Page 44 of Her Gluttony
What she was after, amongst everyone else I know, is a golden bracelet from Cleopatra herself.
The very bracelet that now swings softly back and forth in my jacket pocket with every step I take, knowing that it’ll never land with anyone. Because Benjamin Fullerton told the authorities and the insurance company that Susie stole it, even though it was in his possession the entire time.
Now, it is gone.
And he can’t report anything, because he already got the insurance money.
I walk along 5th Avenue, all the way down. I pass Central Park, Bergdorf Goodman, and the Empire State Building until I reach Washington Square Park.
Do my feet hurt because I am always in High Heels? Yes. But I need to get my mind off everything that just happened.
While I provoked her to do it, I never thought she would. And when her lips touched mine, there was this moment where I felt desire.
I wanted her to do it.
And that fact frightens me.
It’s almost six in the morning when I reach my studio and fall into my bed with throbbing feet after I stored the golden bracelet in my vault. Just in case anyone comes looking—Shaw as much as other intruders.
Then, I fall into my bed to catch at least three hours of sleep.
I never have issues sleeping.
Today, however, I do.
I stare at the ceiling.
And while I am phenomenally good at directing my thoughts, they are like a herd of wild horses today.
After an hour, I get up, slip into my running clothes, bandage my throbbing feet, put on my running shoes, and get outside. If I can’t sleep, I can at least keep her from sleeping too.
So I run.
Fast.
She’ll go mad when she sees it,I think to myself.
I run from Downtown, over the Brooklyn Bridge, along the piers, back over the Manhattan Bridge, passing Chinatown, and end my run in Rockefeller Park after six miles of pure rage running with a burning chest and a head that’s radiating so much heat that it looks like I am fuming. It’s rather cold this morning for October, with temperatures in the 40s.
I lean against the railing with my back to the Hudson River and look at the city, the sun lurking behind the buildings on the horizon underneath the clouds, dipping the city into a beautiful reddish-orange glow.
I enjoy the view for a moment, then walk back to my studio and grab a coffee on my way there at one of my favorite places around the corner.
My current Rossi-burner rings the moment I enter my studio.
“You have been active tonight,” Rossi says.
“Nosy prick,” I tell him as I close the door behind me with my foot.
“Did it work as planned?”
“Will you ever stop asking me? You know it did; otherwise I wouldn’t be running for fun.”
“You know what I really want,” he says, “Spill the tea.”
“There’s no tea,” I say.
“You call that kiss no tea?” he asks incredulously. I can literally hear him roll his eyes from his tone alone.
