Man of the Year (Drake Story)

Chapter Treogtyve

 I’d made a deal with the devil.

On the way home, I walked away thinking that it was a rookie mistake. That I shouldn’t have trusted someone who proved to me time and time again that he was purely evil-blooded. But maybe he was the best person to work with; because he was so evil, he wouldn’t have a problem defending me. He wouldn’t have a problem killing Drake because he wasn’t sympathetic like the rest of us.

My intention was to buy Drake’s house. That was the true calling that I was trying to fulfill when I went there. Still, what took place was no less of an accomplishment. Maybe it was a true calling also, just a different one. Maybe the other one was meant for a different time. Different place. I could deal with that. I viewed it as something taken care of, something pending but still progressive. There were still other issues that hadn’t been taken care of at all, like what I was going to do about Makonnen and Amanda, or finding out where Drake was, or finding more information on Cyrus. The first unattended task was too fresh, too recent. I couldn’t address it now. There was still too much emotion involved. The second would probably be taken care of eventually, and it wasn’t that important to me anyway. A little suspicious, but not urgent. That left me with the third.

I decided I would commit to it.

It happened kind of on accident, anyway. Not that I wasn’t sure about it - I’d made the decision to go after things that needed to be taken care of instead of creating more problems in my life - but I didn’t exactly know how I’d do it. There was some kind of guardian angel that put all of the factors together. All I had to do was be there.

Keziah wanted to have sex when I got home from Drake’s. I didn’t know why. If I was her, I wouldn’t even want to touch me. I barely spoke to her all day, and I’ve clearly been lying, and I’m a horrible boyfriend. But she still wanted to. I concluded that it was a way for her to feel okay with herself. She blamed herself for everything that I did, for the fact that I couldn’t make our relationship feel real even though we both wanted it to be, for the fact that I didn’t defend her against Belphoebe. She blamed herself, and build her self esteem back up, she had to prove to herself that I still wanted her. She was waiting for me with nothing but a silk robe on, slipping one of the sides off of her shoulder. Her hair fell over her face, covering the sides of her face like the robe covered the sides of her body. As exhausted as I was, she looked beautiful. Enticing. Tempting.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sleep with her until we were real with each other. I was keeping things from her and she was using her body to make up for it. There was inauthenticity on both ends, and until that was fixed, we couldn’t be intimate on that level. I made her think that I was into it. We started, but after a while she noticed how tired I was and allowed me to go to sleep before anything serious could happen. Funny thing is, it was only after she turned around and said she was going to sleep did I really want to be with her, did I really want to be intimate with her. It was too late then, so I closed my eyes and went into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Good morning, Aubrey.” She greeted dryly, fiixng the cushions on the couch as I prepared coffee in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I said. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Already ate.”

“Coffee?”

“Had that too.” She picked up a basket of dirty clothes on the floor and marched past me, headed for the laundry room.

“I was thinking that maybe tonight we could go to Drake’s and watch a movie in his theater. I was thinking something scary? Maybe a chick-flick if I’m feeling kind.” I tried to laugh with her, to lighten the mood. She didn’t answer me. When she emerged from the hallway, this time with no laundry basket, she shrugged. That was her only answer, to shrug, and then go back to cleaning things. Looked like I’d be going by myself.