Rebound by Rosemary Rey Page B

dark and quiet
little place, I threw the heels in the corner. I hung up my trench
and shawl, vowing to get them dry cleaned. I walked to my charger
on my nightstand and plugged in my cellphone. I took off my dress
and hugged it to my chest. I laid it on the small round table that
serves as my dining table and office. I wanted to pretreat it
before washing. I looked at the time on the clock on my nightstand.
I figured I had three hours to get all my washing and cleaning done
before I needed to go to bed. All I could do was go to my twin bed
and lay down on my stomach, clutching my pillow tight to my body to
simulate the firmness of his body. It didn’t smell like
him.
    I missed him. I found it strange that
I could miss someone that before yesterday never seemed like a
possibility. I got up to take a shower and wash my hair. I found
some waterproof tape to put on the gauze so that the stitches
wouldn’t get wet. Every move I made I thought of him. I wondered
what he was doing. I hoped he was thinking of me and planned on
seeing me as he said he would. Mostly, I wondered what our next
encounter would be like. Was it just sex? If so, could I just be
with him sexually and not give him my heart?
    After showering, I put on my
sweatpants and pulled on a white t-shirt, and slipped on my fuzzy
moccasins. I gathered all my dirty clothes, linens, detergent,
grabbed a book, and went down to the basement laundry room to wash
my clothes. After putting a load of wash into each of the two coin
operated washers, I settled into the hard plastic chair to read. As
I tried to read the words, my concentration fizzled and all I
thought about was his touch, the things he did that made my body
quake, the kisses that took my breath away. I tried to memorize the
things that I did to bring him pleasure; if I ever get a chance to
be with him again, I wanted to pull it out of my bag of tricks. Who
am I kidding? The only bag of tricks were from books, not from
personal experience. The books fueled my imagination and I created
my own list of things I wanted to experience, and now I want to
experience it with him.
    The buzzer from the washing machines
snapped me out of my thoughts, and I put the clothes in the dryers.
I didn’t even bother to read. I knew that I lacked the mental
focus. My insecurities started creeping into my mind. I worried
that he would think less of me because I slept with him so soon
after meeting. I used un-lady-like language when I told him he
could “fuck me”. I’d never been so irresponsible, so forward, so
sexually charged. I was mortified. He’s my doctor. He’s a member of
the gym. This could mess with my job. Could it? The only question
that kept creeping up was, “what the fuck did I do?”
    I suppressed it. There was nothing
much I could do. It may have been a one-time thing. I’d only have
to deal with him at the gym, if our schedules ever coincide. He
also stated that he’s traveling on Thursday. After he heard my
schedule, he pretty much seemed to give up by offering to ‘check
his schedule’ and that he’ll ‘get back’ to me. I wanted to stop
thinking about the future. It didn’t matter if we could get
together because we come from different sides of the
track.
    He’s a doctor. His apartment looked
like it was out of a design magazine. It must cost in the millions.
I can barely move around my own apartment. I live paycheck to
paycheck because I’m broke. I’m in immense debt. What the hell do I
have to offer him? And the one word that I kept coming back to was
“sex”. I had sex to offer. And that is what I wanted from him too.
But a deeper part of me, the lonely side of me, wanted more. It
wasn’t just about sex for me. It was about the possibility of
having a compatible partner.
    On paper, he fit the profile of the
type of man that I wanted. The looks and height were a given, but
the bonus was his gentle, loving, passionate, and gallant nature.
However, I didn’t know enough about him. Rather, I