Page 15 of King of Hollywood
Because he felt right inside my arms.
And if I told him I was a monster, I didn’t think he’d ever let me hold him again.
Chapter four
Ididn’t see Felix again for an entire month, despite actively hunting for glimpses of him. That didn’t mean I didn’t think about him though. Often, I’d catch myself spacing out at work as my thoughts spun away from numbers and back to Felix’s tiny but solid form.
He’d felt so wonderful in my arms. Like we were two gears in a tractor’s transmission, perfectly sized to fit. His skin wasn’t hot and sticky—something that had bothered me about past lovers. Instead, it was cool and soft. And it hadn’t been overwhelming in the least when we’d pressed together.
He was small enough that he didn’t set off the threat radar I constantly had going in my head. And he’d smelled…lovely, honestly. Lemony and fresh, like the soap I favored in the kitchen sink.
The only other person I’d ever thought I liked the smell of was my dentist.
Which you can imagine, at the ripe age of thirty-eight, meant that there were quite a few awful smelling people I’d had the unfortunate experience of meeting.
It wasn’t till my sister, Winnie, came over for her monthly visit that I let myself acknowledge how disappointed I was by the lack of Felix in my life. Before, I would’ve rejoiced. No Felix meant no awkward, stilted conversations. No random tears. It meant no socializing in general.
But it also meant no hugging. No murder. And no pointy little smiles.
No telescopes.
No crochet.
No cats—
I could admit…I was maybe a bit obsessed. It had grown on me. A seed at first, that had blossomed, and swelled—expanding far larger than I’d ever expected it could.
I still didn’t like him.
I didn’t like people.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to see him more.
“He never leaves his house?” Winnie asked, frowning at me. We’d bought a pizza. More accurately, she’d bought a pizza. She’d been over for two days now and had told me in no uncertain terms that if I tried to feed her plain chicken breast one more time she’d shove it so far up my asshole I’d start to cluck.
Therefore pizza.
“No,” I sighed, crossing my ankles and shifting in my seat. “Not during the day.”
“Not at all?”
“That’s usually what never means, yes.”
“Asshole.” Without even breathing, she continued. “Does he have that thing…you know…the…” she frowned while she thought, taking another bite of pizza and chewing with her mouth open as her brow remained knit. I stared at her aghast. “Shit, what’s that called?”
“The word you’re looking for is agoraphobia. Now please shut your mouth. Mother didn’t raise you in the barn, did she?”
“I mean, kinda?”
We’d grown up on a farm till we were in our teens, so I supposed that was fair. Therefore a new tactic needed to be implemented.
“Are you a pig, Winnie?”
“Oink, oink.” She threw the pizza at me, and I narrowly dodged having cheese grease ruin my cashmere sweater. I glared at her. Then I plucked the slice from where it had thud, squashed on the wall behind my shoulder.
As slowly, and pointedly as possible, I rose from my seat, and gracefully crossed the kitchen. With the pizza slice pinched between my pointer and thumb, I stepped on the lever that opened the garbage can lid, and deposited the offending piece of food in the trash where it now belonged.
Immediately, I decided to terrorize her right back.