Page 72 of Heart of Stone

“Why not? Don’t you like drunk sex?” I pouted. The room was starting to tilt a little bit.

Maybe it would be better if I did go to bed.

I climbed into bed, not very gracefully, and waited for him to pull up the covers.

“I don’t want to be with you like this. Not today anyways.” He leaned down and brushed the gentlest of kisses on my forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you tomorrow night. I promise.”

He tucked the blankets around me and moved away to shut off the bedroom light. I didn’t want him to go. He promised that he wouldhaveme tomorrow, but oh how I wanted him right at that moment. I closed my eyes, wishing he would crawl into bed next to me.

Maybe when I open them, he’ll be here with me.

That was my last thought as the darkness pulled me into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 19

Within seconds, Krystina was passed out cold. I stood there for a while, just watching her sleep. Her breathing was already soft and regular, the lush mounds of her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin cotton t-shirt that she wore. Moonlight flooded through the slats of the blinds on the window, casting a subtle halo around her head, giving her an angelic look.

Her picturesque appearance caused a restless sort of feeling to settle into my gut. It was unfamiliar and unwanted.

What the fuck is wrong with me lately?

I sharply exhaled and shook my head in aggravation. To say that the entire evening was troubling me would be a complete understatement. Krystina’s limited experience with sex was a concern, but her naivety was an issue that would easily resolve itself given some time. It was more than just that. I was more bothered by the fact that I was in her apartment, unsure of what possessed me to come here in the first place.

I had immediately known that something was wrong when I called her. It was thenotknowing what it was that made me feel powerless, compelling me to go to her. I had been consumed with worry over her welfare, and I simply reacted.

Drunk text. That’s all it was. How was I supposed to know that she would demolish a bottle of wine all on her own?

But my effort to shake off the uneasiness was in vain. The apprehension that crawled over my skin was not just because I had left the comforts of my bed out of concern for a drunken woman. I was troubled because every response that Krystina emitted from me was foreign. I am always in control of the situation, not matter what the circumstance is. My wants and needs are always the endgame. Yet, over the course of the evening, I had found myself reconsidering those needs more often than not.

When I eventually turned to leave, an extensive CD collection under the bedroom window caught my attention. Knowing that Krystina was easily influenced by music, my interest piqued and I went over to the long lines of shelving to get a closer look. I squatted down so that I could see the selection better through the slant of light that came in through the bedroom door.

As I began to read the artists, I quickly saw that the CD’s were in alphabetical order. Her organization was unexpected, and I laughed quietly to myself. Justine used to say that I was neurotic for doing similar sorts of things when we were growing up. I made a mental note to tell her that I wasn’t a minority.

I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the room, looking to see if Krystina had anything else in order like the CD’s. There were a few books on the antique white wooden desk in the corner, but other than those, there wasn’t anything that needed to be catalogued quite so precisely. However, everything about the room was neatly arranged.

The furnishings were older in style, giving the room a vintage appeal that was tasteful done. There were no cloths strewn about, showing that Krystina had an appreciation for tidiness. Quotations written in black calligraphy were framed and hung cleverly around the room.

I stood and moved closer to the wall to read what some of the quotations said. Krystina appeared to have a fondness for Maya Angelou. Every frame was filled with words by the poet, most of them being about strength, perseverance, and determination.

That’s an interesting piece of info that I’ll have to remember for later.

Closing the door behind me with a quiet click, I left the bedroom and made my way into the kitchen. I knew that Krystina would feel like garbage when she woke, so I began searching her kitchen cabinets with the hope of finding some ingredients to ease her morning pain.

I was pleased to find that the kitchen was fully stocked, showing me that at least one of the women in the apartment liked to cook. The cupboards were well organized, with all the food labels facing front. I smiled to myself when I saw it, and was curious about which roommate was so meticulous. But then I recalled Krystina’s CD collection, and immediately knew that anyone who would go through the painstaking task of alphabetizing hundreds of CD’s would surely strive for an efficient kitchen.

After collecting everything that I needed, I filled the teakettle and set it on the stovetop. While I was waiting for the water to boil, I wandered around the apartment. I needed to learn more about the many layers that made up Krystina, and an individual’s personal space told a story. Her bedroom had only been the prologue.

The apartment was big in comparison to New York standards. And like her room, it was stylishly done, in an eclectic sort of way. Overstuffed furniture filled the main living space, the sort that a person could just sink into and fall asleep. There was no formal dining room, but rather a spacious breakfast nook in the kitchen and a large island with four bar stools on one side. The windows throughout the apartment bore no curtains, but it wasn’t necessary. The bamboo roman blinds would give all the privacy that was needed when they were fully closed.

Overall, the two women maintained a tidy space, with feminine touches throughout that gave the apartment a cheerful, lived-in look. The only things lying about were a few magazines and a book that were stacked neatly on the coffee table. Curious, I went over to the table to retrieve the book.

Hmm…James Patterson.

Crime and mystery was a far cry from inspirational poems, and I wondered if the book belonged to Krystina or her roommate. I glanced down at the magazines that had been underneath the novel. The top one looked like a woman’s gossip rag, the cover advertising the hottest male celebrities of the year and an article on how to get your man to commit. I pinched my face in disgust.

If I were a betting man, I’d wager that the magazines didnotbelong to Krystina.

I placed the book back down just as the kettle began to whistle. I hurried back into the kitchen before the noise could wake the sleeping beauty. I finished preparing the hangover remedy in no time, collected the remaining things that she would need, and went back into her room to leave it where she would see it in the morning. The drink would be cold by the time she got to drink it, but it would still do the trick.

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