M Sellars - All acts of pleasure

Sometime after that my body switched to automatic pilot. The last thing I clearly recall was thinking I didn’t really have time to be sitting here doing nothing. However, as exhausted as I was, not to mention emotionally hot-wired, neither my brain nor my body was particularly concerned with what I thought.

Sleep fell upon me.

And, when I say fell, I mean it was the safe and I was the stupid shmuck standing on the sidewalk beneath. However, there are times when it is better to simply stay put and get flattened rather than to step out of the way. I suppose, all things considered, this was one of them.

Of course, this was not to say it was the best nap I’d ever experienced, but it probably wasn’t the worst either. I don’t recall dreaming, but in one sense that was probably a good thing since any such subconscious imagery would most likely have taken the form of “the nightmare” anyway.

In the end, I awoke in much the same position I had been in before being set upon by unconsciousness. At least, I think I did. I couldn’t really remember much of anything other than the fact that one minute I was awake and the next, I wasn’t. Still, I found that I was upright, sitting on the couch, and I did actually have a faint memory of planting myself there at some point in the recent past. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the fact that I now had one cat across my lap, one next to me on the arm of the sofa, and finally a third sitting on the corner of the coffee table returning my bleary-eyed stare.

“What are you looking at?” I mumbled as I stretched, but the feline simply scrunched its eyes shut then reopened them and continued watching me.

I had no idea why I was suddenly awake or even how long I had been out to begin with. I did know that the pounding in my head hadn’t subsided in the least, but that really didn’t mean anything. I could have been asleep for ten minutes, or ten hours, where that was concerned. Ethereal migraines were happy to hang around for as long as it took to get their point across, and it was becoming obvious this one was here for the long haul.

I tried to look at my watch and found my wrist to be a mottled blur. Reaching up to rub my eyes, I quickly discovered the reason; my glasses had fallen from my face. I sent my hand searching for them and at the same moment heard a sound that served to kick-start my brain.

“Rowan?” Ben’s voice issued from the speaker on the answering machine then briefly paused. “Goddammit, Rowan, if you’re there, pick up the friggin’ phone!”

I got the distinct impression from the exasperation in his voice that this might not be his first attempt at calling. If that was true, I was pretty sure I now knew what had roused me from my impromptu slumber.

I nudged Dickens from my lap and pushed myself up from the couch, sending my eyeglasses skittering across the floor as they fell from wherever they’d been hiding. Dancing through the mounds of one-time shelf contents, I snatched up the handset and pressed it against my ear.

“Yeah, Ben,” I croaked groggily. “I’m here.”

“Yeah? So why aren’t you here?”

“What?”

“It’s a quarter after seven, white man,” he returned. “You were s’posed ta’ meet us here at six-thirty, and you ain’t one for bein’ late.”

“Damn,” I mumbled, remembering the meeting we’d set up earlier. “Sorry. I accidentally took your advice and fell asleep.”

“S’okay,” he huffed, a note of understanding in his tone. “Ya’ prob’ly needed it pretty bad.”

“Yeah, I think so. Listen, I’ll get cleaned up real quick, and I can be there in half an hour…maybe forty-five minutes.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Ben grunted. “Just gargle and put some coffee on. We’ll come to you. You want some food?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I shook my head for no one’s benefit but my own. “I’m not really hungry.”

“When’d you eat last?”

“It’s not important.”

“Yeah, it is. When?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, somewhat annoyed. “Yesterday I think.”

“You gotta eat.”

“Really, I’m good, Ben.”

“You want burritos or tacos?”

“Ben, really…”

“Forget it. We’ll just get ya’ both,” he continued, completely ignoring me. “We’ll see ya’ in twenty.”

I started to object again, but he had already hung up. I dropped the handset back into the cradle then stifled a deep yawn. Turning around I located my glasses and scooped them up from beneath the coffee table, giving the lenses a quick swipe with the tail of my shirt before sliding them onto my face. Continuing on to the kitchen, I set about starting the coffee before I tried to make myself presentable.

I was already on my second cup when they arrived.

It seemed that the scant few hours of shuteye had left me with little more than a crick in my neck and a patent desire for more sleep. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I did have something a bit more worthwhile to show for it, and that was a noticeable semi-softening of my mood. While the respite certainly hadn’t been a panacea, it did seem to have had a moderate analgesic effect on my anger. Therefore, by the time Ben and Constance made it to the house, I really didn’t feel much like hitting him. Although, to be honest, I really wasn’t sure if it was truly because the rest had calmed me down or if I was simply still too tired. Whatever the reason, in the grand scheme of things, the end result definitely qualified as a positive note on the day.

“Thought you weren’t hungry,” Ben said as he sat watching me toss down the last of an oversized burrito they had brought along from the restaurant.

I shrugged while I finished chewing then swallowed and washed it down with a swig of coffee before replying, “Guess I was wrong.”

“Told ya’.”

“Yeah, Ben, you’re a stark raving genius.”

“You’ve got to take care of yourself, Rowan,” Constance interjected before he could retort.

My mood truly was better, but my mouth apparently hadn’t caught up to it yet.

“I’ll have time for that after I die,” I quipped, mimicking Ben’s penchant for cliches.

“You aren’t going to be able to do Felicity any good if you make yourself sick,” she pressed.

The petite FBI agent was standing in the doorway that led into the kitchen, her back pressed into the jamb. She was still clad in work attire, a fitted suit which certainly accented her figure but did little to hide the forty-caliber Sig Sauer parked on her right hip.

Though her shoulder-length brunette hair was neatly styled, it still exhibited an end of day droopiness that matched her slouched posture and sagging expression. Even though she was right at a decade younger than either Ben or me, the power of her youth was visibly running out of steam. Judging simply by the way she looked, it was obvious that she was wearing down just like us.

“You get used to it,” I said, responding again to her attempt at mothering me. “After awhile it just doesn’t matter. You do what you have to do and get sick later.”

“You’re sounding just like Storm,” she countered.

“I probably got it from him,” I agreed.

“I’m sure you could pick a better role model to emulate, Rowan.”

Ben piped up. “Hey! Ya’know, I’m right here in the room.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunted. “You’re kind of hard to miss. Besides, I think she’s kidding.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t place any bets on that,” he returned.

“A little sensitive tonight, are we?” Constance quipped in his direction.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’?”

“Can you two pick at each other later?” I sighed and then switched the subject. “So, anyway, what do I owe you for the dinner?”