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I’m suddenly missing being locked in a cage.
I wakeup with Corbin on his back, hands behind his head.
His chiseled, devilish chin. There is not one ounce of him that doesn’t screamcriminal.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
How can I want this so badly?
At the same time, how can I not?
I gently sneak out of the bed and find my cage blanket on the floor. I use that to wrap around my body and walk out of the bedroom as quietly as I can. The floor is old and creaky. I like that.
When I’m in the kitchen, I look around.
This apartment is crammed and smells old. The walls are still wallpapered. A tattoo of a different time and style. Especially the colors. The brown and yellow. Once superhipandcoolbut now dated.
I like that.
The kitchen table is a small circle with four chairs.
The wood is old. It’s not totally sturdy. One of the chairs doesn’t match the other three.
I like that…
I turn and look at the counter to the basic coffeemaker. Nothing digital and fancy. Nothing asking about settings, colors and flavors.
It’s just for coffee.
Which I make.
There’s a large, tin can in the cabinet above the coffeemaker. Just some normal brand from the grocery. Nothing imported and fancy andwith subtle hints of chocolate.
Basic, cheap coffee.
And in the fridge, there’s whole milk and nothing else.
No flavored creamers. No coconut or almond creamers. No thoughts of organic ornon-GMOor whatever the fuck else is worrisome and popular this week.
Yes, I like that.
The coffee mugs don’t match.
I choose a white one that’s been permanently stained on the inside from years of coffee.
I hold the blanket around me and I look out the small kitchen window above the sink.
The view isn’t heavenly. There aren’t rolling hills or water.
I can see old buildings, piles of junked up cars and parts of cars. Everything rusted and forgotten.
The coffeemaker makes it final few spits and a warm hiss.
I look down at the kitchen sink.
It’s just a basic kitchen sink. Cold water. Hot water.
I turn it on and the faucet doesn’t spray evenly.