Intoxicated

by Alicia Renee Kline

  “If you are so willing to give me everything that I want, then you will allow me to do this. For years I have stood by and let you make decisions for us. I never argued with your choices. You wanted to go away to school while I stayed here? Fine. You wanted to take a job that makes you travel ninety percent of the time? Fine. Are you sensing a pattern here?”

  I paused, letting my words absorb. He offered no rebuttal.

  “Why does every major decision you make involve leaving me?”

  Now I turned to face him, meeting his stare. Eric winced.

  “It’s not like that, Lauren.”

  “It’s exactly like that. And the one time I ask you for something, the one time I make a decision for myself, you go off the deep end.”

  “Lauren,” he repeated, moving closer.

  I thrust my palm out, effectively cutting him down. “No. If you want to leave me so much, then do it. Get out.”

  He looked as though I had struck him. We stood for a moment, wordless, stonefaced. He broke the staring contest first, reaching down to grab his pinstriped jacket. He slung the garment over his shoulder, then spun on his heel.

  For the first time in recent memory, he did what I instructed.

  The door slammed behind him, punctuating his retreat.

  Chapter Three

  Morning came way too early as far as I was concerned. I laid in bed for a couple minutes after the alarm on my cell sounded, snuggling against the comforter. Sunlight poured through the window, casting its warm glow over the apartment. Everything pointed to it being a wonderful day for a drive. A beautiful day to begin a new adventure.

  Yawning, I threw back the bedspread and swung my feet to the floor. I padded past the boxes that held most of my kitchenware in my bare feet on my way to the coffeemaker. I still had about an hour to get ready before I needed to leave.

  The appointment to look at my potential new home was thankfully not until one in the afternoon. That had been good thinking on my part. Of course, when I had answered the ad online, I had no way of knowing how the previous night would have ended up unfolding. I had been thinking more logically at that moment. Never a real early riser on the weekends, I didn’t expect myself to spring out of bed for a two hour drive to Fort Wayne, no matter how good a deal the rent seemed. Fortunately, my potential landlord hadn’t balked at my suggested time. In fact, she’d also seemed relieved.

  As I drank my coffee, I studied the map I had printed out at work. I smoothed the creases out of the paper and committed as much as possible to memory. The route seemed easy enough, if rather boring. I really didn’t need direction until I reached my exit. Before today, Fort Wayne hadn’t been a destination spot; merely a pass-through on the way to Michigan.

  True to form, I had done my due diligence prior to selecting an area of the city in which to look for rentals. I had mapped the location of my new office, looking in a radius of about ten miles either way. This would make for a reasonable commute. I had searched for information on demographics, school systems and property values. My research had led me to select the southwest side of the city. Of course, I checked into apartment complexes, finding several worthy contenders. If today didn’t go well, those would be my back-up plan.

  I had been inexplicably drawn to an online posting seeking a female to rent a room. Normally I would have passed, preferring something of my own. However, it seemed like an opportunity to find a comrade in a new place. We didn’t have to end up best friends, but if we could tolerate each other it would be helpful to have someone local around until I gathered my bearings. I didn’t want to depend on maps or GPS for an extended period of time.

  With a cup of coffee in me, I was motivated enough to hop in the shower. I let the water trickle over me until it ran cold, closing my eyes. Relaxed, I wrapped myself in my plush bathrobe and set to work picking out my clothes. For whatever reason, I wanted to take time with my appearance today. Probably something to do with the fact that I didn’t want to make a bad first impression.

  I settled on my favorite pair of jeans and a tight, long sleeved black and white striped cotton shirt. A fairly classic look: stylish, but not trying too hard. Plus, it wouldn’t wrinkle too badly during the drive and end up looking like I had slept in it. I slipped on my worn black boots and set to work on hair and makeup.

  As I blow-dried my short, choppy cut I smiled to myself. Eric hated my hair. I loved it. All throughout high school I had worn my hair past my shoulders, nearly to my waist. During college I had cut it all off on a whim. When he had first seen it, the disappointment in his eyes was apparent. Since then, it had always been various lengths of short, though it never again reached my shoulders.

  Quite contrary to the usual stereotype of an accounting major, I was fascinated by hair and makeup. If I hadn’t have been on the fast track to graduating with honors, I might have considered beauty school instead of traditional college. Unfortunately, I had been too concerned with what other people thought to choose my own destiny. Smart people weren’t supposed to be creative, right?

  So I lived vicariously through experimentation on myself with various beauty products. My arsenal of hair care items and makeup would rival that of a professional. Getting ready in the morning for me was a release. It was pretty fun.

  Today, I settled for my favorite look: an understated smoky eye with pale lips. Framed by my dark tousled locks, I was a friendlier version of Goth. A little dark and mysterious, though not unapproachable. My short gray nails completed the look. Perfect.

  “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself as I grabbed my map and purse and headed out the door.

  Nervousness entered my stomach as I climbed into the Honda and started it up. I took a deep breath and clutched the steering wheel, trying to will it away. What if this didn’t work out? I shook my head, reminding myself of the back-up plan. No matter what happened, I would be okay.

  My new job didn’t start for another two weeks. I had cashed in vacation time so that I could give myself ample opportunity to search for a new residence and tie up loose ends in Indy. Hopefully, I could get everything accomplished quickly and have some free time as well. I had no indication of when I would be able to sneak away and take time off again, so I wanted to enjoy the freedom while I could.

  As expected, the weather was perfect for a drive. I cranked up the CD player and sang along as I cruised down the interstate. My singing left much to be desired, but it kept my mind in the present and off of what I was leaving behind.

  Surprisingly, I wasn’t upset at the argument that had occurred between myself and Eric hours before. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. He played recklessly with my emotions and typically got what he wanted as a result. I was sick of it.

  Gracie would be proud of me and how I had stood up to him. I made a note to give her a call tonight and recap the fight. Though it had been brief, and I was sure we would kiss and make up later, for now it was liberating. I still hadn’t heard a peep out of him since he left. He was probably licking his wounds. I vowed not to make the first contact. It would be his turn to come crawling back with an apology. I deserved that much, bare minimum.

  Traffic was light and I made excellent time to my exit. I pulled off the interstate, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. Thirty minutes until my appointment. Per the directions on the printout, my destination was about ten minutes away. Just enough time to do a little exploring and still be punctual.

  I had choices. Turning right at the light would take me to my new office and the downtown area. Left would lead to my potential rental home and who knew what else. I signaled left, deciding to get a feel for the neighborhood.

  The usual fast food places and retail storefronts greeted me immediately past the interstate. Very typical and expected. A drugstore, a grocery store, two gas stations-one on each side of the road, surely for convenience. Nice. As a life-long city girl, this I appreciated.

  I continued driving. Once I drove through the next light, the landscape qu
ickly changed from retail to residential. Housing additions surrounded me. As I drove further, the houses on either side appeared to me to get even more spacious and impressive. I wondered what the house that I was going to view looked like. I realized I had no idea.

  I had committed the remainder of the driving directions to heart. I quickly found the street that I was to turn on and continued in the path that the mapping program had spelled out. The addition that I turned into was marked by two large brick signs on either side of the entrance, proudly displaying the community name. I let out a sigh of relief as I realized that though the neighborhood was decidedly middle to upper-middle class, I doubted that anyone would look down their nose at my car and tell me I didn’t belong. No gates or security guards here. Just lot after lot of homes that practically screamed pride of ownership.

  Once I pulled in, I slowed the car to a stop and consulted my map for the exact address. The home wasn’t on the main street that led into the addition, and I had to make a series of turns that I would have problems remembering later. I would probably get turned around and hopelessly lost on my way back out of here. I wasn’t used to living in the suburbs, that was for sure.

  The home was nestled on a cul-de-sac lot toward the back of the addition. It, like all the others, was well-maintained on the outside and impeccably landscaped. It appeared from a quick onceover to be a one and a half story, probably with a loft on the second floor. The siding was a soft yellow, the trim a crisp white. I smiled just looking at it.

  I parked the Honda in the driveway, wondering briefly if I would be allowed one of the spots in the two car garage. Nothing like getting ahead of myself. I grabbed my purse, my list of references and my confidence and exited the vehicle. I was about ten minutes early. Hopefully not a problem.

  I strode up the winding sidewalk to the front porch, then rang the doorbell. I heard the happy melody of the chimes inside the home announce my presence. Seconds later, the deadbolt lock clicked open. The lock on the actual doorknob followed suit, and the front door opened.

  “Damn it,” the blonde on the other side of the door whispered under her breath.

  “Excuse me?” My voice came out hesitantly. I checked the house number on the front of the home one more time. Maybe I had knocked on the wrong door. “I was here about renting the room listed on the internet. Have I made a mistake?”

  The blonde raised her gaze from the tile foyer to my face. Her expression was contorted in an uncomfortable position. It appeared she was possibly squinting. It was hard to tell.

  “No, no mistake,” she said louder this time, more cheerfully, “you must be Lauren.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Blake. Nice to meet you.”

  She extended her hand and I shook it politely. Once my hand returned to my side, I waited expectantly for her to invite me in. Instead, Blake returned to scanning the floor.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” My inflection made it sound more like a question than a statement.

  “I just lost my contact lens,” she offered in explanation, “right as I answered the door. It has to be around here somewhere.”

  “Oh,” I responded with relief, “let me help you look for it.”

  We spent the next couple minutes crouched down, searching for the missing contact. Blake was inside the home; I remained on the porch, craning my neck and attempting to look just over the threshold. Triumphantly, Blake announced its discovery and scooped it into her hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. She rose to her feet and invited me in. “If you’ll just excuse me for a moment, I’m as blind as a bat without these things.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  Blake disappeared down the hallway, presumably to the bathroom.

  I took a moment to gather my bearings. I had been correct about the loft; when I fixed my attention upwards, I saw a comfortable looking sitting area and two doorways, probably entrances to bedrooms. I stood in an expansive great room; to my right was a sectional sofa with recliners on both ends. A large flat screen television hung on the wall above an impressive fireplace. To the left was the hallway where Blake had disappeared – my guess was it led to the master bedroom and a half bath. Beside the stairs to the loft was the doorway to the kitchen. I set my purse and sheet of references on top of the glass coffee table.

  Upon first glance, this home was a veritable showpiece. The walls were painted a muted gray. Somehow this worked. Instead of making the interior feel gloomy, it added an air of elegance to the surroundings, and even worked to coordinate with the exterior yellow. Sunlight poured through the windows. As I spun around, I took in the skylights above.

  The furnishings were decidedly high end as well. In fact, it looked as though they were almost custom made for the space. I wondered who Blake was, how she could afford all this, and if she wasn’t living on handouts from a rich relative, why was she looking for a roommate?

  I was drawn to the fireplace. Candid photographs lined the mantle, encased in brushed nickel frames. The first picture was Blake standing in front of a storefront, a wide smile upon her face. The next was a picture of two children, a boy and a girl. The photo was faded, as if it were from several years ago. The boy, probably no more than two or three, was standing over a baby girl, his lips pressed to the top of her head. The infant was so tiny, the only clue to its gender was the silly looking headband strapped to her bald head. The third picture was of Blake again, presumably at her college graduation. It was the fourth and final picture that really caught my eye.

  Impulsively, I picked it up. An image of Blake grinned back at me. Her eyes were shrouded by a pair of dark sunglasses. Her arms were wrapped tightly around a blonde male, also wearing shades. His smile was just as radiant, and I doubted that he would be any less attractive had I seen his eyes. Two impressively beautiful people, so happy and full of life.

  A twinge of jealousy hit me as I realized that no such picture of myself and Eric existed.

  Blake cleared her throat, and I realized that she was standing right behind me. How long she had been there I didn’t know. I set the picture down, spinning around as heat filled my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I stammered, embarrassed at my rudeness.

  She gave me an easy shrug. “No bother.”

  “Your boyfriend?” I asked, pointing to the picture I had just set down.

  She giggled, a sweet melodic sound. Was everything about her perfect? “Or my brother.”

  If possible, my face turned even redder, prompting her to nearly convulse with laughter. “Don’t worry, we get that all the time. The baby picture is us, too. I’m single. How about you?”

  “I’ve got a boyfriend,” I said hesitantly. Hell, I didn’t even know if that was true anymore. “Eric. We’ve dated for about ten years.”

  Her eyes widened and I could see her brain working as she attempted to calculate my age. She had a point. Not many people my age could say they had been involved with someone for that length of time, especially not without some sort of vows exchanged or a diamond on their finger. Leave it to me to be the exception to that rule. Marriage hadn’t even been a real discussion yet; the thought of committing myself to him for the rest of my life at the moment did nothing for me but make my stomach queasy. We had our issues to work through before making it legal.

  “High school sweethearts.” I smiled, hoping it was convincing.

  She nodded. “Can I get you something to drink? If you have time, maybe we could talk a little before looking around. Get to know each other a bit?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll just take a water, thanks.”

  Blake led me through the door to the eat-in kitchen. The space was bigger than my entire apartment. The dining area was situated in front of a set of sliding glass doors which looked out onto a sizable deck. On the deck stood a hot tub. I imagined myself relaxing in the warm, pulsing jetted water, surveying the spacious backya
rd. If that didn’t sound like paradise, I didn’t know what did.

  She opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. She handed me one, then sat down at the breakfast bar with her own. I followed suit, perching on the barstool and setting my water on the granite countertop.

  “I apologize for earlier,” she said with a smile, “I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t turn around and run screaming the other way.”

  “I don’t scare easily. You should see where I live now.”

  Blake’s eyes filled with amusement. She grabbed her water, taking a long sip. The pause in conversation allowed me to take a good look at the real her, not the squinting, awkward lady that had greeted me initially.

  She was classically beautiful, like a porcelain doll. She wore just the right amount of makeup to accentuate her delicate features, though I was sure she would turn heads bare-faced. Thick, platinum blond hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back. A section of hair approximately an inch wide matched the deep aqua color of her eyes. Whether the blue streak was a dye job or an extension I couldn’t tell. A tiny diamond stud sparkled from its place in her left nostril. Her lean, athletic frame draped effortlessly across the stool.

  She was everything I wasn’t. Instead of being jealous, I liked her immediately.

  “So where is that exactly? Your current place?”

  “I live in Indianapolis now. I got promoted so I have to relocate.”

  “Cool. What do you do?”

  “I’m a mortgage underwriter.”

  “That sounds…interesting.”

  “No it doesn’t.” We both laughed. “What do you do?”

  “I own my own business. I’m an interior decorator.”

  Well, that made a lot of sense. The other photo on the mantel was probably of Blake standing in front of her own business. That explained the obvious professional touch and the uniqueness of the furnishings. Maybe she wasn’t rich; just talented.

  “Your home is beautiful,” I said sincerely.