The Point Where You Completely Lose Your Mind
Of course I didn’t take Adele’s advice and go into the office. I didn’t come clean, and I didn’t ask for help. As far as I’m concerned, Thessa probably considers the whole thing settled by now.
I spent so much time crunching numbers and reorganizing everything that I practically scheduled my life down to the minute. Well—my imagined future life, anyway.
Because if previous years were anything to go by, I still had a few days before Ben dumped the boat catalogue on me.
The only catch was that my roughly day-and-a-half of weekly free time dropped straight to zero. Which meant two hours of downtime a day, on top of six hours of sleep. For four and a half months. Not the end of the world. With enough discipline, I could make it work.
Once again, I pushed hard during the first few days so I could at least relax with the others on Saturday night. Everything was going according to plan: relentless work schedule, squats on the balcony, evening laps around the block—strictly after dark, when the pharmacy was definitely closed and there was no chance of running into anyone.
On Thursday, since the little park between the apartment buildings was unusually quiet, I sat down on a bench after my walk and simply enjoyed the warm evening air. I was just thinking that I really needed to wax my legs when Karate Dad suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Well, well. The Magic Girl.”
He stopped in front of me wearing a denim jacket and surrounded by a cloud of soft cologne that somehow seemed to stroke every nerve ending in my body. My eyelids instantly grew heavy again, and that strange warm pull deep between my legs came back. I had to stand up.
“Shouldn’t you be teaching tiny children how to open doors in a gym somewhere?”
He laughed quietly, that low bubbling laugh of his.
“No training today. Tonight I’m hunting for food so I don’t starve.” He nodded toward the convenience store at the end of the block.
Even though I’d completely forgotten it was there until that moment, I instinctively reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out my almost-two-week-old half-eaten cherry energy bar.
“I literally just took my specialty off the stove,” I said with a straight face. “Help yourself if you want, but careful—it’s still hot.”
“Oh wow, I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” he said enthusiastically, snatching it from my hand.
He made it disappear in a single bite. I watched, holding my breath, as he chewed the dried-out, probably hoodie-flavored remains I’d already taken a bite out of. The thought horrified me. But the fact that we’d just shared an energy bar sent that same warm, confusing feeling rushing through me even harder.
“Give me that back,” I said, reaching for the wrapper. “The recipe’s on it. I don’t want to forget it in case I crave it again.”
Playfully, he caught my hand, placed the wrapper into my palm, then gently folded my fingers around it. The soft warmth of his touch spread through my entire body. I actually trembled.
“Cold?” he whispered.
I seriously doubt he didn’t know exactly what had caused it. My eyes drifted to his mouth and I couldn’t look away. He still hadn’t let go of my hand. Somehow our breathing gradually synced. At some point I realized we were breathing in the same rhythm.
It took every ounce of self-control not to lean closer. I couldn’t think about anything except what it would feel like to have his mouth on mine while feeling the denim jacket and thin white T-shirt beneath my hands at the same time. Even my brow tightened from the effort of holding back. I wanted him so badly.
“Go to the store already,” I whispered.
“I’d have to let go of your hand for that.” He looked down at our hands. “And I don’t want to.”
That was it. I was done for. I threw myself at his mouth like someone drowning.
My tongue searched impatiently for his while my hands clung to him uncontrollably, bunching up his shirt, his denim jacket—anything they could reach. The next second I wanted skin. Soft skin. And then suddenly he laughed into my mouth.
I pulled back and searched his face curiously. I’d been expecting a lot of things. Laughter wasn’t one of them. He looked back at me with a carefree smile.
“When I woke up this morning, I had no idea my day was going to turn out this productive. One bite of mystery pocket-flavored snack and one bite of you.”
Just like that, the moment vanished. I wasn’t angry. Mostly I just had no idea what had gotten into him. Then he stroked my cheek.
“I tell bedtime stories to my kids even when they aren’t with me,” he whispered awkwardly.
I softened a little. Not because he was such an adorable dad. Because of the way he said it. Almost apologetically. It was ridiculously sweet. At the same time—and I know this makes me a terrible person—I honestly couldn’t have cared less who he was or what he did when he wasn’t with me. I wanted to kiss him. And have sex with him.
Since I don’t have kids and I’m currently about as close to motherhood as Earth is to Pluto, I have a hard time understanding why a video-call bedtime story could possibly outweigh the opportunity for mind-blowing sex. Deep down, of course, I know that’s exactly how things are supposed to be. And that’s exactly why he made the right choice. That’s what makes him a good person.
But on the other hand, here I am: frustrated, turned on, and thinking about Adele’s special vibrator.
I wanted this karate instructor so badly it actually hurt. It was driving me insane that I couldn’t simply walk over there and drag him on top of me. I wouldn’t be this close to losing my mind if he hadn’t kissed me. Or—let’s be honest—if I hadn’t kissed him. And to make things even worse, after his bedtime story he didn’t come upstairs to the sixth floor and yell:
“Magic Girl! Come out here! Let me make love to you so hard your ears split in half!”
Instead, I had to settle for my friends. Last night we had our usual grilled sandwich night. Sofia—who really is a genuinely good person—showed up with everything already prepared. All we had to do was put things into the sandwich press. She even brought beautifully arranged vegetables and dips. Honestly, my jaw dropped. And if I had to guess which one of the four of us worked the hardest, it’d definitely be her. Let’s be real—people’s lives literally depend on what she knows. This week she operated on a turtle. I genuinely can’t process that. And then she goes home and makes sandwiches and dipping sauces.
“I talked to your friend,” Mark tossed out casually over dinner.
My heart stopped. Because my first thought was that he’d talked to Karate Dad. I actually got dizzy.
“Who?” Adele asked the question for both of us.
“What do you call him? Angry Face?”
“Grumpy?” Sofia cut in.
“Yeah, him. The pharmacist.”
I waved a hand dismissively in relief. Who cared about that frustrated idiot?
“I’m seriously so fed up with him,” Mark went on, completely oblivious to the fact that my brain was clearly somewhere else. “Seriously, for fuck’s sake, I’m sick of the faces he pulls and the little digs he keeps making, like some bitter old hag. So I finally asked him what bothered him more—that we’re younger than him, or that we make more money.”
The knife slipped out of my hand.
“Tell me you’re joking…”
Mark looked me dead in the eye.
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“N-no,” I muttered.
“Exactly. Because I’m fucking not. And I’m seriously sick of the way he keeps making faces at you…” The second the words left his mouth, his face flushed bright red. “…and us,” he added quickly.
I looked at Sofia in alarm.
She shrugged.
“He doesn’t bother me. Sometimes I stop by his pharmacy on purpose just to annoy him. I start listing active ingredients. Sometimes excipients and coating layers too, just to rub his nose in the fact that I’m a doctor.”
The fact that Mark had been trying to defend me didn’t seem to even register with her. Or maybe she was just pretending it didn’t. The whole thing made me sad. Because Sofia really is a good person. I hope one day we can become real friends.