I tossed and turned all night, plagued by recurring nightmares of being chased by cops, usually ending with Izaak watching while I'm dragged away in handcuffs. So when he woke me up that morning, I gasped in shock, relieved to see that I hadn't actually been arrested, until the previous night's events washed over me like a wave. The last thing I remembered was fighting Izaak about going to bed, earning myself a few light (but irritated) swats as he helped me into my pajamas.
Blushing at the memory, I squinted up at my roommate who held a plate of toast and a hardboiled egg in one hand, mug of hot tea in the other. His face was serious, dark half-circles rested under annoyed eyes.
"You're already dressed for work. What time is it?" I asked as I reached for my breakfast.
"Seven o'clock." A blanket of awkward silence settled throughout the room and I felt an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of my stomach: guilt.
"Oh, running group is already over?"
"We didn't go."
My head pounded as I chewed my food, details from last night popping into my mind every so often. Izaak's eyes bore into me, almost making me wish that my dreams of being arrested had been real. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
He sighed and shook his head, looking away for a second. "I didn't like the influence Violet had on you last night."
Eyebrows raised, I tried my hand at comedy. "So does that mean you'll spank her instead of me?"
"No. It means that we need to talk expectations again, and what behavior is unacceptable."
My heart pounded. I wanted to ask, are you going to send me back to Michigan? but the words got stuck in my throat, unwilling to come out. Instead, I opted for humor again. "Spanking Violet sounds like a better option."
Izaak wasn't in the mood, though. "I have to go. Hurry and finish eating, don't be late. There's Tylenol in the cabinet if you need it. And come home immediately after work tonight — we have business to take care of."
I gulped and nodded, nervously taking a sip of my tea as I imagined the 'business' of which he was speaking. He only stayed another second, then turned to leave, not even saying goodbye.
His seeming indifference felt like a punch in the gut. Everything hurt... my head, my sinuses, my chest, my stomach. My legs were so heavy that it was hard to drag myself to the shower. Even Izaak's perky good-morning playlist didn't help me find any pep in my step. I didn't have enough makeup to cover my hangover, and was definitely late to work.
Mr. Specter wasn't happy and barked at me demanding to know why I strolled in at 8:15. When I couldn't stammer a reply, he said, "Mr. Winters has been trying to contact me for nearly an hour with an emergency, which I would have known had my secretary been on time."
At the mention of that name, my stomach jumped, threatening to send my breakfast up. The yelling also wasn't helping my headache. "I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again."
"It better not." He leaned in and almost whispered, "or you'll have a meeting with my rattan cane. Understood?"
I nodded, blushing profusely. I hadn't considered he'd make that threat, and while I actively didn't want him to make good on it, my imagination was curious. So I fantasized to prevent my brain from going on an anxiety tangent about Mr. Winters until my headache subsided and I could get some work done.
Mr. Specter sent me home fairly early claiming that he had to "deal with something" and for me to get plenty of rest. He didn't blatantly threaten the cane again, but I could see it in his eyes. As I gathered my belongings and shut down the computer, I wondered if he was going to visit Violet. Last night Molly and Toby had made it clear that they were going to talk to him about her.
But I had my own impending punishment to worry about. My stomach was still rumbling, refusing to accept any food, taunting me that I'd be in a lot of trouble later. So instead of going home, I decided to take a walk.
x-x-x-x
The sun was setting when I arrived home and Izaak sat at the table in front of his laptop. He looked up to say hello, but then went back to typing away, half-ignoring me.
"I don't like how cold you're being," I commented after getting comfy into my pajamas.
He turned away from his laptop, closing it and motioned for me to sit on the couch. "Did you just get off work?"
I nodded.
"You're lying."
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