Page 26 of Boo-ty Calls
Settling onto the couch, I sort through the mail. PR and author books go in one pile, which I bring to my office and head back.
The box sitting on the coffee table is what has become of Archer, along with some extra packages I ordered recently to decorate him.
Undoing the tape, I reach through the packing peanuts to a smaller box. Setting the black package on my lap I open it carefully, brushing through the grass and grabbing the glass dildo.
“Had to get a bigger one than you, because I wasn’t about to put a cock sleeve on it, although sometimes that might be fun,” I say into the room. Not sure I believe in ghosts, but I like to think Archer is still here.
I clean the mess from the packaging and open the other things before heading up to the bedroom, putting them away in the drawer before walking to my office.
Grabbing Archer, I bring the box to the bedroom, wondering if I should bring him to the bathroom with me. He’s technically in plastic in the dark box, but I decide against it.
“Be unfortunate if the moisture turns you into clay. Would it be clay?”
Why I ask him questions is beyond me, and when I’m angry I shake him for fun because I can’t punish him for being so fucking stupid.
Running the water, I head to the closet and pull out a black nightie. My effort has gone downhill, but it is what it is.
Mason is supposed to come over tonight. It’ll be my first time with anyone since Archer, and the first time alone infucking forever, but I thought a familiar dick would be better than a rando.
“You were so good at putting up my hair and helping me not spiral in the water. Sometimes I really fucking hate you.”
I fight the urge to give him a little shake and stalk to the bathroom before stepping into the shower stream.
I haven’t taken as many baths and stick to the opposite of everything that was before, because I don’t want to feel like my heart is breaking every time I’m reminded of him. I tried to get them to give me his tattoos, but they wouldn’t let me. It’s been depressing.
Friends are something I should have made. I've gone to a few grief groups, but no one has a sense of humour, and I can only cry so much.
After washing my hair, I shave my legs and wash the rest of me before turning off the water.
Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around myself and plug in my hair dryer. Lying on the bed, I sigh and enjoy the cool air from the window. I have a ton of chores I have to look into doing because Archer isn’t here to take care of everything.
“Fellow. Add leaf bags to my grocery list,” I call out to the electronic aid device I got to help me remember literally anything.
It’s fucking weird calling out Fellow all the time, but something should be able to keep track of the things I forget.
Hauling myself off the bed, I make my way to the bathroom and blow-dry my hair. I put it into pigtails and apply a little eyeliner.
Moving Archer’s box to the side of the bed, I slip into the nightie and pull on thigh-high stockings. Reaching into the drawer, I unwrap the plastic and attach the googly eyes to his urn.
“You should be the one to get me ready, but I’ll be nice and let you watch,” I tell him.
Patting the box, I move the comforter off the bed and let out a muffled growl mixed with a yell. This isn’t how my life was supposed to fucking happen.
Anger is the top of grief, but it’s easier to deal with. God, I have to stop listening to my new therapist. She says all the quiet parts loud as fuck.
Running downstairs, I head to the kitchen, which I now hate, and grab an energy drink. After I drink half of it, there’s another water bottle on the floor, and I know it wasn’t near the edge. It’s been happening almost every time I grab a drink, and it’s annoying.
A knock on the door turns me away from this problem.
“Sloane, baby girl. I missed you,” Mason says, and picks me up into a huge hug.
“Mason, thank you.” I nuzzle into his neck, enjoying the embrace.
He puts me down, and I look into his eyes. The sorrowful look of pity changes to lust as his gaze sweeps over my body. “So, are things looking better?”
“Things are going to hell in a handbasket, but it’s life, eh? Can you do me a favour and see if my fridge is uneven?”
He stares at me for a moment and strokes his jaw,but nods.
