Man of the Year (Drake Story)

Chapter Fireogtyve

In my impulsive, heat-of-the-moment rage of stomping out of the house, I took out my phone and was about to make a call to the police to report Drake for everything that he’d ever done, but generally for being an evil, crazy person on the loose. But I realized that it wouldn’t be necessary to involve the law, not yet. I didn’t need their help to take care of him; I’d already made a deal with his partner in crime, a deal that couldn’t be reversed.

Drake would be handled, but not now. I would take care of him by the end of the day. My first task was to weed them out, all those who betrayed me and pretended to be something they completely weren’t. So far I’d done that - the people back at the house seemed to get the message. Still, there was one more person who I had to cut ties with.

This wasn’t easy for me. I cut off the rest of them with no remorse because they were only friends to me. Just associates. They didn’t play that much of a big role in my life, they were much like background dancers to me. But I loved Keziah, truly. I loved who I thought she was, and I felt in my heart on the ride back home in Chicago’s car that I still loved who she was today. She was a despicable, mentally unstable human being for wanting to be involved with Drake and everything he owned, but I loved her still. That’s what proved to me that the relationship I had with her wasn’t just infatuation like we both feared. Really, she held a special place in my heart, forever would, and it would probably take years for me to recover from the pain of this. But it had to be done.

I paid Chicago and watched him leave. The sun directly faced the house, placing a rich, bright spotlight on our home. Our, mine and hers. This house was all there would be left soon to remind me of ‘us’, of any times we had together, good or bad. Most of them were neither, floating somewhere awkwardly in between. The time I was about to create as I walked through the front door would go down in our history as a sad time, a heartbreaking tragedy.

She heard when I closed the door behind me. I could tell, because her shuffling upstairs had stopped. I stood with my back against the door, and I could picture her standing frozen upstairs, listening closely for my every move. I didn’t move. Where would I go? I was only here for her; once I saw her, my first move would be to approach her, to get as close to her as possible for the last time. She came down the stairs at a painstakingly slow pace, taking a step every two or three seconds. Her hair was down again - always down. It was straight today, her fringe resting over her left eye. At first, when she looked at me with a blank expression, I thought she might know already. I thought maybe someone had called her before I could get to her and told her everything. But then her lips broke into a wide, beautiful smile, and she blushed a bit as she walked over to me.

“I always try to be so mad at you,” Keziah kissed me, “but you have this kind of effortless charm about you. You’re irresistible, Aubrey.”

I was, wasn’t i? Irresistible. No one could stay away from me no matter how much I tried to live in complete solitude.

“You are.” I told her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her close to my body, close to my heart. “It’s going to be hard for me to learn, though.”

“Learn what?”

“To resist you.”

Keziah’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you have to do that? I’ll always be here for you, Aubrey. Always. You’ll never have to resist me. I’m always here.”

This was the hard part. To tell her that she was wrong, that she may always be here but I wouldn’t. Not always. Never, or barely ever.

“I thank you for that, Keziah.” I held her hands in mine, stroked them, squeezed them. I was stalling. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do. Maybe I should keep her a part of the picture. It wasn’t her fault; she was raised by a poor family. All she knew was to strive for more. I could look at that as a good quality.