Neanderthal Seeks Human(19)

I wanted to die. Almost as soon as I was in a sitting position on the mattress but before I was fully able to bring the world and my current misadventure into focus, I perceived the sound of running water, of a shower, emanating from a door to the right of the bed. A sudden thunderbolt of panic struck my heart and I stiffened, immediately regretting the ungraceful movement and the resulting stab of pain in my temples.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I took several deep breaths. As exigently as possible I went to the invisible closet space in my head and went through the motions of wrapping up the panic in the beach towel, somehow fumbled with the lid of the box, finally found the damn key for the box and inserted it into the lock. I tried to ignore the shaking of my hands as the pretend me in my head put the box on the top shelf of the closet, quickly turned the light off, and ran screaming from the make-believe closet.

I needed to focus, I really needed to.

I had to get out of here before the mystery shower person emerged from the bathroom. At this point, as my memory was drawing a complete blank, I had no idea if the mystery person was a man or a woman. I wasn’t sure if, at that moment, I really had a preference in their gender but I drew some hope from the fact that I saw no discarded monkey suits by the bed or littering the floor. I raced to the chair, grabbed my dress, and quickly pulled it over my head. It felt just as inadequate in daylight as it had the night before. I shimmied into my shoes just as I heard the water cut off in the bathroom.

“Oh God.” I couldn’t find my bag. My gaze swept over the desk and the chair but they proved to be a purse-free zone. The brown leather couch and side table were also bagless. I automatically tiptoed to the queen mattress and lifted the sheets. The box spring was lying directly on the floor otherwise I would have crawled around looking under the bed.

I gave up my search for the bag and instead started hunting around the room for a phone. However, before I could initiate my first sweep, I heard the handle on the bathroom door turn and I sucked in a sharp breath.

This was it.

This was going to be my second walk of shame in two weeks. I just hoped that whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t insist on a no-eye-contact breakfast. It wasn’t just the fact that my stupidity had resulted in a probably one-night-stand and maybe a plethora of incurable venereal diseases or my immediate embarrassment at the situation, but that Jon and Elizabeth had been right: I needed an escort. I had reclusive tendencies for a reason, I couldn’t be trusted to live in the world and make decisions on my own.

I swallowed again, my hand on my stomach, as I turned to face the door.

When he emerged I thought I was hallucinating or, at the very least, still passed out from my night of drunken disorderliness. I had to blink several times to understand, and several more times to accept, that McHotpants was standing in the doorway, clothed only in a white towel nonchalantly wrapped low around his waist. Even through the lingering pounding pain of my hangover I couldn’t help gape at the perfection of him, of his bare chest, arms, and stomach. Every part of him looked photoshoped.

Finally, after what felt like an hour but what actually might have been four seconds, I realized I’d been starting at not his face and moved my gaze to his eyes. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, his expression wasn’t cool or warm or disgusted or pleased; it was completely unreadable. We stood, watching each other; me with a burning unfamiliar mixture of lust, mortification, and complete astonishment; him with a marbled mask of calm. This stalemate protracted for an indeterminable amount of time.

He was the first break the stare, his eyes moving over my now clothed form and shoes. I shivered involuntarily.

Finally, he removed his attention from me and he walked further into the room, crossing to the bookshelf, “I believe you are looking for this.”

I watched him, how the muscles in his back moved, still struck dumb by his sudden appearance; he easily reached to the top of the bookshelf and retrieved my bag. His bare feet made hardly any noise as he moved to where I stood and handed it to me. I automatically took the offered purse and tucked it under my arm.

“Thank you.” My voice was surprisingly calm given the fact that my brain and heart and lungs and stomach and lady bits were all rioting. I was determined to stay off the see-saw of crazy; I was going to be unaffected by him.

“You’re welcome.” He replied; his eyes skimming over my face. Without warning he brazenly reached out, pulled a thick puffy tendril from my mass of bedraggled hair and looped it around his forefinger. “You have a lot of hair.”

Suppressing a flock of butterflies in my stomach, I nodded and cleared my throat, “Yes. I do.” Before I could stop myself I continued, “Hair is one of the defining characteristics of mammals.” I quickly bit my lip to keep from telling him that there were only four species of mammal still alive that laid eggs, among them were the platypus and the under publicized spiny anteater; everyone always forgets about the spiny anteater.