Page 31 of Deeply Examined

He shoves his hands into his pockets. Looking everywhere but at me, he says, “Hope you get a good night’s sleep.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to ignore the hollow feeling of longing I get when I look at him. I wish so badly that he would touch me, but he doesn’t. As he turns to go, I call out, “Good night, Adam.”

Immediately, his back stiffens. Slowly, he faces me. In a quiet voice that hides deeper emotions, he says, “Don’t call me that.”

I take a step back, stricken by the dark, shuttered expression that’s taken over his face. “I’m sorry. I thought that was your name? It’s written on the door to your office. Adam West, M.D.”

“It’s my name, but I don’t use it. Don’t like to hear it.”

“What should I call you?” I let out a single, high-pitched, nervous laugh. “I can’t be here and call you Dr. West. That would be weird.”

A pause, then he says, “You can call me West. That’s what most people do.”

I nod with understanding. “West. Got it. Good night.”

A solemn “good night” from him. Then he leaves, the metal spiral staircase creaking as he descends.

Once he’s gone, it’s eerily quiet. Not a sound in the whole place. I put on my pajamas but don’t wash my face. I’m too tired to navigate those stairs again. Instead, I slip under the covers and try unsuccessfully to sleep. I’m not dreaming, but my mind is haunted.

Not by Brad, like I expected, but byhim…West.

Adam

The next morning, Jessica slowly comes down the stairs with one hand on the railing. She’s lovely, with her feet bare and her hair loose around her shoulders. Back in high school, I used to be obsessed with her hair. I’d wait every day, wondering how she was going to wear it. Up or down. One ponytail or two. Now, the morning sun slants through the window and illuminates her from behind, lighting her up like she’s an angel.

I sit at the wide, marble-topped kitchen island, perched on a bar stool and sipping coffee while I read the newspaper. I watch, waiting to see how she’ll react when she sees the neatly stacked boxes by my feet. They’re labeled “J’s kitchen,” “J’s bathroom,” and “J’s bedroom.”

As I predicted, she halts and stares at them, her eyes running over the words. “Wh—what is this?”

“I got the rest of your stuff last night. It’s all here, except for your furniture, which is in storage.”

She gapes, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Why?! I’m only staying a night or two. That’s what you said.”

I blow on the surface of my coffee, making it ripple. The steam twists and curls under my breath, then breaks apart to float away. “Stay as long as you want. This way you never have to go back to that place.”

Her gaze bounces between me and her belongings. “How? How did you get into my apartment?”

“You must’ve been distracted. You left the front door unlocked when we closed it last night.”

Her mouth twists. “I’m usually good at remembering that. I never forget.”

I give her a pleasant smile. “You were upset. It was a stressful evening.”

A suspicious glare from her, mouth downturned and flattened. “I could’ve sworn—”

“Don’t worry. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

There’s a bite of guilt when I see doubt creep into her expression, but I can’t tell the truth. She would freak if she knew about the locksmith and movers that met me at 4:00 a.m. Better not tell her about that part.

Jessica’s still trying to figure out the logistics of it. I can tell from the furrow in her brow.

She glances down at her wristwatch. “We didn’t even go to bed until 1:00 a.m.”

“I don’t need much sleep.” I take a drink and scald my tongue, the one I’d like to put between her legs.

Not yet. Give her time to adjust.

I push aside my desire for her. Ignoring it for now.

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