He had a revolving door of females, I should know because I was always running into them leaving his apartment. I work the night shift 10pm to 6am every day. By the time I'd get home I'd always see him kissing his flavor of the month (week? day?) goodbye. Usually it would happen that I would crawl out of my car and on to the elevator of our apartment building barely able to stand, my scrubs stuck to my damp skin, my ponytail or French braid somewhat eschew, any cute attempt at makeup I'd made long gone. More times than I appreciate I'd come home pissed off about some verbal altercation that occurred either with a doctor, a patient or their family, or another nurse. Too often I'd come home depressed because of something I'd seen over the course of the night. So by the time I got to my apartment, I would usually be tired, cranky, hungry, crazy looking and there he would be looking refreshed as a summer breeze, on his way to work.
Sometimes I'd bump into him getting off the elevator (he always smelled good, me not so much), other times he would be just leaving his apartment as I was getting out my key to enter mine. His dark hair would look almost black, still damp from his morning shower, his perfectly tailored suit making him look as though he had just stepped off the pages of Esquire Magazine. Most days he was alone; but regularly he was with some female who looked happier than any one should be at 6:30 in the morning. They never really looked the same he didn't seem to have a type: tall, short, slender, curvy, shy librarian type, potential porn star type, all races, nationalities, he was like his own personal UN. But no matter what the woman looked like one thing was consistent: they all had the same deliriously stupid happy look on their face, like they knew that they had just had the best sex of their life. Over time I came to hate that look, it had been far too long since I'd seen it on my own face. On those mornings he would smile apologetically at me, almost as though he was ashamed that while I was saving lives and witnessing them come to an end, he was getting laid. I couldn't really be mad at him though, after all it wasn't his fault that my sex life- while certainly existent- left much to be desired. I would usually give him a half smile in return, too polite to roll my eyes but too tired to be overly reassuring.
"Good morning Rianne." He would say, his eyes sparkling.
"Good night Jay." I'd respond with as much cheer as I could muster (some days more than others) as I headed for the sanctuary of my bed. He'd laughed softly, his eyes following me as I entered into my apartment, not even pausing at the entry way to take off my coat or sweater.
Sometimes we would see each other in the evenings too. Not as frequently, but maybe a couple of times a week. I would be leaving for the hospital at around 9:30pm and he'd be coming home from work. I'd be more spry, my scrubs fresh instead of wrinkled, my jet black hair tidily pulled back in a ponytail or French braid, I'd have on a bit of lip gloss, maybe mascara if I was so inclined. He on the other hand would look slightly worn down from the day (though infuriatingly no less gorgeous), his tie loosened or removed all together, his perfectly tailored suit slightly rumpled, his hair slightly mussed as though he had run his hands through it repeatedly. Usually on those nights he was alone, having only just left work. He definitely worked longer hours than me, I often wondered how he found time to get a diverse array of ass on such a regular basis but I figured it was probably a guy thing. Some men act like if they can't have sex all the time their dicks will shrivel up and die, so they prioritize accordingly. I figured Jay was one of those guys. I would smile sympathetically at him and he would nod back, too tired to smile, too friendly to ignore me.
"Good night Jay." I'd say brightly.
"Good morning Rianne." He'd respond with as much cheer as he could muster (some days more than others) not even pausing in the foyer to turn the light on in his apartment. I'd laugh softly as I headed out, getting my work day officially started.
This was our ritual every morning and some nights during the week. It had been the case since I had moved in six months ago. We'd never really had a more substantial conversation than that other than the day he saw me moving in. He had come over to introduce himself, his name was James but everyone he liked called him Jay. I asked him if that meant I should call him James until he decides whether or not he likes me, he said he thought he already liked me so he'd prefer it if I called him Jay. I took a moment to check him out, he was gorgeous, he towered over my 5'9 frame so I put him at about 6'3, athletic looking, dark hair, green eyes with golden flecks, thick eyelashes (the kind women would kill for but men never appreciated), beautiful smile. I could tell right away he was a heartbreaker yet he still came off as a nice guy, he helped me with a couple of boxes and we briefly exchanged names and superficial details.
He:
β’ 28 years old
β’ Financial adviser for UBS
β’ Graduate from University of Michigan
β’ Grew up in Winnetka
β’ Moved back to Chicago in 2003 but wouldn't mind moving to the upper west coast
β’ Has a female turtle named Aunty Entity, or Ent for short (he appreciated that I got the Thunder Dome reference)
β’ Single - just came out of a relationship that didn't survive the distance or his fear of commitment, I suggested maybe he should see a therapist, he disagreed figured he must've known deep down she wasn't the one.
Me:
β’ 26 years old
β’ Registered nurse at Rush Medical Center- trauma unit
β’ Graduate from University of Illinois-Chicago
β’ Grew up outside of Milwaukee
β’ Have lived in Chicago 8 years no plans to leave but open to any possibilities
β’ Have a pet cat named Dog - he laughed when I explained that my old building didn't allow dogs so that was my own form of secret rebellion, he thought maybe I was the one that needed therapy I disagreed, I was pretty content with my passive aggressive tendencies
β’ Taken - A boyfriend named Carter that lives up north in Evanston.
He said it was a shame I had a boyfriend otherwise he'd invite me out for a drink. I said it was probably for the best since given his fear of commitment, one too many drinks could lead to a potentially awkward living situation. He laughed and said I could be right but that he could never resist a girl with big brown eyes like mine so he thought he'd take a shot. I took one look at that amazingly beautiful mouth and ridiculously large, well manicured hands and knew I should run for the hills. This was the only conversation we'd had, after that it was always good night good morning, good morning good night. We never saw each other on the weekends, which I always spent at Carter's.
Carter.
We'd been together almost four years; we were at a point in our relationship where it seemed like we were only together because it was more convenient than being apart. All of our friends were couples and we did things as couples. . .couples bowling, couples dinners, couples vacations. Who wanted to be the single person at the couples poker night? Not me. Plus we genuinely liked each other and frankly, it's hard to breakup with someone when you get along with them so damn well. The last major fight we had was about who would do the dishes after dinner, it went something like this:
"I'll get the dishes."