“Just just give me a second.”
Franklin paced the room, laughing to himself and rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop,” I said.
“You. . .” Franklin said, putting a hand on each of my shoulders, facing me, “are absolutely perfect. Doctor, are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I suddenly feel like I’m recovering from the flu, but I’ll be okay. I think I’m done for the day though,” said the doctor.
“Done?” Franklin exclaimed.
“Yes, but like I said, I would really like to meet with Danielle again —”
“Oh, Doctor, that won’t be necessary. Thank you for all you have done, consider us even,” Franklin said.
“Yes. Of course, sir.”
“Well, he may be done for the day, but, Danielle, our night is just getting started,” Franklin said with a smile.
Chapter Seven
Vulnerable
Have you ever awoken with a deadly hangover? Everything hurts. Your body aches in every place imaginable. You wish that everything would just stop moving for one second, but the world spins and you feel sick. You’re disgusted with yourself and just want to rewind and do everything again. I had not consumed a substantial amount of alcohol the night before, but I felt that same disgust pulsing through my veins. Franklin had many favors that he needed from me the night before. We had a long night, an intensely fun night- much of it, I fail to recall.
As my alarm chimed in my ear, I wondered what it was exactly I was awakening for. Did I have responsibilities that needed tending to? No, I had nothing to do. On any other day, I preferred to be awakened at a reasonable hour. I considered calling Caro and seeing if perhaps she would want to meet for breakfast but decided against it. I wasn’t sure what I intended to do today but knew there were things that needed to be tended to. I wanted to know more about what Franklin had had done to me. Had he improved me or merely disturbed the demon inside?
I laid on my bed, waiting patiently for something to bring me to life. Then I got my sign.
Knock, knock.
Was that knocking at my door? Perhaps it was a neighbor’s door. It was so faint, I wondered if I had imagined it. However, yet again, I heard that faint knocking. I sat up from my bed and listened once more to see if it was actually in my imagination or if someone had had the audacity to knock at my door.
Knock, knock, knock.
There it was again. I sat up in my bed and surveyed my appearance. I was disheveled but dressed, nonetheless. I made my way to the door to see who might be knocking at this hour. It was eleven in the morning. I suspected I had gone to bed close to four last night. Seven hours, that was sufficient. I grabbed the doorknob and cracked the door. I braced for an unwelcome guest, perhaps, Jonathan, from down the hall. It was not what I had suspected.
“Can I help you?” I asked a much older woman on the other side of the six-inch gap in my doorframe.
She was an adorable older lady. White hair, glasses, with a variety of wrinkles and a kind face.
“I made some breakfast for myself and had plenty left over. I thought maybe, you would like some of the leftovers. I see you around frequently but I never see you with food,” she said with a kind smile.
I peered out the door to see she had a plate with plastic wrap over the top. I attempted to see what she might have made and if it was to my liking, then realized I didn’t care what it was. I was hungry, so hungry, in fact, that I would have gladly taken it even if she had a plate of dog food.
“I like food,” was all I could manage to say in response.
She held the plate up in my direction and I took it from her hands.
“Do do you want to come in?” I asked.
She looked hesitant for a moment, then said, “If you would like company, I’d be happy to join you.”
She watched me intently, surveying me with nonjudgmental eyes as I sat at the table and devoured the food she’d brought. I wondered if she was tempted to judge me. I tried not to look like a wild animal as I ate her food, but it had been so long since I had a home-cooked meal, I couldn’t help myself.
“My, my, you were quite hungry,” she said, adjusting her thick glasses.
“Starving.”
“Well, I’m always here. If you are ever hungry, feel free to come by for a bite. It’s just me and Miles, and he doesn’t eat much,” she said with a smile, “Miles is my cat.”
“I see.”
“You don’t get many home cooked meals, do you?”
“No, not often.”
“Do you live here alone,” she said, looking around my apartment for the first time. I felt slightly embarrassed at the state of my apartment. I attempted to recapture her attention to distract her.
“Yes — well, I’ve only lived here a year or so.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I see you talk to Jonathan sometimes. He’s a nice boy, but I think he might be a weed smoker.”
“A weed smoker?” I said with false shock.
“Yes, perhaps. He just always behaves so unusually,” she said. I attempted not to laugh at her innocent judgment.
“Jonathan is a jackass,” I said, immediately regretting my language, “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, putting a hand out, “I’m just glad to see you eating. You look like you’re withering away.”
“Thank you. By the way, this food is very good, like fuckin’ amazing,” I said.
“You’re very welcome. It’s nice to have someone enjoy my cooking for a change,” she said.
“You’re not married?”
“I was, but my husband passed away many years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I know it’s awful to lose someone.”
“Have you lost someone close to you?” she asked.
“My mother,” I replied, and took another
