Storm (Ashes & Embers 1)

There’s a loud knock on the door. “Evelyn, what the hell are you doing in there? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I feel sick to my stomach. Just go to bed.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you? You’ve been sick a lot lately.”

“No, Michael! Go to bed.”

I hear him walk away. Jesus!

“Holy shit. Did that motherfucker really just say that to you?”

“It’s just how he is. He’s petrified of an unplanned baby,” I whisper.

“Please tell me you’re on the pill.”

“Yes!”

“I’m gonna lose my effing mind over this shit. “

“Storm,” I whisper. “Please just give me time to get out of here the right way. I promise you I will not let anything happen between him and me. I want you, okay?”

“Damn, I love how that sounds on your lips. Say it again.”

“I want you.”

I hear him take a deep breath. “You better go. Try to get on the couch.”

“I will. I’ll call you tomorrow when he’s gone.”

“If I don’t answer, leave me a message. It’s gonna be busy tomorrow.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

I end the call.

This is not going to be easy.

Chapter Sixteen

Monday mornings are the work of the devil. I am practically falling asleep at my desk, grateful for the cubicle walls hiding me from my co-workers, who are also probably half-dozing. I sip my latte and read all my emails, jotting down a list of everything I need to do today.

My cell phone beeps and I discretely check it. I don’t want Jack to catch me texting during work time.

Storm: We’re just heading out. Wanted to say good morning. :)

Me: Good morning, you :) Try to call me tonight

I managed to feign a stomach bug for the past two days and slept on the couch. Being deceitful to Michael is making me feel awful. This is not the kind of person I want to be. I keep telling myself it will all be okay, but I am honestly afraid I am going to rot in hell for this.

Thankfully, Michael will be gone for the rest of the week so I won’t have to make up excuses to avoid him. Eventually, he’s going to start wondering why I’m sick all the time.

The mail guy shows up at my desk and hands me a pink package. It has no return address. It must be a marketing promo of some sort. I’m intrigued by the shiny pink box, though, so I open it right away. Beneath the outer pink shipping paper is a glossy pink box. I pull off the lid and peel back the white tissue paper.

Holy shit.

I push the lid back over it and look around me real quick to make sure no one is looking at me. No one is.

I peer back into the box. Inside is a pink dildo. Or vibrator. Whatever it’s called. It’s made out of some soft pink rubber and looks just like a real penis and it has like little rabbit ears at the base of it. What the fuck?

I push it aside a bit and find a tiny card inside.

Bring this home and call me tonight. ~ S

Oh, my. Storm sent me this? Why? I put the lid on tight and hide the box under my desk by my purse. I’m completely confused. Why on earth would he send me such a thing? I’ve never had a sex toy before and have no idea what to do with it. Maybe it’s supposed to be some kind of joke that I’m forgetting. A bunny?

I send him a text.

Me: Did you send me this thing?

Storm: What thing?

Me: This rabbit thing?

Storm: I did.

Me: Um? WTFis it?

Storm: Bring it home and call me tonight around midnight. Be naked.

What?

“Evelyn how are those reports going?” Jack is at the entrance of my cube, watching me stare at my phone.

“I’m so sorry. What did you say?” I know I’m blushing and looking guilty, trying to put my phone away and fumbling with my purse.

“Evelyn, I really need you to focus. You’ve been very distracted lately. I’ve tried to be patient after your accident, but it’s becoming very non-productive.”

I nod in agreement. “You’re right, Jack. I’ve just been tired lately. I’m sorry. I’ll be more focused.”

“I hope so. Otherwise, I will need to write up a formal performance review,” he replies and walks away.

Great. Just what I need to hear on a Monday morning. If I lose my job, it will throw a monkey wrench in my plans of getting my own place. I don’t feel comfortable moving into Storm’s house or letting him foot the bill for me. I do not want to be some kind of kept woman. And I don’t want to be dependent on him or owing him anything if things don’t work out between us.

Ironically, the words ‘if things don’t work out between us’ never even crossed my mind once during my relationship with Michael. I just always felt sure we would be together. I didn’t question it or doubt it. How stupid was I, lulled into some false sense of security and happiness?

I clock-watch the entire day, my focus on the contents of the pink box hidden under my desk and not on marketing reports. Two months ago, I was completely engulfed in my job, working nights and weekends to try to impress Jack. Now, I can’t wait to leave.

I pick up a take-out salad on my way home and eat in silence at the kitchen table, the pink box looming like an elephant in the room. My skin is sweaty wondering what Storm’s intention with this thing is. Maybe I should throw it away, call him a perv, and just end this now before I walk down some dark and twisted path I’m not ready for or even aware of.

And never see him again.

I know that I can’t do that anymore than I can saw off my own arm. I can barely go five minutes without thinking of him. He’s become the nucleus of my world somehow. All thoughts, dreams, and actions end up going back to him.

The ringing of the phone drags me out of my thoughts. I look at the ID and see Michael’s cell number.

“Hi,” I say.

“What’s up? How was your day?”

“Okay. Jack’s being an ass as usual. How ‘bout you?”

“The usual. I have a dinner meeting with the client, so I thought I’d call you now since I might get in late.”

A dinner meeting. I wonder if that’s true or if it’s really a date with someone.

“All right. I just finished dinner, so I’m just going to watch some television.”

“Sounds good.” He pauses. “I love you. You know that, right?”

So much power there in those words. Yes, those words are true. But the weight behind them has crumbled to dust beneath us. These words are admission. Omission.

I do the same in return. “Yes,” I say. “And I love you, too.”

I probably always will. Just not the way I did.

Four hours ‘til midnight when I can call Storm and learn about this bunny device. I can’t understand the significance of the bunny ears. What does it mean? Quick like a bunny? Energizer Bunny? Maybe it’s just there to be cute.

I debate calling Amy to ask her what this thing is. Maybe taking a picture of it and texting it over to her. I decide not to, as this might be some kind of cute personal thing that Storm is attempting to do, and I don’t want to bring Amy into it if it is. I will just have to wait and see.

At eleven-thirty, I crawl into bed naked and prop a pillow up behind me so I can sit up, the glow of the television the only light. I open the pink box and pull out the dildo. There is a tiny tube in there with it that I didn’t see before. I

squint at it and try to read the label. Silky Slidey lube.

Silky Slidey lube? I’ve never seen or used lubricant before. I pull the cap off and sniff it. It has no smell. I put a dab on my finger and rub my thumb and forefinger together. It is slippery and silky. I kind of want to rub it all over my hands like lotion, but that’s probably not a great idea or its purpose.

I check the box to make sure nothing else is hiding in there. I want to keep the note that came with it. I wonder if Storm wrote this himself or if whoever packed this thing up did. The writing is artistic, like an architect or artist would write. I raise the note to my nose to see if it smells of Storm’s cologne. It doesn’t.

I stare at the long thick vibrator, ignoring the unfortunate little rabbit head and ears stuck to it. This thing is huge, way bigger than Michael is. There is no way I am getting this in me, if that’s what Storm is thinking of.

You. Are. So. Stupid.

At times like this, I am honestly shocked by my own stupidity and naivety. If I were friends with myself, I would be sitting here laughing and shaking my head and asking me what the hell I thought he wanted me to do with it? Of course, he wants me to use this thing. Why else would it come with lube? And direction from him for me to be in bed, naked? Which I am.

I bite my lip as unease sparks and then ignites inside me. It’s two minutes after midnight. I don’t know if I can do this.

I can turn my phone off and just tell him tomorrow I fell asleep. It’s a valid excuse. He is probably tired from being on the road all day, too. He probably would like to just go to bed himself, rather than be messing around with me on the phone.

My ringtone goes off.

Well crap.

I slide my finger across the screen and hold the phone up to my ear.

“It’s twelve ‘o four.”

“I know,” I say like a guilty child.

“You were thinking about not calling, weren’t you?” His voice is accusing yet playful.

I don’t answer.

“Wow, Evie. You’d really do that to me? Just blow me off when you know I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you?”

“No... I’ve been dying to talk to you, too. I just...” I give the vibrator the side-eye.