The Father

Chapter 18

I'm jolted awake from a nightmare and instantly reach out for Katherine as I try to catch my breath.

"Baby?"

In the darkness I grab an arm, rest my face to her chest, but quickly sit up. I'm drenched in sweat, burning up and sticky, and in my current state I've forgotten where I am.

It isn't Katherine I'm touching, but Lena, and it offers me no comfort whatsoever.

"Michael? Are you okay?"

"Fine," I mutter, then climb off of the bed.

I rush to the bathroom, close the door behind me and lock in, and lean against the sink. My fingers are pressed firmly against the marble, I quickly flip the light on, and turn the faucet slowly. From beneath the sink I grab a washcloth, hold it beneath the water, wring it out, and press it against my forehead.

What was my nightmare about?

It's vague and spotty and almost faded, but I know it was this case. Blood and rape and carnage and a faceless man...

I take a deep breath and try to stop the queasy feeling that's beginning in my stomach. The one thing that could help me right now is probably asleep down in Greenwich Village, likely with Maxwell next to her.

The days have passed by slowly, achingly slow, since we returned nearly four days ago. It was just as bad as I'd expected with work, I've been buried, and haven't had any free time. And every time I have had, Maxwell has been in my way. It's like bad luck or karma. We've done plenty of texting when she's able or when I'm able, but it isn't enough.

I've replayed Monday over and over again. It was a wonderful day until we parted ways, though I expected to see her again much sooner than I've been able to. We made love and had lunch and shopped. She paid for our food, but I bought her books and clothes and even a small necklace, some cheap thing she said she thought was cute. I'd rather buy her something with more substance, something worth more, but I'm not so sure she'd like that. She seemed over the moon for that cheap silver chain with a little black gemstone.

"You okay in there?"

Lena knocks and I jump and nod to myself.

"I'm fine. Just need a minute."

I'm uneasy on my feet, both from my thoughts and my stomach and the images that are flashing through my head. Maybe it's time I talk to a therapist. These things are traumatizing, aren't they? Seeing women who have been raped and men who have been shot, talking to children who don't have any parents, sometimes children who have seen their parents in these states?

Is it traumatizing me? I'm not sure. These nightmares aren't a good sign. The way I'm feeling isn't a good sign. God, I want to go to her now. What time is it? Maybe I could go and we could fuck in my car in her lot or on the stairwell in her building. I'll take anything I can get right now.

When I go back into the bedroom Lena is laying back down, I think she's asleep, but I don't stay to find out. I swipe my phone off the nightstand, check the time as I leave the room, and walk slowly down the stairs. It's two a.m.

M: Are you awake?

After I've sent her a message I get a water out of the fridge, go outside, light a cigarette, and sit on the patio. I smoke and drink and wait. It's a cool night, more so because I'm only wearing boxer briefs, but still. It's almost August, which means the end of summer is getting closer. And then comes fall, which I don't much care for. And then winter, which I despise.

But perhaps it won't be so bad since I'll be with her. Maybe by then I'll have chucked in my charade of marriage and we'll really be together. I'd like it to happen much sooner, but I can wait as long as it'll take. It's all resting on her shoulders.