Chalk Butterfly: Part One (First Time Erotic Romance) (6 page)

Daniel smiled, shaking his head. “This year
I mean it.”

Every year the
New Yorker
conducted a city wide search for New
York City’s top fifteen restaurants and dining halls, and every
year “City Lights Over Park Place” just barely missed out on the
list.

It wasn’t that Daniel cared about the status
it would bring, or the publicity (his restaurant was doing
extremely well, list or not), he merely needed something to work
toward, some way to improve himself and his establishment. That’s
how Daniel lived his life, never satisfied, always searching for
something better.

He frowned, picking at a pretzel, mulling
his life over in his head, and deciding he really just needed
another drink.

“A scotch, Madeline, please,” Daniel said.
He surveyed his restaurant from the bar; it was packed tonight with
wealthy clients, all smiling, chatting and enjoying their
meals.

Why did he need more?

“Scotch?” Owen asked, rising from the bar.
“Yeah, something is definitely off with you tonight, and it isn’t
this redesign scheme you’ve got going on. We’ve been planning it
for ages and you’ve laid most of the work on me, you ass.”

Daniel chuckled, stirring at his drink when
Madeline set it before him.

“Now I… I am going to take a piss,” Owen
announced. A well dressed woman at the bar huffed, and made a scene
of excusing herself from the unsavory company.

“Driving away clients? I think you’ve had
enough,” Madeline said. Owen steadied himself, and gave Madeline a
withering look, stumbling to the restrooms.

“By the end of this month he’s not going to
have a functioning liver,” Daniel mused, sipping at his drink.
Madeline raised an eyebrow as she flicked open a Corona, sliding it
down to a gentlemen at the end of the bar, and then making her way
back toward Daniel.

“So, boss-man, what’s going on with you,
really?” Madeline asked, leaning seductively over the bar,
toothpicked olive in hand.

“Come now, Madeline, we both know that
doesn’t do it for me,” Daniel said. He plucked the olive from the
toothpick and popped it into his mouth.

“But you found someone who does, huh?”

Daniel gaped for half a second and then
swallowed the olive. “How-”

“As you all seem to forget, I’m a woman. We
know these things,” Madeline replied, flipping her hair.

“I don’t think Owen forgets,” Daniel
countered, trying to dodge the subject. “He’s just a little worked
up tonight. We’re redoing the menu.”

“Don’t try to get on my good side, you
wouldn’t like it,” Madeline said. Daniel sat back in the chair and
let out a short breath. “So, who’s got you grinning?”

“Can’t I be happy without a cause?”

“You haven’t been in awhile. Last time I
think was, well, when you were dating that German shoemaker.”

“He was Italian and a chef at Melba’s,”
Daniel said.

“So my memory’s shit, but at least I
remembered the important part. You were happy.”

Daniel grinned. “Yeah, I was. Until the
bastard ran off with that German shoemaker.”

Madeline scowled, and flicked her toothpick
at Daniel before picking up a few tips from the bar. “You’re not
going to say, huh?” she asked.

“I’d rather not jinx it,” Daniel said.
“Fuck, it’s nearly nine thirty. I better go find Owen, cart his ass
home, and then my own.”

“Sure you don’t wanna call a cab?”

“A Coke or two and a tumbler of scotch
better not be enough to sink me these days. Then I’d really have
something to worry about,” Daniel said, grinning. “You guys alright
to close up without me?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Yes, seeing how
it’s our job, I think we can handle it. Now go help Fox snap his
trousers up!”

Daniel chuckled, standing tiredly.
“Goodnight to you, too.”

***

Alexander smiled in the dim light of the
room, feet up on the couch, arms wrapped carefully around his
knees. He let out a wistful sigh, and the music from the television
swelled.

Reaching for the remote control, which
was half hidden under Elijah’s dozing form, he turned off the DVD
player.
Breakfast at Tiffanys
blinked off
the screen and he
settled himself back against the cushions, being careful not to
wake Elijah on the other side of the sofa.

It was nearly nine, and he was completely
worn out. He suspected Elijah would crash at his apartment, so he
let his friend stay curled up on the couch where he wheezed
slightly in his sleep. Alexander, on the other hand, had one more
thing he wanted to do before bed.

He padded into the kitchen, flicking on the
lights and finding his jacket half slung across a chair in the far
corner. “Alright,” he muttered, dipping his hand into the deep
pockets and coming up with a folded napkin.

Spreading it open on the table, he took the
phone from the wall and eyed it seriously.

“I just can’t think about it,” Alexander
told himself, pressing the talk button. “I need to dial and then
whatever comes out of my mouth comes out of my mouth.”

His hand shook a bit and he swallowed hard.
The uncertainty of what lay ahead was nerve-wracking, but it also
sent little thrills up and down his body. This was something new,
and in his life where most things were constant and expected, it
was a good thing.

His fingers hovered over the keypad, ready
to dial, when a loud noise from the corner of the room made him
nearly drop the phone. He winced as his hands tightened and slid on
the phone, pain lacing up his fingers.

Steadying his breathing, he sat the phone
down to find his cat walking across the counter.

“Oh, silly Cat,” he whispered, shaking out
his hands. The cat knocked over an open jar of spaghetti sauce that
Elijah had left on the counter. Alexander sighed, and stood. “Get
down from there,” he berated the large cat. “You know you’re not
supposed to be up there.”

He frowned and walked toward the cat,
holding his arms out to scoop him off the counter. The animal had
different ideas and bolted out of Alexander’s reach, hopping up
onto the refrigerator top.

It happened so quickly that Alexander was
still reaching forward as the cat leaped away, his bandaged foot
awkwardly landing in some spilled sauce. Before he could steady
himself, his entire body lurched forward violently.

“Fuck,” he gasped, reaching blindly for
anything as he lost balance. His hand caught hold of the counter
edge, grabbing firmly and sliding across the smooth wood. He
couldn’t help but cry out; the friction was so powerful that his
bandages slid aside, his bare skin coming in contact with the
counter.

The pain was only bearable for a few
seconds, and then he let go, toppling to the floor with a quiet,
hollow cry.

He lay sprawled out, wetness from the sauce
seeping into his pants, his hand cradled against his chest. His
breath shot out erratically, his heart beating madly. He willed
himself to calm, hearing Elijah’s soft snores from the other
room.

The fall had hurt, but the pain was nothing
in comparison to that of his hand. The tears that spilled out over
his flushed cheeks were unstoppable, and the little sobs were only
muffled by the wooden floor.

He’d had far worse spills than this, but
something hurt much deeper.

“Oh god,” he whispered, the tears burning
across his skin. “Pathetic.”

How could he have even thought about having
a different life-- a life to possibly share with someone? How
useless he was, how utterly dependent and weak! The pain in his
hand would fade. In the morning only a few blisters on his back and
hands would mark his fall. But he wouldn’t forget.

He brushed away the tears with his shirt
sleeve, forcing himself to sit up. The phone sat on the table,
right in his eye line. He felt so incredibly foolish to even think
of calling Daniel. Now he knew that he had to call, but for
different reasons.

Alexander stood shakily, the pain still so
near. 'Remember this, remember this pain,' he thought, picking up
the phone. 'Don’t ever forget it. You’re not normal.'

Without even thinking he dialed the number,
standing perfectly still as the phone rang once, twice, three
times. He hadn’t even thought of what he’d say. He had before, but
now he wouldn’t be pleasant.

And then the voicemail machine picked
up.

“I’m not in right now, and assuming you know
who I am and what you’re getting yourself into, leave a message at
the beep,” came the deep voice of the man Alexander had found
himself so surprisingly enamored with.

The phone beeped and Alexander let out a
little squeak, willing his mouth to move. “Um. Hello,” he murmured.
Yes, a good strong start. Now to let him down gently and... “Yes,
this is, well, um. Anyway, err… goodbye.”

He hung up the phone as fast as he could,
his breath quickening. “I think that went well,” he said to
himself. “Really smooth.” A shooting pain ran up his hand and he
frowned harder. The mess in the kitchen could wait, he was
exhausted, and wanted terribly to hide away in his room.

When he walked back into the living room
Elijah sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “You talking to yourself
again?” Elijah asked sleepily.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Alexander said.
His tone was a little sour and he walked to his bedroom door. “You
going to stay over tonight?”

Elijah yawned, a bit too tired to notice
Alexander’s dampened mood. “If it isn’t a problem?”

“Of course not, you know where the blankets
are,” Alexander said, forcing a smile to his face. “Jeez, Eli, you
look exhausted.”

“Hanging around you is having a negative
effect on me, Alex. I swear, I might be developing a normal
sleeping schedule.”

Alexander sighed, turning as he felt the
tears well up again. He felt so entirely overemotional, like
perhaps he’d break.

Elijah noticed this change, now more awake,
and he inwardly chided himself for his usually well received
taunts. 'I never know with him,' Elijah thought, watching Alexander
pause at the door.

“Good night, Eli. I’ll wake you early so you
can hop back to your place before work,” Alexander said, opening
his bedroom door. Alexander smiled just slightly, and Elijah
returned it, hoping Alexander’s mood was shifting.

“Night, sweet prince,” Elijah teased,
earning a larger smile from Alexander.

“You have mental issues,” Alexander
said.

“What does that say about you, being best
friends with the guy who has mental issues?” Elijah asked, punching
at his pillow.

“That I take pity on the less fortunate,”
Alexander replied. “Night, you crazy.”

Elijah made a grunting noise and chucked a
pillow at the door.

“Not nice!” Alexander squeaked, closing the
door and giggling despite himself. He couldn’t help himself, not
around Elijah. “Crazy,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!” Elijah cried.

“Then stop standing there with your ear to
my door, you five year old,” Alexander retorted. He nearly choked
on his giggles as Elijah gave the door one more good pounding with
a pillow and then mumbled a sleepy goodnight, yawning all the
while.

Alexander picked up the pillow Elijah had
tossed into his room, and set it at the end of his bed. Even the
slight action made his hand sting, and his smile faded.

Taking a few deep breaths, he prepared
himself for the most stressing part of his day; removing the
bandages. Earlier in the year, he hadn’t worn bandages on his hands
or feet. He’d been careful not to stress himself too much and had
been able to live his life almost normally, even with the small
blisters he had.

But then he’d begun spending more time at
the library and doing more hands on work. The blisters worsened on
his hands and feet, but he ignored it. He was told by doctors that
the blisters would most likely lessen in severity as he grew older,
so he refused to acknowledge the fact that they were actually
getting worse.

Lately, he’d developed an infection from the
blisters and now wrapped as much as he could to aid in their
healing. It was a harsh slap in the face and he blamed only
himself.

Every evening he took off the bandages to
inspect his hands. He’d have to pop any blisters that formed over
the day with a sterile needle, and gently rub ointment onto his
fingers and toes. Removing the bandages was an extremely painful
task, as they stuck to his skin no matter how much ointment he
placed on his skin beforehand.

He especially disliked puncturing the
blisters, as it left his skin raw and sore, but it was an
imperative part of his nightly ritual. If he didn’t rupture the
blisters, they’d grow in size and become dangerous and prone to
infection.

He knew if he wanted to keep his hands
intact and still be able to use them somewhat, he’d have to keep to
his schedule. He could never miss a night until the blisters
lessened.