The Beau & the Beast

34 - Back in New York

I snuck into the dark apartment trying my best to keep my balance and not to trip on my way to the living room.

After just a few steps, I saw him.  He was completely knocked out on the couch and was still wearing his work clothes.
I never understood why Clock insisted on continuing that low paid drivers job when we got enough money from my modelling.

I sighed and glanced down at him on the couch.
He was so fucking beautiful, but I still hadn't forgiven him. Not in a million years would I forgive him.

I took some shaky steps forward, a part of me wanted to crawl down next to him and fall asleep in his arms.  But instead I sighed heavily, turned my heels and went to the bedroom to get some rest.

After a few hours of restless sleep, my feet moved involuntarily towards the kitchen.
I knew right away that he was in there, I could smell the cigarette smoke from the kitchen all the way down the hall.

Still, I stopped in the doorway when I saw him at the kitchen table.
As so many times before, Clocksworth sat weighing on the chair with his feet thrown on the table, he'd stopped with the cigars when we moved here and replaced them with numerous cigarettes, and as always he kept one lighted in the corner of his mouth.

He looked worn out with his unwashed hair hanging in tassels.
Damn, I had hoped he'd still be asleep, I had no desire to start the morning with angry glares and depressed moods. But it was hardly possible to turn around now.

The smell of smoke and coffee made my stomach turn after last night's numerous vodka shots and I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips in a hopeless attempt to get rid of the headache.

With dragged feet, I walked past the kitchen table and glanced at Clock before continuing towards the sink.
The bench was full of old dishes and the cupboards were empty as usual.
I chose a glass that looked sparsely used and filled it with water and drank in hope that my dead body would feel a little more dead than alive. Water, so fucking disgusting.

None of us had tasted blood in a very long time, why? Well, we refused to kill anyone and getting our hands on blood bags was impossible without contacts.

But I knew my body needed it, I felt it. Everything ached, and I felt more human than ever before. And not in a good way.

But maybe it was just as good that we managed without, the memories of the days in the cell in France and the extreme thirst still tormented me.

We wouldn't die without it, but I feared that not only were our bodies getting weaker but also our minds, the feelings and thoughts of our past tormented me more and more with each passing day.

I glanced at him again, but Clock stared down at his cell phone and didn't seem to care about my presence.

If he would just look up, and ask me for his forgiveness. But Clock's stone face made everything so fucking hard.

For a long time I stared into the half-empty fridge until I finally decided on an old slice of pizza, which I threw into the microwave and slammed the door shut so hard that Clock finally looked up.

I was just about to open my mouth and say something when a sleepy blonde girl in an oversized T-shirt stepped into the kitchen.

"Good morning," she yawned.

"Slept well?"

Marianne shrugged as she entered the kitchen. "As usual."

"The bar looked busy yesterday ..." I started but Marianne interrupted me with her sour face and annoyed voice.

"Where were you? You promised to walk me home after my shift..."

"Ehm, I was stuck with something ..."