Disclaimer
All characters depicted in sexual situations are over 18.
Of course all characters are fictional, any resemblance with living or dead real persons is pure coincidence.
This is the second part of a five-part story. I recommend reading the first part if you haven't done so yet.
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Chapter II: We grow closer
As usual I woke around 7.00h. Beverly was still knocked out. It didn't seem like she had moved at all during the night. I carefully slipped out from under her and out of the bed. I meagrely replaced my body with my pillow. Immediately she inhaled a deep breath but otherwise did not move. She looked rather content.
I dressed in the track suit I usually wore around the house, comfortable, reliable, easy washed, grabbed my tablet and went downstairs. As always my first stop was the coffee machine. When the coffee was ready, I added some milk and went to the ground floor checking on the pack. As usual most were still snoozing. They just opened an eye, saw it was me, and ignored me. Just Stock(holm) and Cop(enhagen), the two youngest, had gone outside in the garden to romp. They had learned to let the adults sleep. As only the two youngest are fed twice a day, I prepared just two bowls of food and went outside. I placed the bowls on the ground waiting for the two beatniks to come around. They soon appeared, knowing the procedure. They sat down and looked at me.
"Eat."
While they were eating I checked the 'poop corner', picked up the excretions with small bags and threw them in the bin. On my way back in I picked a yellow rose from the bush next to the entrance, returned upstairs, properly cut the stalk the way Sandra had taught me, put the rose in a vase and entered the living room. I prepared another coffee, sat down at the table, took the tablet and opened the notepad.
Beverly's apartment. Beverly's clothes. Beverly's furniture. Beverly's car. Beverly's purse/wallet. Beverly's computer. Status of Patrick.
I stalled. Had I really just listed six detailed tasks concerning Beverly (and picked a flower) before I had a conscious thought about my best friend? O..........K.........
Status of Esther. Status of meathead and the thugs. Testimony at the police station. Inform lawyer about work concerning B. and meathead (does she want my help?). Getting Patrick from the hospital (?). Cleaning the kennel. Groceries.
I reflected a bit more about the coming day. When no new tasks came to mind, I closed the notepad and went surfing for news and entertainment. One after the other my dogs came upstairs, demanding a bit of attention and affection. I gladly delivered. They then moved on usually walking out in the garden. At ten I moved over to the kitchen. I prepared a small breakfast consisting of two slices of bread, butter, jam, one glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. I was just arranging everything including the rose on the tray I could place on the bed when I heard bare feet coming down the stairs so I instead started setting everything up on the table. As I finished the preparations, I was hugged from behind.
"Good morning, Beverly. How did you sleep?"
"Good morning, Stan. I slept like dead. I don't remember having slept so soundly in years."
I turned around. Still dressed in my T-shirt, she looked a bit crumpled from having slept for almost twelve hours straight. Her short cut hair was a mess but she was still, or maybe because of that, a beautiful sight.
"Great to hear. And how are you feeling?"
"Rested, hungry and angry."
"Breakfast is ready. If you had slept five minutes longer, I would have served it in bed."
She sat down at the table, "Thank you."
"Care to tell me what you are angry about?" I was a bit worried that she might be mad at me because I had rejected her advances the night before.
"How could that son of a bitch do that to me? How could he make so scared? How could he so easily shake my world? I swear if I got my hands on him now, I would tear him to pieces." She fumed. "I would grab him by the balls and tear them off. Then I would feed them to him." The rant went on. Good. Anger was better than fear. And she wasn't angry with me which was a plus in my book. While listening to her venting steam I rearranged her breakfast on the table and steered her over. She went on for several minutes while she abused that poor slice of bread trying to smear butter and jam on it while at the same time using the knife to demonstrate what she would with her ex if she got her hands on him. When she finally had finished her rant and the bread, she looked at me, slightly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry but I had to get that out of me. Do you have some more bread?"
"Nothing to be sorry for. I like you much better this way than how you were yesterday evening." I laughed while I went to the kitchen to cut some more bread.
"You have already had breakfast?" she asked.
"More or less, I usually just have a few coffees. I usually skip solid food in the morning, have a salad or something alike for lunch and then dinner."
"That's not healthy. You should eat breakfast like an emperor, lunch like a king and dinner like a beggar."
"Yeah, so I've been told. And not so much coffee and no alcohol and no this but more of that and whatever. I'm happy how I handle it," I shrugged.
"Stan, listen. I have understood you don't like people expressing gratitude."
"Bev, don't."
"No, please listen. Just this one time. Please."
I nodded, feeling uncomfortable.
