Elysium (2 page)

And true to form, that was exactly what he said after the prerequisite: “Are you all right?” and “Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, of course, I’m all right and no, thank you, I don’t want anything. I’m fine. I have a little headache. It’s not like the scaffolding actually fell on me or anything. It was just a scare. If you don’t mind I would like to get some rest. It’s been a hell of a day.”

His tired eyes stared down at her. Maybe he wanted to hold her in his arms. But something stopped him. In the old days, he would have been all over her with caresses and kisses. There would never have been a doubt in her mind about his love.

Night was draining away and the yellow of the morning drifted through the window. It was 6:18 a.m. and her head still throbbed. It was so quiet. Barely a car horn or voice. Antoine snored in the living room. Adrianne was curled up in their bed alone. Of late, Antoine preferred the couch to being next to her. She touched his unslept side of the bed. He had taken his pillow. The place where it had been was flat and empty. The tabby jumped up on the bed and mewed, then massaged her thigh. He wanted his breakfast. Why couldn’t he bother Antoine instead sometimes?

She and the cat crept quietly past the couch so as not to wake him. He woke anyway. He faced her and poked at the corners of his eyes to remove the crust there. He was embarrassed.
He should be
, Adrianne thought. A flush of heat rose to her cheeks, and she passed him to go into the kitchen to feed the one male in the house that she didn’t despise at the moment.

Antoine shuffled in like an old lady in his slippers and stood next to her, still rubbing his eyes. He wore nothing but his boxers, and his hair was as spiked and spindly as a porcupine’s. The smell of sleep was heavy upon him, a mixture of sweat and yesterday’s cologne. He brushed past her and mumbled, “Sorry.” Adrianne nodded without looking at him. The cat was impatient and mewed in earnest.

“It’s coming. It’s coming. Shh!” she said to the cat. He continued to yowl in a rhythm of his own making. The scraping on the bottom of the can, the occasional sighs, the opening and closing of cabinet and fridge doors produced a song of a lonely kitchen. The cat finally calmed once Adrianne bent down to place his bowl in front of him.

Antoine ground some coffee, then set some water in the kettle to boil. Adrianne pulled open drawers, searching for aspirin, anything for her head. Then she remembered the prescription from the Emergency Room for painkillers.

“Would you call in my prescription to the pharmacy?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“My prescription,” she repeated. “Would you call it in? They might deliver it. Would you ask them to do that?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, not looking up from pouring ground coffee into his French press. The kettle steamed, then shook as it prepared itself to boil.

“So what’s going on here?” Adrianne said. Venom dripped from each word.

“What?”

“You tell me ‘what.’”

He shrugged.

“Look at me!”

“What?” He turned around and for a half second met her eye.

“What’s going on? Why are you acting this way? Did I do something?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He reached for the kettle and poured hot water into his carafe. The water turned brown. “How’s your head?”

She slapped a dishcloth down on the counter and left the kitchen.

The purse she used the day before was hanging on the bedroom closet doorknob. It still had dust on it. She fished around inside, looking for her prescription slip. It lay half crumpled and a bit torn on the bottom. Unpronounceable words were scripted on the little form, signed by a doctor she barely remembered seeing. She flattened out the slip and returned to the living room and sat on the couch surrounded by Antoine’s disheveled sheets. Her arm lay on his still warm pillow. The muskiness of his sweat swirled around her. She closed her eyes and breathed.

Antoine meandered out of the kitchen carrying his coffee mug. The cat jumped up on the couch, contented and full with his breakfast. He crawled in circles on her lap several times before he found the right spot to settle down into. He purred loudly, hypnotically. She fell under his spell, stroked his soft fur, scratched him behind the ears. For a moment, she forgot the pulsing pounding in her head.

Something tapped at the window. Maybe the wind. She gazed up from petting the cat and saw a large owl sitting on the ledge. She blinked several times. It was still there, twisting its neck slightly to the right like an Egyptian hieroglyph dancer. Its white face was in the shape of a heart, with black penetrating eyes. Adrianne’s body went numb, her mouth dry. She couldn’t move. She could only focus on the owl. The cat moved beneath her hand. He was staring at the window, too. His tail puffed out and his heart raced against her thigh.

A jingle of keys interrupted her. Antoine sauntered out of the bedroom dressed in his business casual, ready to leave for work.

“I’m going to be working late tonight,” he said, “so don’t wait for me for dinner.”

Adrianne could barely speak. “What?”

“I said to not wait for me for dinner tonight. What are you looking at?”

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what?”

She stammered the words, feeling crazy and wanting to take them back even as she spoke them. “The bird outside the window.”

“What bird?”

She turned away for only a moment. When she looked back, there was no owl, only open sky interrupted by high-rise apartment buildings like their own. The cat calmly slept on her lap.

Antoine walked up to the window. “Oh, I see …” he said.

Adrianne jumped up, tossing the cat to the floor.

“…it’s only the owl statue for scaring the pigeons.”

A stone sculpture of an owl sat on the ledge facing the skyline, unmoving and quite fake looking. It was doubtful if even the pigeons would be fooled by it.

“I thought I saw it move,” she said. “I guess my mind is playing tricks on me.”

“Maybe you should stay home today,” Antoine said.

“Yeah,” she said, not taking her eyes off the stone owl.

“But like I said, I’ll be home late. It’s a business thing. I can’t get out of it.”

Adrianne nodded her head and rubbed her neck.

“You okay?”

She felt herself frown. This was not the man who still cared for her. He was a guy doing the minimum to be considered polite. If she had been a stranger who slipped and fell on the street, he would have done the same. Then once he saw that she was okay, she was none of his concern.

“We should talk,” she said.

“I don’t have time right now.”

“Then when?”

“Maybe when I get home. I gotta go. I don’t wanna be late for work.”

In a few steps he was at the door.

“Are you going to leave me?” Adrianne said.

The tension in his shoulders told her what she needed to know.

“I’ll see you when I get home,” he said as he put on his jacket and walked out the door.

He must be really distracted to put on his jacket in this heat, she thought. The
click click
of his steps echoed in the empty hallway outside the closed door. Her world spun on a wobbly axis; her stomach turned. Her head pounded. She had forgotten to give him her prescription. It was still in her pocket.

The stone owl sat cold and unmoving on its ledge. She had never noticed it before. Adrianne studied its form, its size, its color. It wasn’t the owl of her vision from moments ago. It was smaller and a different shape. And how could she have seen it from where she’d been sitting on the couch? The cat had seen it, too. Hadn’t he?

A blue untroubled sky filled with soft rolling clouds of puffy white hung suspended above the city. A lone airplane, the length of her pinky’s nail, crept ever so slowly past. The street below was beginning its day, workers crowding it as they made their way to their jobs. From this height, it was difficult to distinguish the people, but the trees … the leaves were golden brown. It must be fall. But she could have sworn it was summer …

>>

>>

>> break

** SYSTEM INTERRUPT **

>> state status

STATUS: NORMAL

>>

>> continue

BRIDGE PROCESS: CONTINUED

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2.

The pills put Adrian to sleep, and he slept like the dead. When he woke up, his head still hurt. It was a dull pain with less of the pounding than before. The bandage was gone. It must have fallen off in the bed somewhere.

In the bathroom, he bent down into the sink and tossed water on his face. His jaw felt funny and his skin was rough. The place where that little hair kept appearing on his chin seemed to have spread into stubble all across his face. The mirror stared back, and he was surprised at what he saw. It was the same jaw line. The same stubble that appeared every twelve or so hours. But for a second, he didn’t recognize the face. He rubbed his head and pulled out a new bandage.

Antoine was still asleep when Adrian crept into his room. The machines were all right. Beeping along quietly. His heart still pumped blood. His lungs still breathed air. Antoine seemed so peaceful when he slept. So thin. So frail. Adrian suppressed a twinge of pain and bent down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. He wouldn’t wake. It took a lot more than that to wake him. He did stir, but only for a moment. Adrian slipped out as he had slipped in, being careful to pull the door quietly shut behind him.

The shower felt good. Warm water washed over his body. He gave in to his need to take care of his own business and tugged at his cock.

He thought of Antoine and released into sorrow.

The morning routine was easy now. Adrian made his own breakfast first, then Antoine’s. By the time the nurse arrived, Antoine would be all set. The blender whirred his banana mush cereal. He threw in extra vitamins. It might not help, but it wouldn’t hurt.

“Antoine?” Adrian softly said. He didn’t stir. “Antoine?” He was taking too long to wake. Adrian shook him, a pang of terror shooting down into his groin.

“Antoine!”

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

Adrian breathed and caressed his face.

“Breakfast,” in almost a whisper.

“Yeah? Oh.” He weakly smiled. His teeth were gray and dark in places. His skin was tight along his cheekbones and eyes. Spots danced across a face that had once been so smooth and clear.

“Let me help you,” Adrian said and easily lifted him into a sitting position. Antoine used to put up a fuss. Lately, he submitted to his situation. Their situation. Adrian placed the tray over his legs and tucked a napkin into his nightshirt. He fed him like a baby, wiping his mouth where it dripped. Antoine put up his hand to say he wanted to stop for a minute. He chewed methodically, then swallowed with an audible gulp.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Better,” Adrian said.

Adrian attempted to feed him more. Antoine stopped him by putting his hand on Adrian’s wrist.

“Where are you going today?”

Adrian hesitated. It was his day off, and Antoine knew where he was going.

“To the gym.”

Adrian spooned some more mush. Antoine squinted, a little burn of fire behind his glance, but took the food willingly.

As Antoine was finishing his last bite of mush, the doorbell rang. Right on time. Adrian greeted Sheila at the door like the godsend she was. Without her, Adrian couldn’t survive this. She was a big, brown, no-nonsense woman. Once a week Adrian got this. Once a week to live like a normal person. Once a week without Antoine. Again the guilt. But he needed it. The counselor at the clinic said that he should get out of the house sometimes. Leave the sickness behind for a while and breathe the fresh air and do things that were just for him.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sheila asked, pointing at the bandage on his forehead.

“Oh, this.” He touched his bruise. “I had a little accident yesterday.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Adrian returned to the bedroom to pick up the tray with the empty dishes.

“Is that Sheila?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re leaving soon?”

“In a few minutes.”

“When will you be coming home?”

“Later this afternoon.” Sheila was on the clock for a full eight hours. Antoine knew that. He asked every week anyway.

“Call me if he needs anything,” Adrian said to Sheila as she walked into the bedroom.

“You know I will. Don’t worry, honey. We’ll be just fine.”

Her toothy smile was the reassurance it was meant to be. Adrian kissed Antoine on the forehead.

“I’ll be home soon.”

Antoine didn’t say goodbye. He barely looked at Adrian.