Face Of The Monster

***6***

Phoebe Kim is exhausted and she knows it.

Her eyes keep drifting shut while she types, her hand falling limp over the keys to create new words when she dozes. She has been working on this one email for the better part of an hour, but she can't seem to get past this sentence. I have some concerns regarding . . . some concerns regarding . . . regarding . . .

Phoebe Kim is exhausted but she will not sleep. She needs to stay here until Emma comes.

Chloe called about an hour ago to tell her that she was on her way home. "It's a little late for dinner," she said, "so you can pick something up on your way home. Or, I think we have leftovers in the fridge."

She wonders what Chloe is doing right now. She has probably showered and eaten by this time. Phoebe imagines she is lying naked across the couch watching reruns of Law and Order while she waits for Phoebe to come home.

Chloe has two part time jobs. She caters for a small party planning business and waitresses at the sleazy bar up south. Neither job pays well at all, but Chloe refuses to look for anything else. Her boss promised her that if she proves herself trustworthy and hardworking, he'll let her work in the kitchen eventually.

"Eventually". It could be months, it could be years. Who knows? But Chloe is so desperate to cook that she was willing to do it.

In her catering job, she is the chef's assistant. She hands him spices and stirs sauces and tries to contribute her own ideas but he doesn't listen. She doesn't like this job because he always makes the same dishes: crab cakes, shrimp cocktails, quaint caesar salads with pomegranate seeds and the likes.

Phoebe pays the bills, and that's okay. She doesn't mind being the breadwinner. The only thing that bothers her is the fact that there are other, better jobs readily available to Chloe, but her stubborn girlfriend won't take them.

By the time Phoebe gets home, Chloe will probably be asleep on the couch, her legs sprawled over the arm and her hair snaking around her head like spilled ink. Phoebe will lean down and kiss her forehead, throwing a flannel blanket over her before going upstairs to spend the rest of her evening alone.

Or not. Perhaps she will invite Emma to coffee after this. Perhaps she will wake Chloe and ask how her day was. Perhaps she will simply pour herself a glass of wine and look at the stars from the back patio. Perhaps things will go differently than they always do.

Just as her eyes are drifting shut again, Phoebe hears the familiar creak of the door opening followed by the distinctive tap of Emma's flats against the tiled floor. Lars went home around eight, so the foyer is empty and dark. Phoebe jumps out of her chair, patting down her hair as she rushes for the door.

When she lays eyes on Emma, she sees her own condition mirrored back at her. Emma's makeup is smudged, the dark circles under her eyes revealed. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hair is pulled back in two hasty braids, fraught with loose locks. Her clothes are wrinkled like she slept in them and her hands are shaking.

Phoebe tries not to look too surprised. "Hi," she says. "The bathroom's right over there if you want to freshen up a little."

Emma nods. "That would be great." Her voice is quiet and raspy like she's about to cry.

Phoebe's heart is pounding like she just ran a marathon. She hadn't been expecting this at all. Of course, Emma has her problems, but Phoebe didn't think she would ever seen her this dismantled, especially not so soon in their relationship.

She stands there in the doorway of her office, watching the wooden bathroom door with absent eyes. She knows she should go back in her office. Emma will be freaked out if she walks out to find Phoebe staring at the bathroom door.