Please be sober. I mumbled this futile chant, hoping that somewhere, anywhere, there existed a God that knew what a pain job hunting could be. I was exhausted, after 48 hours of paperwork, stressful interviews that amounted to nothing and phone calls with companies that didn’t give a shit. No shut eye, no sunlight, and shitloads of caffeinated drinks to keep me from punching the next banker I saw. “Investment Banking,” they said, “it will be worth it,” they said.

PLEASE, be sober. I chanted this all too familiar phrase while walking through the gates of my colorless glass mansion. Sorry, her mansion. As I came closer to the door, my footsteps grew weaker, softer. My mind raced to come up with Plan A, B, or even C, in case she was already her usual wrecked self. I pressed my finger against the identification system, and just when I was about to push the door open, I heard her on the phone.

“Jackson, you better have an in-depth analysis of every goddamn case that I have ever won, on my desk at 7 in the morning. If not, forget showing up tomorrow or ever.” The icy words that left her mouth were laced with malice. What followed were hurls of cuss words, unusual for a woman of her status. The hint of a slur in her speech told me she was one drink down. Years of observation allowed me such discernment, I guess. I blinked tightly and heaved a knowing sigh of what I was in for tonight. Unless… I removed my shoes and pushed the door open slowly. There could be no sound, or else I would be the target for the night. Again.

I stealthily entered the passage and tried to slip into the nearest room out of the ten we had.

Crash.

I frantically turned to see an expensive fucking vase or something, shattered. My fists balled up in frustration. All these years, I was clearly short on the luck factor. Within moments, I heard the clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor. I’d recognize that rhythmic walk anywhere. Even in my goddamn sleep. I saw her. My gaze moved over her sculpted figure, wrapped in red silk. Her dress hugged her curves sensually, and the neckline dipped low enough to make me forget how screwed I was going to get. Her hair was curled to perfection, it reflected the yellow light in the room. Her skin glowed like… like, hell, I don’t know, the moon in the dark and mysterious night or something. She pouted her kissable red lips and her piercing green feline eyes bore straight into mine. I was stunned. She stunned me. God, was she hot. I let the impact of this beautiful beast wash down on me, and I had this urge to take her right there. *sarcastic chuckle* As if. On cue, the damn alcohol started talking.

“Where were you?” she questioned in a vicious tone. “Why didn’t you answer ANY of my calls?” She took another swig, and laughed, “Were you with another woman?”
Her sarcasm echoed through the room. She flopped onto the couch and I remained standing. Yeah right. Another woman. Like any decent woman would want to be with a man that was a loner, had no job, and depended on a woman to give him bread, even for a night.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU ANSWER MY CALLS!” she shouted. How the hell was I supposed to answer my phone every ten minutes without sounding like a whipped idiot to my potential bosses? I lied.

“My iPhone went crazy…..I couldn't get the screen to work properly.” I stammered, hoping she’d end this interrogation.

“Is that why your last seen on WhatsApp was online every 5 minutes?” Damn it. The woman kept a check on everything. Even with perfect hair, nails, and New York’s top law firm to look after. Women know everything. I acted clueless and mumbled incoherent words to the next round of questions she threw at me. Eight glasses down. Beast mode on. Bottles were flung around staining the white sofas red. Furniture was swept out of the dining hall. Screams filled the chaotic mess that our home had become.

“You’re nothing but an ugly piece of shit that feeds off my riches. Human leech!” she cried. Why was a woman like her even with a guy like me then? Maybe with me, she got to be queen while I was her slave. Who else would tolerate this messed up hurricane of a power hungry woman?

My mind swirled, and every nerve forced me to leave. One half of my brain warned, “She could ruin you. Her influence is way beyond your reach. You may never see the inside of an office again. Where would you go? You have no friends, no job, no life.” But now, even living on the streets seemed tolerable.

After hours of aimlessly wandering the streets of New York, I went back. I saw her leaning against the kitchen door, her eyes flowing with black tears. My resolve weakened.

“Baby…is that you? Come here please.” she said in a tone that showed no hint of the madness of last night. A tone that belonged to the woman I loved. The sober woman who loved me. I rushed to immediately take her into my arms. She kissed me. Moved into me softly and slowly, and then roughly and passionately. She took me to places I'd never been and I felt drunk on the high she filled me with when I touched her. She whispered soft apologies, said she never meant to hurt me. Of course, , I knew they were mere words, but in the heat of the moment, I couldn't care less. What was it about love that could beat you up and bruise you so bad, but never let you leave? Hmmm…. I gue this life is hard. Love is harder!