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The envelope arrived in the mail, just like every month. For the first time since Wilford started getting the invitation, he considered not going. It was a brief consideration though; he had few excuses to leave the house that weren’t work or the kid. Time spent away from home, in the company of other adults who had nothing to do with him except for one weekend a month was a necessary reprieve.
So he went, leaving the kid with Andy while he went to go spend the night out in the canyon. Celine was still there when Wilford arrived. Partially because he knew she’d find some artificial reason to stick around until he got there, and partially because he may have left a little early to beat ‘traffic.’ While he expected to see Celine for a moment or two, he was still surprised when Benjamin let him into the house in the middle of a screaming argument in another room.
“I apologise,” he said tensely. “I’ll let Master and Madame know you’re here.” He rushed off toward the direction of the screaming, leaving Wilford alone to awkwardly make himself at home.
“How would you even know?” Celine shouted.
“I will fucking ruin you!” Mark shouted back. “And this douchebag. Whoever he is!”
“So you’re allowed to disappear for weeks at a time, and I can’t even—”
The shouting stopped abruptly, punctuated by a door slamming. Benjamin had clearly found them and told them their guests had started to arrive. Wilford had kind of wished Benjamin had been more slow to get there, because he wanted to hear more. Even as it was, any reservations he may have had over seeing Celine had evaporated in an instant. He hadn’t made a proper attempt at dating in quite a few years, and this woman was throwing herself at him. The least he could do was get over himself long enough for her to get the hell out of this place.
Playing the role of the awkward guest, Wilford helped himself to the bar. He picked up a few bottles, examining them in turn before finally pouring himself a drink as the door slammed open again.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” Celine said curtly as she stormed across the foyer to the garage. With her Banshee still in the shop having its entire rear end rebuilt, Wilford was footing the bill on a rental car so she could come and go as she pleased. He expected it to get trashed by the end of the week after that outburst. Wilford turned to glance at her as she stormed past, but she didn’t turn to look at him as she went. For a brief moment, Wilford thought he understood what she meant about projecting. The entire house felt angry and vindictive until she disappeared through the next door. It left Wilford feeling a bit dumbstruck as Mark followed after her, as ever still not dressed for guests.
“She’s fucking some other prick,” Mark said before Wilford could even ask.
“Shit,” was all Wilford could think to say.
Mark shook his head and poured himself a drink, splashing rum over the bartop. “Some bastard called Barnum.”
Well, fuck. Wilford wasn’t expecting that. “She told you?” he asked.
“No, he’s the prick that’s paying for her new car. I found the bill in her purse.” Mark downed the entire drink in one go and slammed the glass back onto the bartop.
Wilford ignored the part about Mark snooping through Celine’s purse. He was just glad he’d thought to use an alias.
“Never heard of him,” Wilford lied. “You know what he does?”
Mark shook his head. “I’ve just got a name. I asked Abe to look into it.”
Wilford was going to have to talk to Abe. Immediately.
“Maybe you’ve got the right idea,” Mark said suddenly. “When you and Craig split, it was like twenty minutes of drama. What’d you do? Have a few rounds together after?”
His awkward split with Craig was definitely not twenty minutes of drama. “He followed me out to my place at the beach and yelled at my kid,” Wilford said. It seemed like enough to shatter whatever idyllic vision of Future Ex Husband #1 Mark had constructed pretty quickly.
“Oh,” he said. “That… that explains a lot, actually.”
“He didn’t tell you that part?” Wilford asked.
“No, he did not.” Mark poured himself another drink. “I’m going to go get dressed,” he said. “Hang out. Make yourself at home.”
As soon as he turned to leave, Wilford found himself wondering if there was anything lying around that would be worth stealing. He decided against it quickly after. The idea wasn’t for Mark to suspect Wilford right away, even if he had got a bit too close for comfort already. The idea was to draw it out, because that’s what Celine wanted. And Wilford could see why.
The garage was big enough for two cars, but it was the first time since Wilford had bought the place that it had housed two cars. Even though she was driving a rental, Celine had been smart enough to park it away from view. Wilford hadn’t put much thought into privacy when he had his gate installed, but maybe the iron security bars could use some panelling to keep people on the street from peeping in. Until then, they’d just have to be careful. All it would take is one house tourist to post the wrong picture to their Instagram and the whole thing would be out in the open.
Michael was still asleep when Wilford snuck inside. He found Celine in the bathroom, in just her underwear and a tank top, towel-drying her hair over the sink. The entire top floor of the house reeked of bleach, but it was easy to see why. The bright red highlights flashed in Celine’s hair as she did her best to dry it with what she had.
“You don’t have a hair dryer,” she said, seeming almost surprised.
“No. I pay someone else to fuck with my hair.” He stepped closer as Celine stood up straight. Even wet, the red highlights did look good. He wasn’t surprised. “You did this yourself?” he asked.
“I went to school for it,” she said. “But so did every other girl in the Valley.”
She leaned in to kiss him, but it didn’t last long. “You smell like a liquor cabinet.”
“Your psycho brother threw half of it at me.” Granted, only after Wilford threw the first half at Damien. But Damien didn’t have to retaliate like that.
Wilford watched Celine walk over and sprawl out on the bed. She looked insanely comfortable, and Wilford wanted to join her immediately. But she was right. He reeked, and even he could smell it.
“Hold that thought,” he said. He didn’t know what he was going to do if she actually did hold that thought, but he desperately needed to take a shower. He felt gross, he smelled gross, and he was pretty sure there was something with a face stuck in his hair. One thing was certain though: he needed to figure out something. The woman was driving him nuts, and he could only jerk off in the shower so many times before he died of shame.
He grabbed a pair of pyjamas from his dresser before he headed in to take the quickest shower of his life. He scrubbed all the bugs and twigs and booze from his hair, suspecting it would take at least two more showers to not smell like a frat party. Clean enough would have to do. As he pulled on his pyjamas, he realised he hadn’t grabbed a shirt. It was always a coin toss over whether that would bother him, and it seemed like at that moment, with Celine waiting for him in his bed, it bothered him immensely. He couldn’t stay locked up in the bathroom forever though. Then she’d definitely know just how fucked up and broken he was. He stalled by swapping his contacts for glasses, then rinsed out his mouth, and suddenly was out of reasons to stall. He was nearly 40. Being this nervous at this age was stupid, and he needed to get over himself. After about a year of kicking himself to open the door, he finally managed it. While Wilford was in the shower, Celine had closed the bedroom door, shutting them off from all the dogs and kids and distractions. Wilford rather liked all the dogs and kids and distractions. It occurred him him, as he stalled even more by standing against the doorway to the bathroom to look at Celine sprawled out on top of the unmade bed, that her marriage to Mark was in legality only at that point. She’d been trying to get into Wilford’s pants since the day he drove her to the beach, and even that was probably the most action she’d had in years.
“What?” Celine asked.
Wilford shook his head, finally convincing his legs to move. “Just looking,” he said as he crawled into bed next to her. The little bit of cat and mouse they’d been playing had been the most action Wilford had seen in more than years. Craig had never been in Wilford’s house, much less his bedroom. Wilford hadn’t had another person in his bed since…
… Since he’d fucked his boss’ wife and ruined everything. He’d isolated himself from other people to keep himself out of trouble for so long that he’d completely forgotten how to behave with a half-naked woman in his bed. He knew every filthy, obscene thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t seem to move a muscle to act on any of it.
Celine had no such hangups. She let him look for a few moments before she moved closer to kiss him again. Already, he could feel that rise of panic, but he tried to ignore it. It was such a pathetic thing to panic about. She wanted him, and all he had to do was let it happen. He managed to lean in and even kiss back. He thought maybe he’d let his hands wander, but Celine had that thought first. He hadn’t grabbed any underwear, so it wasn’t exactly any kind of secret that he was already hard. But as soon as her hand went there, even with his pyjamas still between them, Wilford completely froze. Every muscle in his body tensed so hard he couldn’t even get away. He couldn’t breathe, he felt ill. It was a disaster.
Celine noticed almost immediately. She pulled back, looking at him with the most concern anyone had given him in a very long time.
“Will?” she asked. She brought her hands up to his face, but it was too late. There was no going back now. “Babe?”
Wilford managed to shake his head. He needed to get away, but if he moved he thought he might puke. He could feel Celine looking not at him, but into him, and it was the most deeply uncomfortable experience of his life. But he could see that she knew. He had to get away. He shook his head again and managed to clumsily roll out of bed. His Xanax was in the sock drawer, where it always lived. He just needed to get to it. He ignored Celine as he tore through the drawer, eventually finding the bottle.
Wilford couldn’t tell if he swore out loud or just in his head when he rattled the two remaining pills around. This was bad. This was very, very bad. He couldn’t afford to hoard them at that moment, so he popped one into his mouth and slapped the bottle down on top of his dressed.
“It’s fine,” Celine said softly from behind him. “We don’t have to.”
Wilford couldn’t speak. Even if he could, he didn’t know what he’d say. Far more important was just focusing on breathing. He’d never hated himself more than he did at that moment.
Celine volunteered to feed the kid and take care of the dogs while Wilford locked himself in his office. He was so fucking humiliated he couldn’t even look at her. He had one tablet left, and an impossible task ahead of him. This time, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He wasn’t going to hang up and agree to be called back later. He was going to stay on the line and bother as many people as possible until Dr Taylor picked up the damn phone. It was Sunday, but Wilford knew the man generally took one or two sessions on weekends. Eventually, stubborn persistence pulled off, and the right man finally answered the phone.
“Wilford, I thought we agreed you needed to see someone else,” Dr Taylor said, not even hiding his annoyance with Wilford.
Wilford didn’t care that he was annoyed. “No, you decided that. I tried it, and couldn’t find anyone I liked,” he said.
“Do you want a referral?” Taylor asked.
“No, I need an appointment, and I need a refill. Everyone else I’ve talked to wrote me off, so I’ve had to hoard that shit like a fucking dragon,” Wilford said. The tablet he’d taken earlier had kept him on the ground, but he still felt like he could explode at any moment. “I asked my physician, and he keeps deferring back to you.”
Taylor sighed on the other line. “How many do you have left?”
“One,” Wilford said. “And juding by how I feel right now, it’s expired.”
“You took one today?” Taylor asked.
Wilford didn’t want to be asked questions. He wanted the man to do his damn job and help him. “Yeah, right after I flipped the fuck out on my girlfriend,” he said.
There was an odd pause from Taylor. “Is everyone all right?” he asked.
“What?” It took Wilford a moment to realise what was being asked. “Yeah, it’s fine. I think she’s making breakfast for the kid.”
Another odd pause from Taylor. “This is Wilford Warfstache, correct?” he asked.
“Yes!” Wilford said. He wondered if he should take the last tablet he had left. “Who else would it be?”
“I guess I’m a little confused,” Taylor said. Wilford could hear him shuffling around on the other end. “All right. If you can come in right now, we’ll have a talk and see what our options are,” he said.
“Uh.” Wilford tapped his watch, but it was dead. He pulled his phone away to see the time instead. It was almost dead as well. “Yeah, it’ll probably take about a half hour to get down there,” he said.
“I’m not going to promise anything,” Taylor said.
“Fine.” Wilford hung up. He got his foot in the door, which was more than he’d been able to get for a while. After a few moments to just breathe before he got up to brave whatever awaited him in the kitchen. On the other side of the door, Michael stood perched on a chair, watching Celine make pancakes at the stove. When he noticed Wilford, he climbed down and rushed over. Wilford indulged him by picking him up as he walked back over to Celine.
This was going to be awkward no matter what, but he tried to make it less awkward by not speaking from halfway across the room. He got close enough to rest his free hand on her waist, and leaned in close.
“I have to go into town for a while. Are you okay with him for a while?” he asked.
Celine turned, and he could see on her face that she’d heard enough of his conversation to know what was going on. “Of course,” she said. “He’s helping me make pancakes.”
“Pancakes, huh?” Wilford turned to Michael. “You gonna be nice?”
Michael nodded, so Wilford put him back on his chair.
“I should be back in a few hours,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he should kiss her or not, but she made that decision for him, kissing him on the side of the mouth. “We’ll be fine. I think he had a movie he wanted to show me anyway.”
Wilford nodded, knowing the hell she was in for if Michael got his way there. But it was probably better than whatever hell she had at home that made being with him preferable.
Wilford was surprised when Dr Taylor was actually in the building when he got there. He wasn’t usually the anxious sort, but until he walked through the door, he’d managed to convince himself that he’d arrive to an empty office. The pills were definitely expired. That, or Celine had done a hell of a number on him.
He was tired. He’d spent all night partying with a man who hated him, but didn’t know it yet, followed by an uncomfortable couple hours of sleep in a lawn chair. That definitely hadn’t helped the situation. And it all must have shown on his face, even behind his lame disguise of a ballcap and dark sunglasses. He had better ways of hiding his face when he did shit he didn’t want anyone else knowing about, but all he had in his car was a Nationals cap he never knew what to do with and some cheap sunglasses. Taylor’s expression changed from boredly patronising to something that looked like genuine concern almost as soon as he opened the door. Wilford took off his sunglasses, trading them the spectacles he’d hooked on his shirt collar, and let himself into Taylor’s office. He hated the couch. It felt too helpless. He sat in the chair instead.
There was a ball covered in soft, rubber hairs on the table next to him. Wilford idly picked it up and turned it around in his hands for something to do.
“Before we start,” Taylor said ominously. “Is everyone safe?”
“What?” Wilford asked. He realised a moment later what Taylor was pussyfooting around. “Yeah, no. Nothing like that. Just nearly had a fucking heart attack. Took a pill I’m pretty sure was expired.”
“Why are you taking expired pills?”
Wilford snorted. What kind of stupid question was that. “Because nobody wants to give benzos to new patients,” he said.
“It’s the same prescription I gave you?” Taylor asked. For some reason, he seemed surprised about this. “How have you managed to stretch it this long?”
“Not taking it until I need it.” Which, of course, means it doesn’t really do its job.
Wilford ignored Taylor’s disapproving look, but what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he could run down to the dispensary and pick up a Schedule IV refill.
“You know it doesn’t work as needed, right?” Taylor asked.
Wilford just sighed. They were already going in circles. “Yeah, no shit.”
“But you’re dating. How long has that been going on?” Taylor asked.
“About a month. So everything’s going to shit right on schedule.”
“Do you think maybe your relationships fail because you expect them to?” Taylor asked. “If you go into something convincing yourself it’s not going to work, you may be subconsciously taking actions to make sure it fails.”
He hated this. He hated being told what was going on in his own head. “What’s it mean if she tried to give me a handjob, and I almost fucking puked?” he asked.
“That is different,” Taylor conceded. Good. They were finally on the same page. While Taylor got up to fetch something from a filing cabinet on the other side of the room, Wilford looked down at the ball he’d been fiddling with. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been pulling off its spines, making a horrible mess in his lap. How the hell had he managed to drive all the way into town without killing himself?
“I don’t have a whole lot of room right now, but why don’t we try making a deal?” He brought what Wilford assumed was his file back with him and sat down, already flipping through it. “I want you here consistently. You come to your appointments, don’t cancel or reschedule. You can sit here and bitch at me if that’s what makes you feel better, but I want you here.”
Wilford thought about the offer, and what it meant. He needed to get past this bullshit. He needed some sort of normality back. “How often is consistent?” he asked. “I can’t do weekly. My kid’s already got two a week, and I need to be there for at least one of them.”
Taylor looked up sharply. “Your kid?” he asked. “Not hers?”
Wilford thought he knew that. He was certain Taylor would have heard about it. “Oh, right. You kicked me out before that. I got custody of my grandson last year.”
“Grandson?” Taylor had missed a lot, apparently.
“He’s three,” Wilford said. “I got a girl pregnant in high school.”
Taylor nodded as he scribbled down something Wilford couldn’t see. “What about first and third Wednesday, in the morning? Nine AM?” he asked.
Wilford pulled out his phone. Wednesdays were busy studio days, but the place probably wouldn’t fall apart if he showed up late. “Yeah,” he agreed, punching it in and setting a few nag alarms.
“Okay,” Taylor said. “And why don’t we try something else. Do you have any experience with SSRIs?”
“I’m not going back on Prozac,” Wilford said quickly. Fuck that shit. “Last time I tried it, I almost drove my car off a bridge.”
“Then we won’t try Prozac,” Taylor said.
Even though his meeting with Taylor was short, Wilford still took his time getting home. He found a pharmacy in Vespucci and filled the new prescription Taylor gave him, and stopped into a few shops nearby while he waited for everything to go through. He felt like a fucking moron for how he’d reacted that morning, and thought he needed to make it up to Celine somehow. Which was why he went all the way out to Vespucci to fill his prescription.
“Let me see that one,” he said, pointing through the glass case.
The clerk pulled out a pair of dangly earrings and laid the case out on the counter. They were teardrop-shaped, below a circle. They shimmered with hundreds of tiny black gemstones, with equally tiny rubies lining the edges. Wilford picked one up to get a good look at the way it sparkled in the light. They seemed a little heavy, but maybe that was normal. He’d never had his ears pierced, so he wasn’t sure.
“We also have a matching necklace,” the clerk said. She moved to another counter and fetched its box, bringing it over. The pendant on the necklace was the same shape, but about half the size, on a delicate black chain. Wilford mulled it over. Was it a bit soon for both? It was definitely risky, but that wasn’t his concern. The simple fact of it was he had no idea what was appropriate for an adult relationship. Luckily, there was an easy way to figure it out.
“If a guy gave you both after a month together, would that be a bit much?” he asked, putting the earring down to look at the necklace. He liked both.
“You could hide one away for a few months,” the clerk said.
“That’s a good idea.” Wilford knew she was trying to upsell him, but it was working. He put the necklace back and nodded. “I’ll take both.” It probably wasn’t a problem that needed money thrown at it, but it probably couldn’t hurt either.
He found Celine halfway dozing on the sofa with a book, while Michael snored in a pile of toys on the floor. Celine’s tarot cards were also on the coffee table in a neat stack. Wilford decided to pretend he hadn’t noticed. If she’d brought them with her, she’d probably intended on reading them either way.
She sat up when she noticed him taking off his shoes at the landing and smiled lazily. “You didn’t tell me he watched it on repeat,” she said.
“No, why would I give away his master plan like that?” he asked. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave. That was a good sign.
“How’d it go?” she asked. She sat up, making room for him next to her. Wilford settled in, taking a moment to just enjoy the way she leaned against him.
“He put me on something new that might actually fucking work.” He shrugged. “Or it’ll make it worse.”
He watched her work through through that, letting her draw her own conclusions. “Has that happened before?” she asked.
Wilford nodded. “Tried one a while back that made me want to blow my fucking brains out.” He’d got off that one real quick.
“Oh my god.” Wilford could feel her hesitating. Things went one of two ways. Either things ended like they had with Craig, with the other person almost exploding with sexual frustration, or they got so cautious about what they were and weren’t allowed to do that Wilford was about to explode from all the coddling. And then Celine shifted and her hand landed on his chest, tracing small circles.
“So what’s the process?” she asked.
“Appointment twice a month. Email check-ins on the weeks I don’t go in.” He hadn’t like the idea of even twice monthly until Taylor said he was changing Wilford’s prescription. With that the case, he was more than happy to bug the shit out of the man to keep anything from going horribly wrong.
“That’s not so bad,” Celine said. She made a sound like she wanted to say more, but cut herself short. Wilford wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“Sit up for a second,” he said, wanting to get away from the uncomfortable topic.
Celine obliged, looking at him critically from behind her hair. It wasn’t the perfectly sculpted style she normally wore, which he realised might have had something to do with his lack of anything fancier than store-brand shampoo.
“I got something for you,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulled out the small, black velvet box. He wasn’t sure if there was anything special he was supposed to do, so he just handed it over. Celine looked at it suspiciously and slowly opened it, peeping inside before she let the lid snap all the way.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Will, what do you think you’re doing?”
For a moment, he thought he’d made the wrong choice. Was it too soon for gifts? “I had some time to kill,” he said.
Celine shook her head, jerking her hair away from her face while she struggled to take the earring apart. “Oh, it’s a screw,” she said, squinting down at it. Wilford didn’t know there was anything unusual about it, but apparently he needed to learn more about this stuff. He watched as she took the earrings she’d been wearing out and replaced them with the new ones. They looked even better on her than they had in the shop.
“Thank you,” she said. She leaned against him again and kissed him.
“You going to wear them home?” he asked.
Celine pulled her phone out of her inventory and looked at herself in the camera. After a few moments, she locked it again and put it down. “I think I will.”
He was stupid to think she was going to leave him. Somehow, the reminder that this had nothing to do with him at all, and had everything to do with Mark made it a lot easier to get comfortable with her on the sofa.
So he went, leaving the kid with Andy while he went to go spend the night out in the canyon. Celine was still there when Wilford arrived. Partially because he knew she’d find some artificial reason to stick around until he got there, and partially because he may have left a little early to beat ‘traffic.’ While he expected to see Celine for a moment or two, he was still surprised when Benjamin let him into the house in the middle of a screaming argument in another room.
“I apologise,” he said tensely. “I’ll let Master and Madame know you’re here.” He rushed off toward the direction of the screaming, leaving Wilford alone to awkwardly make himself at home.
“How would you even know?” Celine shouted.
“I will fucking ruin you!” Mark shouted back. “And this douchebag. Whoever he is!”
“So you’re allowed to disappear for weeks at a time, and I can’t even—”
The shouting stopped abruptly, punctuated by a door slamming. Benjamin had clearly found them and told them their guests had started to arrive. Wilford had kind of wished Benjamin had been more slow to get there, because he wanted to hear more. Even as it was, any reservations he may have had over seeing Celine had evaporated in an instant. He hadn’t made a proper attempt at dating in quite a few years, and this woman was throwing herself at him. The least he could do was get over himself long enough for her to get the hell out of this place.
Playing the role of the awkward guest, Wilford helped himself to the bar. He picked up a few bottles, examining them in turn before finally pouring himself a drink as the door slammed open again.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” Celine said curtly as she stormed across the foyer to the garage. With her Banshee still in the shop having its entire rear end rebuilt, Wilford was footing the bill on a rental car so she could come and go as she pleased. He expected it to get trashed by the end of the week after that outburst. Wilford turned to glance at her as she stormed past, but she didn’t turn to look at him as she went. For a brief moment, Wilford thought he understood what she meant about projecting. The entire house felt angry and vindictive until she disappeared through the next door. It left Wilford feeling a bit dumbstruck as Mark followed after her, as ever still not dressed for guests.
“She’s fucking some other prick,” Mark said before Wilford could even ask.
“Shit,” was all Wilford could think to say.
Mark shook his head and poured himself a drink, splashing rum over the bartop. “Some bastard called Barnum.”
Well, fuck. Wilford wasn’t expecting that. “She told you?” he asked.
“No, he’s the prick that’s paying for her new car. I found the bill in her purse.” Mark downed the entire drink in one go and slammed the glass back onto the bartop.
Wilford ignored the part about Mark snooping through Celine’s purse. He was just glad he’d thought to use an alias.
“Never heard of him,” Wilford lied. “You know what he does?”
Mark shook his head. “I’ve just got a name. I asked Abe to look into it.”
Wilford was going to have to talk to Abe. Immediately.
“Maybe you’ve got the right idea,” Mark said suddenly. “When you and Craig split, it was like twenty minutes of drama. What’d you do? Have a few rounds together after?”
His awkward split with Craig was definitely not twenty minutes of drama. “He followed me out to my place at the beach and yelled at my kid,” Wilford said. It seemed like enough to shatter whatever idyllic vision of Future Ex Husband #1 Mark had constructed pretty quickly.
“Oh,” he said. “That… that explains a lot, actually.”
“He didn’t tell you that part?” Wilford asked.
“No, he did not.” Mark poured himself another drink. “I’m going to go get dressed,” he said. “Hang out. Make yourself at home.”
As soon as he turned to leave, Wilford found himself wondering if there was anything lying around that would be worth stealing. He decided against it quickly after. The idea wasn’t for Mark to suspect Wilford right away, even if he had got a bit too close for comfort already. The idea was to draw it out, because that’s what Celine wanted. And Wilford could see why.
The garage was big enough for two cars, but it was the first time since Wilford had bought the place that it had housed two cars. Even though she was driving a rental, Celine had been smart enough to park it away from view. Wilford hadn’t put much thought into privacy when he had his gate installed, but maybe the iron security bars could use some panelling to keep people on the street from peeping in. Until then, they’d just have to be careful. All it would take is one house tourist to post the wrong picture to their Instagram and the whole thing would be out in the open.
Michael was still asleep when Wilford snuck inside. He found Celine in the bathroom, in just her underwear and a tank top, towel-drying her hair over the sink. The entire top floor of the house reeked of bleach, but it was easy to see why. The bright red highlights flashed in Celine’s hair as she did her best to dry it with what she had.
“You don’t have a hair dryer,” she said, seeming almost surprised.
“No. I pay someone else to fuck with my hair.” He stepped closer as Celine stood up straight. Even wet, the red highlights did look good. He wasn’t surprised. “You did this yourself?” he asked.
“I went to school for it,” she said. “But so did every other girl in the Valley.”
She leaned in to kiss him, but it didn’t last long. “You smell like a liquor cabinet.”
“Your psycho brother threw half of it at me.” Granted, only after Wilford threw the first half at Damien. But Damien didn’t have to retaliate like that.
Wilford watched Celine walk over and sprawl out on the bed. She looked insanely comfortable, and Wilford wanted to join her immediately. But she was right. He reeked, and even he could smell it.
“Hold that thought,” he said. He didn’t know what he was going to do if she actually did hold that thought, but he desperately needed to take a shower. He felt gross, he smelled gross, and he was pretty sure there was something with a face stuck in his hair. One thing was certain though: he needed to figure out something. The woman was driving him nuts, and he could only jerk off in the shower so many times before he died of shame.
He grabbed a pair of pyjamas from his dresser before he headed in to take the quickest shower of his life. He scrubbed all the bugs and twigs and booze from his hair, suspecting it would take at least two more showers to not smell like a frat party. Clean enough would have to do. As he pulled on his pyjamas, he realised he hadn’t grabbed a shirt. It was always a coin toss over whether that would bother him, and it seemed like at that moment, with Celine waiting for him in his bed, it bothered him immensely. He couldn’t stay locked up in the bathroom forever though. Then she’d definitely know just how fucked up and broken he was. He stalled by swapping his contacts for glasses, then rinsed out his mouth, and suddenly was out of reasons to stall. He was nearly 40. Being this nervous at this age was stupid, and he needed to get over himself. After about a year of kicking himself to open the door, he finally managed it. While Wilford was in the shower, Celine had closed the bedroom door, shutting them off from all the dogs and kids and distractions. Wilford rather liked all the dogs and kids and distractions. It occurred him him, as he stalled even more by standing against the doorway to the bathroom to look at Celine sprawled out on top of the unmade bed, that her marriage to Mark was in legality only at that point. She’d been trying to get into Wilford’s pants since the day he drove her to the beach, and even that was probably the most action she’d had in years.
“What?” Celine asked.
Wilford shook his head, finally convincing his legs to move. “Just looking,” he said as he crawled into bed next to her. The little bit of cat and mouse they’d been playing had been the most action Wilford had seen in more than years. Craig had never been in Wilford’s house, much less his bedroom. Wilford hadn’t had another person in his bed since…
… Since he’d fucked his boss’ wife and ruined everything. He’d isolated himself from other people to keep himself out of trouble for so long that he’d completely forgotten how to behave with a half-naked woman in his bed. He knew every filthy, obscene thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t seem to move a muscle to act on any of it.
Celine had no such hangups. She let him look for a few moments before she moved closer to kiss him again. Already, he could feel that rise of panic, but he tried to ignore it. It was such a pathetic thing to panic about. She wanted him, and all he had to do was let it happen. He managed to lean in and even kiss back. He thought maybe he’d let his hands wander, but Celine had that thought first. He hadn’t grabbed any underwear, so it wasn’t exactly any kind of secret that he was already hard. But as soon as her hand went there, even with his pyjamas still between them, Wilford completely froze. Every muscle in his body tensed so hard he couldn’t even get away. He couldn’t breathe, he felt ill. It was a disaster.
Celine noticed almost immediately. She pulled back, looking at him with the most concern anyone had given him in a very long time.
“Will?” she asked. She brought her hands up to his face, but it was too late. There was no going back now. “Babe?”
Wilford managed to shake his head. He needed to get away, but if he moved he thought he might puke. He could feel Celine looking not at him, but into him, and it was the most deeply uncomfortable experience of his life. But he could see that she knew. He had to get away. He shook his head again and managed to clumsily roll out of bed. His Xanax was in the sock drawer, where it always lived. He just needed to get to it. He ignored Celine as he tore through the drawer, eventually finding the bottle.
Wilford couldn’t tell if he swore out loud or just in his head when he rattled the two remaining pills around. This was bad. This was very, very bad. He couldn’t afford to hoard them at that moment, so he popped one into his mouth and slapped the bottle down on top of his dressed.
“It’s fine,” Celine said softly from behind him. “We don’t have to.”
Wilford couldn’t speak. Even if he could, he didn’t know what he’d say. Far more important was just focusing on breathing. He’d never hated himself more than he did at that moment.
Celine volunteered to feed the kid and take care of the dogs while Wilford locked himself in his office. He was so fucking humiliated he couldn’t even look at her. He had one tablet left, and an impossible task ahead of him. This time, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He wasn’t going to hang up and agree to be called back later. He was going to stay on the line and bother as many people as possible until Dr Taylor picked up the damn phone. It was Sunday, but Wilford knew the man generally took one or two sessions on weekends. Eventually, stubborn persistence pulled off, and the right man finally answered the phone.
“Wilford, I thought we agreed you needed to see someone else,” Dr Taylor said, not even hiding his annoyance with Wilford.
Wilford didn’t care that he was annoyed. “No, you decided that. I tried it, and couldn’t find anyone I liked,” he said.
“Do you want a referral?” Taylor asked.
“No, I need an appointment, and I need a refill. Everyone else I’ve talked to wrote me off, so I’ve had to hoard that shit like a fucking dragon,” Wilford said. The tablet he’d taken earlier had kept him on the ground, but he still felt like he could explode at any moment. “I asked my physician, and he keeps deferring back to you.”
Taylor sighed on the other line. “How many do you have left?”
“One,” Wilford said. “And juding by how I feel right now, it’s expired.”
“You took one today?” Taylor asked.
Wilford didn’t want to be asked questions. He wanted the man to do his damn job and help him. “Yeah, right after I flipped the fuck out on my girlfriend,” he said.
There was an odd pause from Taylor. “Is everyone all right?” he asked.
“What?” It took Wilford a moment to realise what was being asked. “Yeah, it’s fine. I think she’s making breakfast for the kid.”
Another odd pause from Taylor. “This is Wilford Warfstache, correct?” he asked.
“Yes!” Wilford said. He wondered if he should take the last tablet he had left. “Who else would it be?”
“I guess I’m a little confused,” Taylor said. Wilford could hear him shuffling around on the other end. “All right. If you can come in right now, we’ll have a talk and see what our options are,” he said.
“Uh.” Wilford tapped his watch, but it was dead. He pulled his phone away to see the time instead. It was almost dead as well. “Yeah, it’ll probably take about a half hour to get down there,” he said.
“I’m not going to promise anything,” Taylor said.
“Fine.” Wilford hung up. He got his foot in the door, which was more than he’d been able to get for a while. After a few moments to just breathe before he got up to brave whatever awaited him in the kitchen. On the other side of the door, Michael stood perched on a chair, watching Celine make pancakes at the stove. When he noticed Wilford, he climbed down and rushed over. Wilford indulged him by picking him up as he walked back over to Celine.
This was going to be awkward no matter what, but he tried to make it less awkward by not speaking from halfway across the room. He got close enough to rest his free hand on her waist, and leaned in close.
“I have to go into town for a while. Are you okay with him for a while?” he asked.
Celine turned, and he could see on her face that she’d heard enough of his conversation to know what was going on. “Of course,” she said. “He’s helping me make pancakes.”
“Pancakes, huh?” Wilford turned to Michael. “You gonna be nice?”
Michael nodded, so Wilford put him back on his chair.
“I should be back in a few hours,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he should kiss her or not, but she made that decision for him, kissing him on the side of the mouth. “We’ll be fine. I think he had a movie he wanted to show me anyway.”
Wilford nodded, knowing the hell she was in for if Michael got his way there. But it was probably better than whatever hell she had at home that made being with him preferable.
Wilford was surprised when Dr Taylor was actually in the building when he got there. He wasn’t usually the anxious sort, but until he walked through the door, he’d managed to convince himself that he’d arrive to an empty office. The pills were definitely expired. That, or Celine had done a hell of a number on him.
He was tired. He’d spent all night partying with a man who hated him, but didn’t know it yet, followed by an uncomfortable couple hours of sleep in a lawn chair. That definitely hadn’t helped the situation. And it all must have shown on his face, even behind his lame disguise of a ballcap and dark sunglasses. He had better ways of hiding his face when he did shit he didn’t want anyone else knowing about, but all he had in his car was a Nationals cap he never knew what to do with and some cheap sunglasses. Taylor’s expression changed from boredly patronising to something that looked like genuine concern almost as soon as he opened the door. Wilford took off his sunglasses, trading them the spectacles he’d hooked on his shirt collar, and let himself into Taylor’s office. He hated the couch. It felt too helpless. He sat in the chair instead.
There was a ball covered in soft, rubber hairs on the table next to him. Wilford idly picked it up and turned it around in his hands for something to do.
“Before we start,” Taylor said ominously. “Is everyone safe?”
“What?” Wilford asked. He realised a moment later what Taylor was pussyfooting around. “Yeah, no. Nothing like that. Just nearly had a fucking heart attack. Took a pill I’m pretty sure was expired.”
“Why are you taking expired pills?”
Wilford snorted. What kind of stupid question was that. “Because nobody wants to give benzos to new patients,” he said.
“It’s the same prescription I gave you?” Taylor asked. For some reason, he seemed surprised about this. “How have you managed to stretch it this long?”
“Not taking it until I need it.” Which, of course, means it doesn’t really do its job.
Wilford ignored Taylor’s disapproving look, but what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he could run down to the dispensary and pick up a Schedule IV refill.
“You know it doesn’t work as needed, right?” Taylor asked.
Wilford just sighed. They were already going in circles. “Yeah, no shit.”
“But you’re dating. How long has that been going on?” Taylor asked.
“About a month. So everything’s going to shit right on schedule.”
“Do you think maybe your relationships fail because you expect them to?” Taylor asked. “If you go into something convincing yourself it’s not going to work, you may be subconsciously taking actions to make sure it fails.”
He hated this. He hated being told what was going on in his own head. “What’s it mean if she tried to give me a handjob, and I almost fucking puked?” he asked.
“That is different,” Taylor conceded. Good. They were finally on the same page. While Taylor got up to fetch something from a filing cabinet on the other side of the room, Wilford looked down at the ball he’d been fiddling with. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been pulling off its spines, making a horrible mess in his lap. How the hell had he managed to drive all the way into town without killing himself?
“I don’t have a whole lot of room right now, but why don’t we try making a deal?” He brought what Wilford assumed was his file back with him and sat down, already flipping through it. “I want you here consistently. You come to your appointments, don’t cancel or reschedule. You can sit here and bitch at me if that’s what makes you feel better, but I want you here.”
Wilford thought about the offer, and what it meant. He needed to get past this bullshit. He needed some sort of normality back. “How often is consistent?” he asked. “I can’t do weekly. My kid’s already got two a week, and I need to be there for at least one of them.”
Taylor looked up sharply. “Your kid?” he asked. “Not hers?”
Wilford thought he knew that. He was certain Taylor would have heard about it. “Oh, right. You kicked me out before that. I got custody of my grandson last year.”
“Grandson?” Taylor had missed a lot, apparently.
“He’s three,” Wilford said. “I got a girl pregnant in high school.”
Taylor nodded as he scribbled down something Wilford couldn’t see. “What about first and third Wednesday, in the morning? Nine AM?” he asked.
Wilford pulled out his phone. Wednesdays were busy studio days, but the place probably wouldn’t fall apart if he showed up late. “Yeah,” he agreed, punching it in and setting a few nag alarms.
“Okay,” Taylor said. “And why don’t we try something else. Do you have any experience with SSRIs?”
“I’m not going back on Prozac,” Wilford said quickly. Fuck that shit. “Last time I tried it, I almost drove my car off a bridge.”
“Then we won’t try Prozac,” Taylor said.
Even though his meeting with Taylor was short, Wilford still took his time getting home. He found a pharmacy in Vespucci and filled the new prescription Taylor gave him, and stopped into a few shops nearby while he waited for everything to go through. He felt like a fucking moron for how he’d reacted that morning, and thought he needed to make it up to Celine somehow. Which was why he went all the way out to Vespucci to fill his prescription.
“Let me see that one,” he said, pointing through the glass case.
The clerk pulled out a pair of dangly earrings and laid the case out on the counter. They were teardrop-shaped, below a circle. They shimmered with hundreds of tiny black gemstones, with equally tiny rubies lining the edges. Wilford picked one up to get a good look at the way it sparkled in the light. They seemed a little heavy, but maybe that was normal. He’d never had his ears pierced, so he wasn’t sure.
“We also have a matching necklace,” the clerk said. She moved to another counter and fetched its box, bringing it over. The pendant on the necklace was the same shape, but about half the size, on a delicate black chain. Wilford mulled it over. Was it a bit soon for both? It was definitely risky, but that wasn’t his concern. The simple fact of it was he had no idea what was appropriate for an adult relationship. Luckily, there was an easy way to figure it out.
“If a guy gave you both after a month together, would that be a bit much?” he asked, putting the earring down to look at the necklace. He liked both.
“You could hide one away for a few months,” the clerk said.
“That’s a good idea.” Wilford knew she was trying to upsell him, but it was working. He put the necklace back and nodded. “I’ll take both.” It probably wasn’t a problem that needed money thrown at it, but it probably couldn’t hurt either.
He found Celine halfway dozing on the sofa with a book, while Michael snored in a pile of toys on the floor. Celine’s tarot cards were also on the coffee table in a neat stack. Wilford decided to pretend he hadn’t noticed. If she’d brought them with her, she’d probably intended on reading them either way.
She sat up when she noticed him taking off his shoes at the landing and smiled lazily. “You didn’t tell me he watched it on repeat,” she said.
“No, why would I give away his master plan like that?” he asked. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave. That was a good sign.
“How’d it go?” she asked. She sat up, making room for him next to her. Wilford settled in, taking a moment to just enjoy the way she leaned against him.
“He put me on something new that might actually fucking work.” He shrugged. “Or it’ll make it worse.”
He watched her work through through that, letting her draw her own conclusions. “Has that happened before?” she asked.
Wilford nodded. “Tried one a while back that made me want to blow my fucking brains out.” He’d got off that one real quick.
“Oh my god.” Wilford could feel her hesitating. Things went one of two ways. Either things ended like they had with Craig, with the other person almost exploding with sexual frustration, or they got so cautious about what they were and weren’t allowed to do that Wilford was about to explode from all the coddling. And then Celine shifted and her hand landed on his chest, tracing small circles.
“So what’s the process?” she asked.
“Appointment twice a month. Email check-ins on the weeks I don’t go in.” He hadn’t like the idea of even twice monthly until Taylor said he was changing Wilford’s prescription. With that the case, he was more than happy to bug the shit out of the man to keep anything from going horribly wrong.
“That’s not so bad,” Celine said. She made a sound like she wanted to say more, but cut herself short. Wilford wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“Sit up for a second,” he said, wanting to get away from the uncomfortable topic.
Celine obliged, looking at him critically from behind her hair. It wasn’t the perfectly sculpted style she normally wore, which he realised might have had something to do with his lack of anything fancier than store-brand shampoo.
“I got something for you,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulled out the small, black velvet box. He wasn’t sure if there was anything special he was supposed to do, so he just handed it over. Celine looked at it suspiciously and slowly opened it, peeping inside before she let the lid snap all the way.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Will, what do you think you’re doing?”
For a moment, he thought he’d made the wrong choice. Was it too soon for gifts? “I had some time to kill,” he said.
Celine shook her head, jerking her hair away from her face while she struggled to take the earring apart. “Oh, it’s a screw,” she said, squinting down at it. Wilford didn’t know there was anything unusual about it, but apparently he needed to learn more about this stuff. He watched as she took the earrings she’d been wearing out and replaced them with the new ones. They looked even better on her than they had in the shop.
“Thank you,” she said. She leaned against him again and kissed him.
“You going to wear them home?” he asked.
Celine pulled her phone out of her inventory and looked at herself in the camera. After a few moments, she locked it again and put it down. “I think I will.”
He was stupid to think she was going to leave him. Somehow, the reminder that this had nothing to do with him at all, and had everything to do with Mark made it a lot easier to get comfortable with her on the sofa.
