the rain song
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These are the seasons of emotion
And like the wind, they rise and fall
This is the wonder of devotion
I see the torch, we all must hold

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I woke up next to a complete stranger. The thought of calling Dawson had crossed my mind the night before, but I decided it wasn't a good idea. I called Tina instead, and we went out for a few drinks at the local pub. And now I had to deal with... Luke. Duke? I couldn't even remember his name. I was definitely not cut out for one-night stands. I slid out of the bed and put my slippers on. The digital clock on the nightstand made me realize it was actually pretty early in the morning. That explained why it was still dark outside when I peaked at the window. Half past five a.m. was approaching, and I felt like eating something. I couldn't recall much about last night, but it must've been an average fuck if I was still perfectly feeling my legs.

I put on my silk white nightgown over my naked body and walked towards the kitchen, tying a bow in the front. My phone was flat against the counter; I could see it from there. A sudden 'ding' sound lit up the screen, and I leaned over to check the notification. I quickly dropped everything I was holding and rushed to my iPhone. It was him.

MR. WHITE

Good morning, Miss Carter. I'll be waiting for you today.

Was he as impatient as I was? That would've explained why he was up so early. Or maybe I was just being delusional. A second notification made me jump.

MR. WHITE
Just so you know, I'll be impatiently waiting.

I sighed, realizing how that not-so-passionate night had only aggravated the tension in my stomach. I decided not to reply right away. I didn't want to come across as desperate for his attention, and I also didn't want to show him how much power he had over me. I took my time eating breakfast, kicking out the anonymous hookup that was sleeping in my bed, and finding something appropriate to wear for my day with Mr. White.

The truth was that there was nothing in my wardrobe that seemed to suit our situation because there was nothing appropriate about us in the first place. As impatient as I was, it took me an hour to get ready because I couldn't decide whether I wanted to look cheerful, sexy, or innocent in his eyes. I ended up looking like I was going to the office, with a brown silk shirt and my usual black pencil skirt. A glimpse of my black laced bra could be seen through my unbuttoned collar if I bent down. My legs were covered in a thin layer of sheer collants, which were partially concealed by my high beige décolletés. I kept my hair halfway down. The other half was tied up, and a large baby pink bow embellished the back of my head. A feminine touch I wanted to add just in case I looked too formal.

"That took you very long." Those were his first words when he opened the door to his house and found me freshly dressed up. I smiled, and a golden ray of sunlight caught the gloss on my lips. I didn't wear much makeup in general, so my face was still puffy from lack of sleep. I struggled not to stare at him with lust, so I attempted to clear my head before following him inside. As he walked lazily towards his office, he gave me his strong back. The entire house was tidier since my last visit, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was his wife who did the cleaning. I spent so much effort getting dolled up, only to find him in a silky dark blue robe and nothing else. I blushed vividly, and thankfully he couldn't see me as I patted my cheeks to regain my composure.

"It's not that late." I replied softly.

Mr. White kept the door open for me, and I preceded him inside of his spacious office. I didn't move from the center of the room, and even though I couldn't see him, I could feel his gaze on my back as he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"What does the 'B' stand for?" I broke the silence by asking, and I could sense him standing up straight and closing the door behind him. We were even more isolated from the world now. He kept the curtains closed, so it felt like it was always midnight in that house. The only source of light in the room was the dim yellow glow of a lamp.

"Pardon?"

"The 'B' in Hector B. White. It was on the tag above the bell." I specified so he understood what I was asking. I turned around and locked my gaze on his. To me, the overwhelming sense of belonging was surreal. And maybe that's what the sparkle in his eyes meant as well.

"Baron."

"Such an old-fashioned name."

"I am old-fashioned, so it suits me."

"It actually does."

"You look beautiful today."

"Thank you." I whispered shyly back at him. "I don't know how a muse is supposed to look. You can't even begin to imagine how difficult it was to dress up for you."

I could see the smirk forming on his lips and the wrinkles forming around his eyes. "It doesn't really matter what you wear."

It actually didn't matter at all, because after he sat at his desk behind his laptop, he never once said a word to me for hours. He kept writing, then looked at me with his wild, beastly eyes, and then got back to his laptop again. It was a mental loop in which I felt like he was stripping my soul naked. At one point, I stood up and walked around the shelves of books organized by subject, stopping to touch the spines of a few of them. I took out the first volume of a poetry collection from the eighteen hundreds and opened it to a random page. I approached his desk and sat right on it, not so far from his left hand. He didn't seem surprised; in fact, he stopped what he was doing and shifted his chair to the left so he could look at me while sitting back comfortably. I began reading in a calm tone, as if I were reading to myself.

"Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,"

I sighed as I felt his cold, rough hand on my thigh. It wasn't a sexual touch at all; he just rubbed his thumb against my collants as if he were trying to encourage me. But my stomach just curled and twisted at that simple, almost fatherly touch.

"Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand–" I whimpered as he removed his hand from my leg and sat back down. I was so pathetically desperate, and he seemed to feel nothing. So annoying.

I closed the book and shook my head. "I don't like sad poems." He took that information pretty seriously and looked up at me with a stern look in his gray eyes.

"What do you like?"

"I like happy endings." I admitted it with a tremble in my voice. Everyone sounded so deep about loving sadness, but I was already going through a depressive episode, and I wanted to feel the warmth of happiness—at least in my pretend world.

"Happiness is a highly subjective concept. What makes you happy may frustrate someone else."

"That's true. What makes you happy?"

"Small, simple things." He paused and took his time making a list in his head before verbalizing it. "Cigars, writing, blues music... lovemaking. I love gardening."

"All things people take for granted." I added to his rhetoric. "Me too."

"You seem to have hundreds of questions for me but lack the confidence to ask them." So he did know how to read me. I felt so obvious right then, but forced a smile on my glossy lips.

"I just don't know where to start with you, Mr. White. With every answer you give me, I feel more curious, and more questions fill up my mind."

He sat up straight, his chair now facing the laptop, and cracked his neck. He was clearly telling me to return to my seat and let him do his job.

"You give great weight to words, don't you, Miss Carter? Humans are contradictory and hypocritical. You shouldn't pay too much attention to words."

"Are you actually married?" I couldn't keep myself from asking.

"Yes."

"How should I weigh your answer?"

"Audrey."

I let out a soft, almost imperceptible moan.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

He did appear frustrated, but not as enraged as I wished. That man was impossible to torment. He possessed the kind of discipline I lacked on every level. I felt his eyes on me again and finally gave in and stood up. "Fine, I'll go make some coffee for us both." I needed to take a break from him anyway.

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