The Apple of My Eye

Heart Shaped Box

While Star was still getting calls from her ex-beau David, who was desperate to find out where she was living, who she was living with, and whether she and I were still an item, Chloe had confirmed her interesting condition. That's right. She had the papers to prove it, too. She was two months pregnant, which meant the baby would be born sometime between July and August. And though I had made it clear I wanted to come along on all her prenatal care appointments, she decided to attend the first one alone. She never told me when and where it was going to take place—only to make me feel like shit later by accusing me of letting her go unaccompanied. I was madder than fire, but not only was it useless to fight, it was now unhealthy, too, so I let her think whatever the hell she wanted to think. I said I didn't want to miss the next appointment, and that was that.

At work, things were starting to pick up again at last. Business was thriving. I had to hire new professionals to cope with the incredible growth of our branch. My aides were doing such outstanding work under my direction that some of them were being promoted to branch managers in their own right—and being sent to other branches, of course, not taking my place. The head of accounts receivable, otherwise known as Star's boss, had formally apologized to the two of us for having given credit to Ashley's nonsensical finger pointing email. I thought, fuck him, what the hell did I need his apology for? But whatever. Ashley herself was fired a couple of weeks after the whole thing, but not because of the stunt she had pulled on us. Rather, because of what the stunt she had pulled on us ended up doing to her head. She was made redundant on account of erratic behavior, substance abuse—alcohol only, I'm sure, but still—self-injurious behavior, excessive absenteeism, lack of responsiveness, insubordination, and a list that went on and on. I admit I was surprised to see her go so soon, and in such an embarrassing manner to top it off. She was sacked without notice and without warning, simply because it had got to the point where no one could put up with her wacky antics anymore.

On Ashley's last day on the job, though neither Star nor I knew it was to be her last day—we only found out later—the two of us were leaving together, as we always did, when we caught sight of her at the reception. Ashley was crying hysterically on her mother's bosom as two or three of her soon-to-be former coworkers uttered such hollow words of support as, "It's gonna be okay, Ash" and "You're gonna be much better off, you'll see." The moment she saw us, she tried to get her shit together, but it was too late. Again Ashley gave us that evil gaze we had gotten used to, only this time she was choking on a combination of tears, dribble, and a bunch of snot from crying her pretty green eyes out. Disgusting. On our way out the door, I saw Star subtly flipping her off as we walked past. Star was not a gracious winner, I guess. I just chuckled. That was one fucker we weren't going to be seeing again.

Things between Star and me were changing, but only in the from-great-to-greater sense. We were getting along so well it scared me. Sometimes it felt like it was totally okay to sideline my personal and professional goals just to lie in bed with her all day. We'd come to the point where we were having sex every damn day now. And more than once a day, too, especially when our schedules were not action-packed. We simply adored doing the deed. We had reached a level of surrender unbeknownst to either of us. Star and I both knew how to appreciate the power of a good night's sleep, certainly, but when it was go time, oh it was go time. We were always up for it, always, no questions asked, and I admit the awesomeness of it all was pretty inebriating, so I wanted more, more, more, and she wanted more, more, more, and we were going at it like we had invented the damn thing.

Here's a for-instance: I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, so it wasn't unusual for Star to be the first one to wake up in the morning. She was never the kind to hop out of bed and go make me a grilled cheese sandwich or anything like that, though. She didn't want to actually make breakfast, but she did want to serve me in bed, see? What Star loved to do was wake me up by taking matters into her own hands, so to speak, and I loved waking up to that sort of incentive. It never took me too long to respond because, as is probably the norm with every guy, I'm not sure, my buddy here was always alert before I was even conscious—especially in the morning, right? At any rate, I'd pretend I was still sleeping just about long enough to enjoy her gentle manipulation as submissively as I could. She was clearly enjoying every second of it, too, watching me slowly enlarge in her soft, delicate hands. If there were any covers on the bed, she'd just pull them back after a while, mount up, and start riding me before I even had time to figure out what she had done. And that, my friends, I don't care who you are, constitutes a most sensational way to start any day. The breakfast of champions. Those were exquisite times, no doubt.