Part 47
Not a word was exchanged as she opened the door and let me in, our greetings always cold.
Patricia disappeared into her palatial apartment, vanishing so I could inhabit.
She hated herself for always being available for me.
My weariness and the decor of this long corridor made me aware that I was in someone's lair.
As I dragged my bag and my jet lagged body into this edifice I became aware that Mr. Man was a seated gentry, his forebears adorning the walls.
Fuck him for being absent.
Cold ceramic mug wafting on this Italian marble countertop seemed like a good idea, so I grabbed it as I shed everything I had worn for days.
Naked in her kitchen, I felt like I hadn't felt in a while.
Alive.
I could have come from Japan, Europe or anywhere else. She would have received me even if I would have come from Hell smelling of fire and brimstone, she always made room for me under her covers.
To be continued.
