Page 25 of Caleb
“She doesn’t have any friends or anyone to talk to about her shit,” Aaron continues with the scolding. “And that’s somedeep shitshe went through. You know what went down in detail. You read the reports. So you can imagine she’s still in a very vulnerable state, especially with the little information she’s been given about her mother’s death. But that doesn’t mean you need to step up and be that person for her.
“Miss Murphy is smart, curious, and only grows more suspicious by the day. You don’t want to fuck up and reveal anything that would make you breach the contract you signed when you first got here.” Aaron extends his hand and wiggles his fingers. I give him a cigarette and light him up. Aaron’s not a smoker, but I don’t blame him for wanting to blow off some steam. Or smoke.
“And now you’re on a first-name basis?” He laughs a sardonic laugh.
I interrupt him there.
“Shecalls me Caleb. I call her Miss Murphy.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he says, tucking a hand under an armpit and taking a drag of the cigarette with his free hand. He lets out the smoke to the side and continues. “I knew you being twenty-two years old and looking the way you do”—he points angrily at me with his cigarette—“was a risk I was willing to take because Itrustyou, and I really want you to keep this job. You need it. And I know you’ve got your own shit to work through, but don’t think for a second I haven’t noticed you’ve been drinking too. And it needs to stopnow. My job is also on the line. Ambassador Murphy trusted my judgment in bringing you in. If you do something stupid, it’s on me. If you cross a line with his daughter, it’s on me.”
He’s right. I could potentially mess this up for the both of us, and Aaron shouldn’t suffer for my stupidity.
Mentally and emotionally spent, I nod and drain the last inch of my cigarette down to the filter before flicking it away. I lean back against the wall and cross my arms at my chest. These couple of cigarettes barely took the edge off. The desperate need to pour myself a drink is painfully overwhelming, so it’s hard for me to tell if I’ll be able to make myself stop. It’s the only thing that’s helped me get through some of the harrowing nights I’ve had since I got here.
“You’ve got a free day tomorrow,” Aaron reminds me. “So go out. Let loose. Get laid and get this girl out of your fucking head.” With that, he turns around and leaves, and the chiding finally comes to an end.
Aaron thinking I’m attracted to her is beyond embarrassing. She’s just a sixteen-year-old girl, and it’s not about that at all. There’s just something about her, a fragility, that makes me want to protect her. Keep her safe. And apparently, my instincts go beyond wanting to protect her physical integrity, which is why I was hired in the first place. I can’t help but want to make sureshe’sokay too. Mentally. Emotionally. Because I know she is not.
“Oh.” He turns around after having walked only a few steps away. He points at me and says, “And don’t you fucking dare start calling Miss Murphy by her name. I swear to God, I’ll put you on the first plane back to Tel Aviv if you do.”
“Yes, sir,” I say in my military voice. I want to show him the respect he deserves. He trusted me. I messed up, and I need to roll with the punches. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“See that you do.”
I take a few minutes to go back inside because I want to make sure Aaron’s not walking around the hallways. It’s best if we don’t see each other’s faces right now. I know we’re okay, but he just needs to cool off.
Hurrying, I make it to my room without bumping into anyone on the way there and shrug out of my jacket the moment I shut the door behind me. I sit on the edge of the table and pull off my shoes and socks and press the soles of my feet against the cool floor. It feels wonderful.
Yesterday’s bottle of vodka is patiently waiting for me on top of my dresser. There’s still a bit more than half of the bottle left. I get up and, loosening my tie, I move toward it with determination. There’s no use in pretending like it’ll remain intact.
Aaron said,let loose. That’s probably his way of saying he approves of me drinking today. But he surely wants me to kiss the habit goodbye after tonight. And if I’m being honest, I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I’ll just be more careful about him not finding out.
Tossing my tie away, I bring the bottle of vodka to my lips and take a sip, welcoming the familiar burning sensation down my throat. I strip off my clothes, and before heading toward the bathroom to shower, I take a lengthier sip.
The spray of hot water slamming against my neck and back is doing its job of helping me relax. Or maybe it’s the warmth of the vodka kicking in and flowing through my veins. Probably both.
Noa’s face comes to mind as I shut the water off. My mind wants to trick me into thinking that I miss her. I miss the sex, or maybe just sex in general. Itwasgreat with her. I can’t deny that. But at what cost? I guess it’s easier not to think about Noa. That way, I can block the memory of how I hurt her when I left. I believe I’ve been doing an okay job tucking the memories of her away.
As much as I would love to get laid as Aaron suggested, the thought of going out to a bar and doing the whole buying someone a drink and pretending like I want to get to know them first feels exhausting and like a total waste of time. And I’ve never been the type to pay for affections, so that’s out of the question.
I decide to stay in and polish off the bottle of vodka in the privacy of my room. I’m not in the mood for anything other than solitude and silence, even if my dick strongly disagrees. I can take care of my sexual needs myself, just like I’ve been doing since I started working here.
So I’m lying in bed on my back, staring out the small window and sipping on my vodka, inevitably reviewing my conversation with Miss Murphy. WithBillie. Even thinking about her name feels like a felony. I guess Aaron’s got a tight leash on me after all. And it doesn’t bother me. I’m used to ranks and respecting them, so between him and me, Aaron obviously is and will always be more than a few steps above and ahead of me. And I like things that way.
Would he believe me if I told him my attraction for Miss Murphy is not of a sexual nature? She’s easily one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen in my life, but sex is not what I think about when I see her. Not only does her being way younger than me have a certain impact on this matter, but the fragility and innocence I see in her draws me in. It makes my protective instincts fire up. I can’t fucking help it. It’s almost chemical.
It’s also interesting to see how different my experience has been with her from the moment I first met her. The air was sucked out of my lungs when I laid eyes on her for the first time, just in awe of her elegance and the way she carried herself, combined with the apparent and endearing clumsiness of her movements. It’s like I fucking imprinted on the girl. A certain recognition hit, and I honestly wish it didn’t. I feel pathetic.
In contrast, when I met Noa, I remember all I wanted to do was rip her clothes off and make her come in a thousand different ways. The attraction was purely sexual and lustful. And I feel like it was the same for her too. At least at first, right before she caught feelings, and I managed to overlook the signs. And who knows, maybe with time, I would’ve caught feelings too or tricked myself into believing I did. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether certain feelings are organic or self-induced.
This is why I choose to drown my thoughts in vodka. Once I go down the rabbit hole, there are no answers, no hope, no wonderland. Just my isolated mind surrounded by total darkness.
A couple of hours later, I’m finally where I want to be—my head’s pleasantly buzzing. I’m drunk enough that the internal chatter is hushed, but not so much as to make me feel like going to bed. I’m just enjoying the borrowed moment of peace the alcohol brings as it slows down my neurotransmitter activity.
A slight burn in my stomach reminds me I haven’t had anything to eat for a while. It’s way past dinner time, so I’m not expecting there to be any food in the dining room anymore. And I’m not mentally hungry or craving anything in particular, but I know it’s best to eat, especially if I intend to keep drinking, which I do. So I throw a white t-shirt over my head and walk down to the lounge in search of a light snack or something that can fill the void in my gut.
The halls are empty and dimly lit at this hour. I can hear the muffled sound of people’s voices inside their rooms as I walk by, but it’s mostly quiet. Once in the lounge, I click the lights on and notice Annette sitting in one of the white leather chairs. She’s squinting, covering her face with the back of her hand, and holding a wineglass with the other, so I kill the lights to spare her eyes from the sudden change in luminosity.
