jemima shake her head, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

Then through my computer, I hear Jade again, “Well, please tell Mr. Ashley that I have every intention of doing the same thing over the phone as I am to his apartment.”

Push her back, Jemima, don’t let her through.

I watch my secretary from my desk through the clear glass and see her stand up, running her hands nervously over her dress. Damn.

She walks to the door and I let her in.

“Um, there’s a, um, a Miss Sinclair on the phone for you, and it sounds urgent.”

Stalking Jade through my own apartment security cameras is one thing, speaking to her is another. But after a morning of watching her, the need for more interaction is undeniable. I want more. Need more.

“Put her through, Jemima.”

My secretary falters for a moment but knows better to ask questions. She closes the office door behind her and I brace myself.

The phone on my desk rings and I answer it with a push of a button.

“Hello?” She’s in stereo now, I reach over and mute the sound on my computer, but don’t take my eyes off it.

“Hello?” she says again. I watch as she sinks onto the couch and twirls a finger through her thick curly hair.

“Yes?” I say.

“Ah, he speaks,” she says, and I feel a flush at her taunting me. “Can you please tell the doormen to let me friend Harriet up to your apartment, please. She’s bringing me some work.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t like people in my apartment,” I tell her, which is true. Except for you, I want you there.

“Well, you brought me here.”

“And now that you have someone to take you home, you can leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Kaine,” she says.

Her use of my name is dizzying. I sit up from my reclining position for balance.

I want to hear it again.

“What?”

“You heard me. You heard me when I said it last night, and now I’m telling you again. Kaine, I’m not leaving until you come home.”

And I almost hurl myself through the window to get to her.

“I can call the police.”

“Fine. Tell them to bring my friend up with them when they come, so I can do some work while I wait.”

I watch as she sits up, her back straight, her hand waving emphatically in the air. She means it.

“You...”

“What?”

“You’re a very stubborn woman, Miss Sinclair.”

“Now that you’ve realized this, we can both move on. I’ll see you at home, your home, after work. Now please call your building people and tell them to let the crazy red head up to your apartment. I’ll take my work from her and send her along.”

There’s a click and she’s hung up the phone. My eyes back to the screen to see what she’s doing. She’s leaning back on the couch, her bare legs tucked under her, her face calm, not smiling.

I reach for the intercom.

“Jemima, get my apartment building on the phone. Now.”

***

As promised, after meeting her friend at the elevator, she takes the bag and sends her friend away again. Taking the bag to the couch, she spreads the papers around her, the laptop on her legs as she works, a coffee on the side table.

The scene is so domestic, I can almost smell dinner on the stove and some prime-time game show in the background on the TV.

And an ache spreads. I want to be there, be a part of it. Be sitting on the couch opposite her, my own work laid out around me, looking up now and then just to smile at her, to enjoy having her around. It’s a need I’ve never experienced before. A need to be a part of something, a couple, a family. I can’t understand these cravings. And why they’re appearing now. Why this woman is triggering them in me. A woman I barely know.

I just want them to stop.

It’s not a life that’s meant for me. The way I am, the way I’ve always seen myself.

My hand reaches up to the left side of my face, running over the lines and bumps, reminding myself what the world is like, and why I’ve chosen the life I have.

I turn up the volume on the monitor, and I’m surprised to hear the soft blues music drifting out of it. She’s turned on the music on her phone to help her work. I love this song.

I lean back in my chair, swinging my legs up onto my desk, stretching out my muscles. My body dragging with fatigue, my eyelids fight to stay open, watching her.

The song ends and continues onto another...and another...and then nothing.

***

I wake up, coughing.

It’s so hot, I think that if I touch my face, I’ll pull it away to see my skin melting over my fingertips.

“KAINNNNNNNNNNE!” Someone’s yelling out to me. I think it’s Dad. DAD! There’s smoke everywhere, and I cough. And I cough again, dragging more smoke into my lungs as I struggle for breath.

“DAD!!! Where are you?!” My knees crack as I fall to the ground, my eyes burning and all I see is smoke. Smoke everywhere. Dark, gray, angry plumes of smoke, its tendrils reaching out for me, and I duck and weave trying to avoid their restraints.

I don’t know where I am.

I’m crawling on the ground, looking for a door, a window.

“Dad! Mom! Jenny!” I sob. Where is everyone? Why have they all left me here?

“KAINE! Over here!!” It’s Dad’s voice again! There he is, on the other side of the kitchen. There’s a fire on the table, but I can get there, get to him.

I get up, ready to jump! “Dad! Catch me!”

There’s a crack and a scream, and I feel like I’m being skinned.

And then everything falls dark. Forever.

My eyelids snap open.

I’m sweating. All over.

I run my fingertips through my hair; it’s drenched.

I swing my legs back down onto the ground, needing to feel them on solid ground, to remind myself it was all a dream.

Except it wasn’t. It was all real. Too real.

I look around, and it’s darkening. The light from Jemima’s computer is dim, she’s gone home, and the view over Manhattan is a canvas of dark, menacing clouds.

I’ve been asleep for hours.

More hours than any night over the last few weeks.

The figure on the screen isn’t there, and I flip the view. She’s in the kitchen now, still in my hoodie, but with an apron tied around her waist. She must’ve found it hanging in the pantry.

The scene playing out in front of me is worlds away from the nightmare I’ve just awoken from.

The music coming from the speakers is more upbeat now; she’s switched to a pop radio station, and is dancing to the beat as she cooks.

Barefoot, bare assed, hips swaying and cooking in my kitchen.

I’ve never had more reason to go home.

There’s a message flashing on my phone that must have come in after Jemima left for the day. I press the button and turn up the sound.

It’s her. That sweet, husky voice that belongs on a siren, singing on a jagged cliff, calling sailors to their deaths.

“Kaine. I’m making pork chops for dinner. Again. And this time with my mum’s special marsala mushroom sauce. Be home by seven. It’ll be hot and waiting for you.”

Checking the time on my watch, it’s 6:50 p.m.

I close my eyes and imagine a life too good to be true.

“ARGHHH!” I scream, digging my fingertips into my scalp.

I get up and run out the door.