7 Kills + An Apple

Forty: Good Day

Kalypso Queen

By the end of the day, I'm down in the car and asking Nathan to drop me off at Prince's apartment. Nathan only raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't say a word. I know he will probably give me an earful somewhere next morning. He likes to do the morning talk and the judging at the same time.

"Will I need to stay for the entire night?" he asks.

"Nathan, you can go home," I say, noting the Fiat on the side of the road. I step out, and I'm suddenly aware of how much I stand out here. I watch Nathan turn the corner, the brake lights disappearing until I can't see it anymore.

I'm wearing an expensive suit that probably costs most people an entire year's work. This neighborhood, which is decent, is for the middle class, not those people like me. One of the other things that stick out between Prince and me.

Carrying a black briefcase, I walk into the building, look for Prince's apartment number, find his door, and finally knock.

With his usual messy hair and gray t-shirt, he opens the door. His eyes widen in surprise, and he quickly says, "Kalypso. I didn't expect you to be here. I mean, it is nice to see you, but..."

He blushes, which is a nice color on him.

"Can I come in?"

By this time, he manages to regain his brain. "Like that will stop you from coming right in. Come on in, though. I was almost going to fall asleep until I heard you knock."

"Sorry if I interrupted you and your sheep," I say, remembering how I used to fall asleep back when I was younger. Nowadays, I always fall asleep right when my head hits the pillow. Of course, a tiring day always makes that possible.

"No. My sheep are perfect." He closes the door behind me, and I can feel his gaze on my back. "So what is with the briefcase?"

"Just business. Work. Papers, the boring stuff. The usual," I say, dismissing it as unimportant. For now, I want to... live. I want to be with Prince, despite who he is, despite how much he has been lying straight to my face, despite how different we are.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

I glance around the living room, setting the briefcase down on the floor. "Oh, I don't want to go back home to my house in San Francisco. Who knows if a crazy, self-declared serial killer decides to show his face in my bedroom?"

"Good point."

I sit down at the couch and analyze every single inch of his apartment. There is a TV next to the balcony, and unlike my house, his place is of a slob's home. Newspapers are everywhere, and old reports he had written months ago are all over the floors. It looks like he even naps in them, judging from the way they are all wrinkled.

"Why are you here?" he inquires, his voice soft. "You know we shouldn't be together. You're... someone who hails from Wall Street and rich families while I'm... more of someone from the middle class. We are different, and this will never last long."

"Well, then you better enjoy it."

"So be it." His face closes off, and he takes a quick glance at the briefcase I drop by the pile of shoes. He hasn't gotten a rack for them yet. Then he sits right by my side, his hand on my knee and his touch welcoming to the core.

I close my eyes, and my hands move instinctively. I find the back of his neck, and his lips press against mine. For right now, I can pretend—just pretend—that everything is perfect and nothing can bother me here.

Even if the place is messy, even if everything might be dirty and slightly smelling of moths, even if I'm being held by the worst person possible (a law enforcement), I don't care. Because right now, I'm home and there is not a single place I rather be.