ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ

₀₀₃

𝘙𝘏𝘠𝘚 𝘔𝘖𝘖𝘙𝘌

COFFEE. THAT'S WHAT I NEED. That's what I need to get the dream I had last night out of my system. It needs to leave my mind.

It's still dark outside as I shuffle to my kitchen. The glass windows I have in my living room are pitch black. So dark that I can't even see my patio.

I squint my eyes at the harsh light of my refrigerator. I scan the shelves for the cold brew I made the other day. I see some lonely eggs hanging out on my top shelf. I guess it's a breakfast morning.

As I prepare my breakfast, my mind isn't focused on frying the bacon. It's focused on last night. Because whenever I look down, my eyes automatically go to my raw knuckles. All cut and bloody.

It was a weird night.

Never in my life would I have expected to find Wren James, the prude from work, at Breakers. Breakers. The place where if you talk to the right people, you could get a handjob in the back room. The place where interesting people go. Not serious, boring business women.

But there she was. Last night. In the crowd of people, dancing without a care in the world. Her head thrown back, eyes closed and face blank; soaking up the music. Her drink half full, her free hand in her hair; unaware of the hundreds of eyes trained on her.

I could barely keep my eyes off her the whole night.

And then outside the bar. The emotionless, strictly business woman, digging around for a cigarette, for release. From what? I have no clue. No clue.

The smell of burnt oil registers a half a second too late and I look down at my pan of burnt eggs and bacon. Great.

__________

Sipping my fifth cup of coffee that morning, I finally made it to work. After burning my breakfast, everything else had gone wrong. I was out of hair product, so I had to wear it messy, like I used to wear it in high school. I had forgotten to press my shirt the night before, so I was rocking a semi wrinkled button-down. And while I was getting in my car, a few stray cats jumped up on the hood of my car. I hate cats.

Opening the door to the office, I nod at the people sitting in the waiting area. Then I make my way toward Gloria.

"Good Morning Mr. Moore. It's a nice day outside, isn't it?" She happily excepted my card and punched me in.

"It's raining." I say as Gloria handed me my card back.

"I like to think of it as mother nature's happy tears. Just gorgeous." She smiles at me before typing something on her computer. I turn away from her.

"Oh! Mr. Moore!" She calls out to me as I make my way to the elevators.

I pause my steps and turn on my heels to see Gloria hobbling over to me. Her short, curly auburn hair bouncing. She reminds me of those old woman from the 1950's.

"Mr. Martin wants to see you in his office. Says it's very important." She pushes her red cat-eye glasses up her nose.

"Okay." I turn around and resume my walk.