Page 41 of Five
Having a person that knows you so well isn’t always good. “You’re such anaskhole.”
“And you’re another kind of a-hole. Now spit it out,” he snarks back.
“I’m having dreams,” I mumble, making him frown.
“Repeat that using a tone that can be detected by human ears,” Ollie deadpans.
“I’m having dreams!” I whisper-yell with annoyance.
“What kind of dreams?”
“The kind that, as I wake up in the morning, I don’t even need to check my underwear to know the beaver got beaten…without actually getting beaten.”
“You mean.” He makes a jerking-offgesture with his hand, and I nod. “Wow. Every night?”
“It hadn’t happened since I was a teenager.” I love sex and the tornado of uncontainable, pleasurable physical feelings that come with it. But this new kind of desire is like a powerful yearning. An urge so overwhelming that can only be fulfilled with sex. It’s exciting and scary at the same time.
“And on top of that, I’ve woken up on the floor, in the shower. Everywhere but the bed.”
“Sleepwalking again?” He knows about my past episodes well. He has found me several times in the past doing absurd stuff like cooking or wearing boxers under a somnambulism spell.
“I lock myself inside the bedroom at night. But everything looks the same around me in the morning. Except me.”
It takes a few seconds for Ollie to speak again. “You’ve always fornicated like a satanic squirrel, maybe the drug unlocked a deeper part of your slutty rodent brain.”
I flip him off.
Then why don’t I want to go fuck—what’s the barista’s name again?—even though I know he’s damn good at that and he’ll jump at it if I ask him?
I’ve never been much into self-reflection. All this thinking is driving me nuts.
“I’ll go home tonight,” I tell Ollie.
“You don’t need to.”
“Apart from the sleepwalking, I have an eviction notice. I need to pack and look for another place to live—a place that allows pets.”
“You don’t. You have your gran's house waiting for you to go back to…”
Every word he’s saying feels like acid pouring in my gut. I cut him off. “You know why I can’t go back there,” I hiss between gritted teeth.
“Then sell it!” he insists. Relentless sod.
“I can’t,” I growl.
“Lori. You hardly have any money and you live in squalor?—”
“Stop. Just stop!” I raise my voice and bang my fist on the table. The harsh sound catches the attention of some of the people sitting around us, making them turn around. “Oh, bugger off!” I snap at them, glaring at the ones still daring to stare.
Fuck! I close my eyes and take a long breath. “I’m sorry.” Then I whisper to Ollie, “I just… Now is not the time for that.” When I lift my eyes, Ollie’s lips have turned into a thin line, but his eyes are filled with understanding and I hope regret, and not pity. I concentrate on the brown spot covering half of his green iris inhis left eye. A clear imperfection that turns his green gaze into something so familiar.
“Okay, but let me at least help you. Stay with us.” He turns a pleading look my way.
“I have Wednesday, and she can’t live with Pink. Imagine the daily bloody brawls.”
“I’d put my money on my cat.” A tiny smile makes his lips twitch. Thank the Lord.
“You have your hands full already…with your husband’s dick. Also, Brad needs a bed since his father is a twat. And Sully still has nightmares.”
