He checked the edge for sharpness and giggled when it bit into his finger deep enough to draw blood.He stared at the drop of blood, lost in the glossy deep red of it. It was so pretty in the light, much prettier than at night. Then it was too black and deep. Like deep wells that were waiting to suck him in or like the shadows that used to chase him in the attic. He stuck the finger in his mouth and sucked on his own blood. Then he put the knife in the bag.He'd spent the day running their errands. He'd answered phones, heard so many crackpots who thought that they knew him, knew his Purpose. He'd heard the stories, the ones who thought he was an alien, who thought he was their neighbor, one lady had even said he was a transvestite that came up from Detroit on the weekends.What they didn't realize, had no idea, he was so much more than all of that, than all of them. He had hoped they would understand, but it didn't matter anymore. He had new plans and she was going to help him fulfill. A squeal comes out of her that surely woke up the entire block.We freeze. No sounds from outside. And more importantly, none from upstairs.When it seems the coast in clear, Roxy makes another squeal, this time of irritation. She knees me in the gut and I collapse atop her. I can't possibly hide my erection as it now presses against her hip. Her loose bedclothes are disheveled. The weather's been so warm, I'm not wearing much either. From my vantage point with my chin nestled in her cleavage, I can look squarely into her face and see the conflict there. She's now dealing with the same clash of desire and reservation that I've felt towards her for years.My eyes lock with hers. The next show comes on and it's a police procedural in syndication. Roxy's warm, shallow breaths have the bite of whiskey, despite how little she drank, and I know mine must be worse. The grandfather clock ticks away.Roxanne's hands come up under my shirt, sliding across my broad back. That's all the incentive I.
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