10:21 p.m. (Local Time)
New York City
Upper West Side, Manhattan
Turning her head, Stockwell glimpsed her cheek in the bathroom mirror before touching the one-inch red line below her eye. Her mind saw the splinters from the pallets flying up in front of her face. I’m lucky it didn’t land any higher.
After drawing her hair into a bun atop her head, she dropped underwear, unhooked her bra and stuck a foot into the hot bath water. She quickly removed the appendage. I may have made it…a little too hot. She slipped the foot back under and winced, fighting the urge to retreat.
A minute later, holding the sides of the tub, her butt hovering above the waterline, she held her breath and slid into the tub, gritting her teeth. “Ouch—ouch—ouch.” Eyes closed, jaw and fists clenched, she leaned back and rested forearms on the edges of the tub, waiting for the pain to pass.
Another minute later, her fingers and wrists went limp, and she sighed. Oh, that’s just what this girl needed.
Stockwell felt her muscles turning into wet noodles. Her mind drifted, randomly going from one of the day’s events to another, finally settling on one in particular. Licking her lips, she could still taste Jacob’s kisses from ten hours earlier. Tilting her head to the side, she let her imagination take her back to his warm breath on her neck.
Stockwell opened her eyes, spied her phone on the small table next to the tub, and frowned when she did not see the ‘new message’ icon. She stared at the ceiling. Maybe he didn’t get it yet. People have called me and it never came through. He could be busy. She made a face. For nearly four hours straight?
Scooting further backward to sit upright, she snatched the phone and tapped his name on the screen. Seconds later, she heard his voice.
“Jacob St. Christopher. Leave a message.”
She grinned. Right to the point. “Jake, it’s Deanna again. I was really hoping we could talk tonight. I don’t like how we—I—left things this afternoon. I feel I owe you an explanation.” She yawned and sighed. “Anyway, it’s getting late. It’s been a long day and I’m beat. I’d really appreciate a call back or a text…something. I hope you’re not pissed at me.” She paused before letting out a quick puff of air. “Can’t say that I’d blame you if you were.” She waited several seconds, her mind trying to come up with something to say. “Okay, just please call me when you get this. Bye.”
She returned the cell to the table, tucked elbows and let her body slip beneath the water. Bubbles tickled her nose, and she blew them away from her face.
… … … … …
The remote control fell to the floor, rattling a spoon in a bowl. Wearing plum satin pajamas, Stockwell flinched and rolled her head along the couch’s armrest, stretching arms and yawning. A television commercial flashed a white screen, and she shut her eyes and turned away. There’s another show I’ll never know the ending to.
Propping herself on one elbow, she grabbed the remote and mashed the ‘power’ button. The room went dark. She set the remote, empty bowl and spoon on the coffee table before tilting her phone on its edge. What the hell? Is it that difficult to shoot me a text?
Plucking a New York Rangers afghan from the back of the couch, she covered her body and dropped her head onto a pillow. While adjusting the pillow’s placement on the side of her face, she glimpsed the mobile before grabbing it and smacking Jacob’s name.
“Jacob St. Christopher…”
She rolled eyes and groaned.
“…Leave a message.”
“Jake—Deanna…I can’t wait any longer for you. My eyelids are bricks. Call me in the morning…or don’t…whatever.” After thumbing the ‘end’ button, she tossed the phone, brought the blanket up to her chin and restarted the process of finding the right place for her cheek on the pillow. You may have screwed up this relationship too, Dee.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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