Page 16 of A Distraction of Lies

“You wouldn’t know what I am, Mr Rothburg. I’m not even sure I do now.”

“Would you like to find out?” She stares, as if the question isn’t enough information for her. I don’t suppose it is, but I’m not giving anything else away until she proves a few things to me. “I was considering diverting you.”

“I don’t need diversion. I need real.”

“You don’t want real. Real is all around you now. In my apartment that your adulterant dead husband got as part of his job. It needs cleaning by the way.”

“Fuck you, Gray.”

“Eloquent.”

She smiles lightly and drinks some of her wine, looking at me over the top of the rim. I don’t break eye contact with her at any point. It’s nice to look into a woman’s eyes for once, just like I did last night. She was drunk then, though. We both were. I smirk under her scrutiny, amused at my reaction to her inquisitive gaze. I don’t know how she’s doing it to me, but she is. She’s taken hold of something I don’t usually possess anymore - curiosity.

“How old are you?” she suddenly asks.

“Relevant, why?”

“I’m not sure. I just want to know. It’s the kind of question Rick’s perfect fucking wife would never have asked. Rude. As of yesterday, I don’t give a crap if I’m rude or not.” Good.

“Past forty. Not past the next level.”

“Hmm. You look good for it. Although, too pale.”

“I’m sorry my DNA offends you.”

“I have a feeling you’re not sorry about anything Gray.”

I stand and walk past her towards the kitchen, looking for the wine she mentioned. The area’s as messy as the last room was, more detritus and objects scattered round. I grab a bottle of red off the counter and reach for a glass, backing away from the mess to head back to her.

“Are you always so disorderly?”

“No. But again, Rick’s perfect wife did a lot of things I won’t be doing any longer,” she snaps, aggression in her tone. “Why are you here?”

Her words make me question them, and whatever thought brought me here in the first place. She’s not the same as she was last night anymore. She’s curt and indistinct now, a new version of herself trying to push through the gloom she’s in. I pull the cork and fill a glass, listening to both the glug of the liquid and her breathing. It’s quiet other than those things and the low hum of traffic outside. Nice actually.

“You spoke last night about wanting to see things. Are you still interested?”

“Oh,” she chuckles. “Men fucking. Yes. Are you gay?”

“No.”

“And yet you saved my dignity last night. I was almost insulted.”

“You were drunk.”

“Deservedly so,” she says, raising her glass to drink more. “As you said, men are all pricks.”

I nod and move to the window, looking out at the world I was in earlier and last night. People are walking with other people in the fresh air. Talking. Normal daily routines passing them by. I frown and look at my hands, eventually looking back at her rather than acknowledge my thoughts about her. She’s still sitting there with her legs curled up under her, the sheer line of the robe slipped open a few centimetres to show a hint of breast.

“Take the robe from your shoulders,” comes out of me. “Let it fall.”

“Why?” I smile. It’s not a no. A good start.

“Because I asked you to. And if you want diverting from this reality, perhaps finding something else other than it for a while, then I’ll need you to obey me.”

“Obey you?”

“Yes.”

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