Detachment Ch. 06-10

"Not at all!" She hands me her phone after unlocking it. "I almost didn't come because I didn't know anyone here!"

"Well, that makes both of us!" When I'm done inputting my name and number, I hand the phone back to her.

She taps her screen then mine vibrates in my pocket. "Drinking tonight is out, but if you wanna geek out about writing from here until one of us gets off the elevator, I'm down!" A friendly smile follows.

"Uh, I'd like that very much!"

***

Kylie is sitting at a candlelit table near the window with that expressionless look she's had all week plastered on her face while scrolling through her phone. Even though I can tell something is wrong with her, I can't help but smile when I see her. And I hardly have a reason to smile these days. But this is how it's been since we started spending twelve hours a day with each other. Her mere presence alone soothes the constant hurt in my heart. Spending time with her makes me happy in a way that I haven't been in a long, long while...

If I'm being honest with myself, she's always had this effect on me, even before life went to shit.

The second she sees me coming, her face lights up. Her smile is genuine, as it often is when we interact, it's not that fake smile she usually puts on for coworkers and food servers when she's in a bad mood.

"Thought you were going to stand me up," she says as I'm sitting down.

"I'd never stand you up, even if I met a really attractive author while I was checking in." I smirk.

She arches a brow and leans back, partially smiling. "Wait, is that what happened?"

"Yeah, but that's not why it took me so long."

"Who is she? She famous?"

I shrug. "Her name's Senna. You'll probably meet her tomorrow. Oh, and, get this, she's from Boston!"

"Oh... Lucky you. Are you smitten? You came back smiling."

"No... I mean, she seems really sweet, she's funny, and she's my type, but that's not why I was smiling..." My words trail off as I get lost in those eyes that seem even bluer than that royal blue blouse she's wearing. My heartrate spikes. My gaze then inadvertently flicks down to her cleavage for a millisecond before darting over to the wedding ring glinting in the light as she spins her martini glass—the shiny reminder that it was a bad idea whisking her away to New York when she should be going to her husband's mom's party. Granted, she wanted to come with me. But I didn't try to talk her out of it. Because I really wanted her here this weekend.

She searches my eyes, sighs, then looks down. "Hmm... If you say so."

I pick up the glass before me and give it a sniff. "Scotch?"

She nods.

I'm all smiles now. "How could you have possibly known I'd want this instead of a beer tonight?"

"Remember when me, you, and Travis started rewatching How I Met Your Mother at the same time and how that's all we talked about for months? Well, you always used to say that you wanted to go somewhere fancy and drink scotch on the rocks like Barney." She turns up her palms. "Somewhere fancy."

I chuckle. "I can't believe you remembered that!"

"What can I say? I pay attention to the people who matter most..."

"You're the best person ever. You know that, right?"

She cocks a brow. "You sure about that? You're the only one who says so..."

"Without a doubt... You're one of the most amazing people I know."

She brushes her hair back. "Thanks. I'm only amazing to people who are amazing to me..." She clears her throat then sips her martini.

"What'd you get me for dinner?"

Her mouth twists to the side. "Something you'll like, I hope."

I look at the menu. "Let me guess, you ordered the spaghetti dish for yourself?"

She giggles. "But of course. You know I love my pasta."

After getting lost in her eyes again, I break my trance then slide a key over to her. "They didn't have any rooms for tonight, but they did have an availability for tomorrow and Saturday, so I booked it for ya. I'm fine with taking the couch tonight. Already tried it out. It's very comfortable."

She looks down at the martini that she's swirling somewhat vigorously, blushing slightly. Something tells me this might not be her first drink. "Marcus... we're both adults." She looks up at me, a sheepish smile on her face. "I think we're more than capable of sharing a bed without... something happening. Aren't we?"

I stare over the glass at her as I gulp down a sip of scotch, thinking back to the night that led to us deciding to a break from each other. "Just trying not to overstep any boundaries."

"You're fine. I trust you completely," she says softly. "We can put pillows between us, just in case."

I squint. "In case what?"

"I tend to sleep cuddle when I'm cold." Her pink lips stretch into a sinful smile.

"We'll make sure to turn the heat up then."

For some reason, we both snicker then burst into laughter.

I raise my glass to her. "Even though I feel bad stealing you away from the weekend with your in-laws, I am really glad you're here..."

Kylie clinks her glass against mine. "Don't feel bad. If anyone should feel bad, it's me. Here in New York with you...This is where I wanted to be. I so desperately needed time away from... I needed to get away for a bit. And being with my pain-in-the-ass in-laws wouldn't have been good for me right now."

I drink. As I'm about to ask what's bothering her, the waiter approaches our table with a tray of food.

"Spaghetti Carbonara?" he says.

She raises her hand. "That's me!"

"And Grilled Atlantic Salmon with mashed potatoes for you, sir," he says, placing the delicious-smelling entrée in front of me. "Could I get anything else for either of you?"

"No thanks," we both say in unison, which makes us both smile.

He nods. "Enjoy."

"Did I mention something about salmon this week?" I ask, unwrapping the silverware.

"Nope. I know you love salmon but hate cooking it. And since you've been cooking chicken and steak a lot lately, figured this was the right move... Good choice though, right?"

"Um, damn right! I've been craving salmon, that's why I was wondering if I mentioned it..." I smile at her as I place a piece in my mouth.

When she meets my gaze and smiles back, I swear it feels like there's electricity between us right now...

This is what I imagine it feels going out to eat with your other half... This is not how it should feel eating out with your bro's wife...

My eyes drift down to the candle and, for some reason, I imagine that this isn't a dinner before a writer's conference but a romantic couple's retreat. That's what it feels like. Now I find myself fantasizing about us traveling together and having many more dinners just like this one in cities across the world. While I eat, I imagine that how things have been after work with us these last three weeks are just the norm—Kylie and I cooking together, goofing around, binge-watching shows. In that world, instead of her leaving at 9:00 p.m., though, she and I cuddle and fall asleep on the couch.

For the first time in a long while, I want all those things. But I don't want them with just anyone...

Hiring her might've been a mistake...

***

Kylie comes shimmying out of the bathroom in her pink and grey pajamas with the clothes she changed out of tucked under her arm.

"All yours!" she says, blowing minty breath in my face as she passes. "God, this suite is nice!" She flops onto the bed then playfully wriggles under the covers. "When's our next company trip?"

I snicker. "There's an entrepreneur's conference in the spring if you want to go to that!" I say as I step into the bathroom.

I slip on my shower shoes then cleanse myself of the day with a hot shower. As I'm reaching for the toothpaste, I accidently bump Kylie's toiletry bag and it falls over, spilling its contents. Amongst the makeup and other feminine items are two pill bottles. One is Prozac, an antidepressant. The other is Xanax, an antianxiety drug.

In the almost four years of our friendship, I've never known her to suffer from depression... Anxiety, sure, but not to the extent of needing medication...

Maybe that's why she's seemed so detached lately, I think, returning the items into the small bag.

The lights are out when I step out of the bathroom, except for the lamp on Kylie's side of the bed.

"Did you want to watch TV before bed?" she asks softly.

I shake my head. "I'm okay without TV. If you can't sleep, we can talk until we pass out," I say as I climb under the covers.

A faint smile appears on her face. "A man that would rather talk than watch TV... Refreshing..." She sighs.

I lean on the pillow barrier that she constructed down the middle of the king-sized bed. "Oh, you know I love TV, but a good conversation with good company? It doesn't get better than that..."

She looks away. "You need to impart that wisdom to your bro..."

"That's not something you can teach." I smirk, then zone out.

In the corner of my eye, I see Kylie studying me curiously. "Something on your mind?"

"Yeah... I uh... knocked over your toiletry bag and I don't mean to pry but... I found your antidepressants and antianxiety meds... If you don't mind me asking, are they the reason you seemed so numb these last few days?"

She brushes her hair back. "Mm-hm... Well, they're part of the reason..."

"How long have you been on them?"

"Since Tuesday..."

I place a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

She starts rubbing the back of her neck the way she does when she's stressing out. "Not really..."

"You know you can always come to me if you need to talk, right?"

"I know, Marcus..."

"It doesn't have to be tonight. It doesn't have to happen at all. But if you want, I'm always here for you. Always. And if you want to get into it tonight, we can talk until sunrise if you want. I don't care if we sleep through the masterclass tomorrow."

Kylie giggles, reaching over and patting the hand I still have on her shoulder. "Thanks. You're too sweet, Marcus." Her thumb caresses my knuckles for a moment.

"Just being a good friend. Sorry... I mean, a good best friend."

Even though she's beaming, she looks like she's fending off tears. "Things with Travis... they've been really rough lately."

Chapter 8

Kylie

Friday

For the first time in years, I wake up in bed facing a man who isn't Travis. That shouldn't bring a smile to my face, but it does. This caring, caramel sweetheart whose arm is clutching the pillow divider between us is about the only thing that makes me smile these days... Actually, the more I lay here thinking about it, Marcus is about the only person in my life other than my sister who consistently gives me a reason to smile and who has never given me a reason to hurt...

I gently roll over and grab my phone from the end table. 7:53 a.m.? Crap. The Masterclass starts in an hour...

It's my fault we might be late... I vented to Marcus until, like, almost three in the morning. Pretty much as soon as I started talking about what happened Monday, I started bawling. Without missing a beat, he consoled me, innocently of course. The warmth and safety of his embrace in combination with the alcohol still lingering in my blood made my walls come down even more. So, I told him about Sunday. Then I spilled my guts out about all the instances from the past few months when Travis belittled me or talked down to me.

Marcus looked disgusted as he rubbed my back to calm me down. "That's essentially verbal and emotional abuse... You know that, right?" was his response to it all. "You of all people don't deserve to be talked to like that..."

He then showered me with compliments, telling me all the ways I was the opposite of that woman Travis made me out to be. "You're worth so much more than he realizes... You're more intelligent than more than half the population... If you're as good of a wife as you are a friend to me, the only thing wrong with your relationship is his lack of appreciation," is what he said, amongst other things. Each soft-spoken line of endearment made my heart flutter.

Following his compliments, he imparted words of wisdom onto me. Aside from telling me that I just needed to have a hard talk with Travis about how he's hurting me, one of his suggestions was that maybe we should see a marriage counselor. Because he'd never tell me to leave my husband or try telling me to take a break from our marriage. He's not like that.

Then Marcus said, "If you need to take those meds, by all means, take them. But I know the harm of messing with brain chemistry. I've read the research. There's always been this light in you... And ever since you've been on those pills, that light is gone. What you really need is to not suffer in a toxic home environment. And since you're away from all that this weekend, maybe you can take a break and see how you feel?"

I admitted that I actually planned on not taking my meds while I was away, but what I wanted to say was that being in his company does more for me than those drugs ever have...

"I never liked the way they made me feel," is what I confessed next. Thus began an hour-long history of my battle with depression and anxiety brought on by years of torment from my alcoholic father and all the physical and verbal fights I witnessed between my parents. Detaching emotionally from my parents—detaching from life—that was something I mastered very young. It's how I survived until Mom finally got us out. Except that going all numb and emotionless didn't stop after we left, it kept happening to me randomly in the years that followed. That's why Mom had me see a psychiatrist freshman year of high school. And after that first session, I was prescribed those meds—meds that I pretty much took up until tenth grade only to start back up on them again senior year and the first half of college.

At the end of my medical history lesson, I confessed to Marcus that the reason I left his place at three o'clock last week Wednesday was because I went to my psychiatrist to talk and get the prescriptions, just in case. Excellent timing because Travis mortally wounded me with his words five days later. Not that I took the meds right away. First, I tried shutting down emotionally from him. And then, when I woke up and heard Travis making noise in the kitchen, the thought of facing him left me so anxious that I immediately started crying. So, I popped those pills before I even left the room to buffer the inevitable onslaught of psychological bitch slaps that I knew awaited me as soon as I stepped out the bedroom...

"I assume Travis knows about what you went through growing up, right?" Marcus asked in response to it all.

To that, I nodded.

"Does he know that you've been struggling with depression your whole life?" When I said yes, he shook his head and said, "Well, then he should know better than to treat you the way he does... Otherwise, what he's doing is just intentionally cruelty..." His hand balled into a fist. "I'm sorry you have to go through this..."

I thanked him for listening, and for the pep talk. Then we laid down on our respective sides of the pillow wall and chatted quietly about the weekend ahead until I started drifting off. It's wrong how badly I wanted to toss those pillows aside, scoot my ass back into his crotch and snuggle up to him, asking him to hold me... Every inch of me ached to be held by someone who truly cares about me. But doing that? That might ruin this good thing we have. Crossing that line would make me a bad wife...

Now, as I watch Marcus sleep peacefully, I shamefully find myself wanting to reach over and run my hand through those tight curly locks of his, massaging his scalp until he wakes up smiling from my touch. Then I want to caress him from cheek to neck to chest to... The thought of what could follow that makes me shudder and I bite my bottom lip as a carnal urge pulses between my legs. Instead, I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom.

Once I'm showered and dressed, I call room service then fix my hair quick. It's makeup time after that. I just put on some eyeshadow, a bit of foundation, a light dusting of blush, and the pink lipstick I wore yesterday. I was never one for makeup, though I always feel like I have to wear it. Because society ingrained that into me at a young age, as it has done in all little girls. As I touch up my face, I recall the one night last year when Marcus was over before trivia night at the bar. I was holding up our departure because I was in the bathroom fixing my face. Travis yelled for me to hurry up while he went down to let in our other friend. That's when Marcus appeared in the doorway with beer in hand, and said, "You know, you're one of those girls that doesn't even need makeup, right? Save all that unnecessary work for weddings." That was the most roundabout, respectful way I've ever been called beautiful. And, secretly, I think about it whenever I'm getting ready in the morning...

When I'm done, I crawl across the bed and palm Marcus's firm arm then give him a shake. "Wake up, sleepyhead," I whisper. "You've got half an hour to get ready!"

Inhaling deeply, he awakens with a stretch, peeking at me through one eye. "Mmmrgh... Good morning..." he groans, smiling after. "Wow, look at you! Looking great as always."

I turn before he sees me blushing. "Get up or we're going to be late!"

There's a knock at the door.

Grunting, he sits up. "Who's that? Housekeeping?"

"Room service. I ordered us some breakfast and coffee." I trot over to the door.

"You're on top of your game!" He shuffles over to his bag. "I don't know if I should give you the Best Assistant Ever award, or the Best Friend of All-Time award."

"Thank you," I say to the woman, taking the tray and cup holder from her. "Am I not eligible for both?" I say to Marcus, pouting.

"Oh, without a doubt!" He says sincerely, closing the bathroom door behind him.

I'm cheesing all the way to the table. The smile persists even while I'm dumping sugar and creamer into my coffee, and it doesn't go away even after my first sip. And then I almost spit out my drink when I start laughing at how stupid I must look for smiling so hard over something so minor.

Honestly, it's sad how refreshing it is to have someone appreciate and acknowledge all the little things I do. For once... As an employee and a friend, I desperately want to cater to his every need so I can keep feeling valued, feeling worthwhile. But I also want to cater to him because, if there's anyone who deserves to be happy, it's Marcus.

***

The Authorpreneur Masterclass was very informative. The best part about it was that it was a small class of twenty people, so I got to ask questions, which is nice because that's how I learn the best. Between managing Facebook groups, promos, figuring out conversion rates, mailing list building, list swaps, marketing research, and tweaking ads, it's amazing that any of these people even have time to write. Hopefully I'll leave here today having learned enough to help alleviate Marcus's workload so that he can spend his time doing what brings him joy.

"Looks like Senna wants to meet for lunch," Marcus says, looking down at his phone as we make our way to the concierge desk to check in to the room that he booked for me.

Yay...

"Sounds good," I say flatly, walking alongside him in silence for a few beats. "You know, you could cancel that room and save some money." I glance over at him now that the words I've been trying to keep from saying out loud come out anyway.