When we get to my building, I thank Drake and let him squeeze my leg, but we don’t kiss. Only the one kiss in the shower for the whole night, I think. At this point I can barely see straight, and stumble up the stairs to my apartment, cigarette in my mouth the moment I step out of the Audi and lit the moment I walk in the door. I fall asleep with it burned out between the fingers of my right hand hanging off the mattress, still wearing Drake’s clothes.
Chapter 7
Drake’s worn out jeans and t-shirt are perfect for moving day, but I add underwear this time. Devin has recruited Justin to help me load boxes onto the moving truck, which is already loaded with Devin’s things, showing me up as the huge procrastinator that I am. I haven’t seen him since Jack’s funeral, and find that seeing him outside of the previous context is a lot more pleasant. Kate hasn’t helped me with packing at all this week, which is my lame excuse to myself. All she’s done is sit around smoking my cigarettes and ask me if I’ve taken my birth control pills, which is a good reminder to maybe get a new prescription for some. It’s her way of being sarcastic and simultaneously reminding me that sex gets you pregnant. Luckily I’ve never found that out the hard way, but the last thing I needed in my fucked up life was a baby. I can’t even take care of myself, obviously, which was why I was moving in with my big brother. I haven’t spoken to Drake much since our “date” night at Crimson which ended up in the throes of passion at his apartment except to drop the finalized paperwork for the property tax transfer on Jack’s house. I had Devin sign it and then it took a week to finalize everything on Drake’s end. He called to tell me that we could move in anytime, so I took three days to pack up. I probably could have done it in three hours but I’m slow and I tend to forget what I’m supposed to be doing and end up sleeping or wandering to the liquor store to refresh my supply, since Kate has been binge drinking lately and I always seem to be out. Surprisingly, I’ve cut back on my alcohol intake since my date with Drake. I guess I just needed to get laid.
Kate disagrees. She has been pissed at me ever since the morning after that night. She won’t say why, but I assume it’s because she feels like I don’t need her right now and I summoned her back, yet she still lingers. I’m handling things rather well lately. I go to work, I come home. I had a few lunches with Devin that went well and came over to help him pack up his things. Devin’s apartment is much more grown up and lived in than mine is, so it takes longer to pack. First of all, he can actually cook and seems to have every kitchen gadget and appliance known to man. The kitchen took the longest to pack, and then I helped him box up his impressive collection of vinyl records, canvases and art supplies.
“Devin, some of this is amazing,” I tell him. “I mean really good. If you’re not going to put it in a gallery we should get this framed and decorate the house with it.” I’ve stopped calling it “Jack’s house” and have progressed to saying “the house”. Maybe one day it’ll be “our house” but I’m not there yet.
Devin is modest. “Some of that stuff is old, and some of it I painted when I was strung out on heroin. I try not to make that stuff my signature.” I just give him a “you’re crazy” look because his artwork really is amazing. “It’s hard to explain,” he finishes.
I kind of get it. I guess I wouldn’t want to be known for anything I do when I’m Kate. Not that she paints or anything, but she’s been known to be a bit…promiscuous when she’s out and about. The things I did with Drake were nothing compared to what she’s done when she takes me over. I’ve had men come up to me in the past and address me as Kate and it creeps me out. I’ve found myself in sex dungeons, orgies, on camera and in alleys behind clubs without knowing how I got there, sometimes in the act. It’s hard to get out of those situations gracefully. Sometimes I have to finish up and go home, sometimes I run. Once I got a knife pulled on me for trying to run and had to stay and let the guy finish. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Sometimes it sucks being me. No, I take that back, sometimes it sucks turning back into me, particularly when your alter ego is a nymphomaniac slut with no taste in men.
Justin and Devin do all of the heavy lifting, and I am grateful that I live on the first floor and not the fourth, since my apartment is a walkup and there isn’t an elevator. Even though there isn’t much, it takes a few hours to get everything loaded up. Looking around where I’ve lived for four years without anything in it gives me the creeps, and so I don’t linger. Devin drives the U-Haul truck we rented. He drove his motorcycle over to the house this morning and Justin picked him up. Justin gives me a ride to the house in his Honda Civic. I note how it’s no Mercedes, but of course don’t say a word. Why am I comparing?