Five Stars - Wednesday Part 2
Wednesday Part 2
Joel's jaw hung open for a few moments once Don finished his story.
"You just left him tied up?" Joel asked in disbelief.
"Well, I got a text from him the next morning saying 'Fuck You.' Wish that's how it had gone."
Joel gave an odd, choking sound before letting out a long laugh. Don could not help but join in.
"That's... kind of bad. But that just seems weird, how was that your worst date?"
Don sighed and shook his head.
"It became the worst date when he wanted me to put those handcuffs on him."
Joel raised an eyebrow, wanting Don to continue.
"I have no problem being on top or on bottom. But in that moment I knew I couldn't be with Erik. He had been in charge of every other aspect of the relationship. Deciding what to do, where to go, and I liked it. But then he wanted to be on bottom once we got to the bedroom. Sure, a few years ago I would have been up for just having sex with him and ending it. But that was around the time I was beginning to try and find someone who I could settle down with one day. And nothing turned me off more than what Erik did. I don't want to spend my life with someone being 'the good wife' in public and then being the one doing the pounding in the bedroom. That's why I left."
"...I guess that makes sense," Joel responded just before finishing off his coffee.
"What's that suppose to mean?" Don asked with a slight growl.
Joel swallowed, "Nothing. It's just...nothing."
The two were in silence yet again. For a pair of wolves who got alone well they had the most awkward of silences whenever they reached them. Don however saw an opportunity in this moment and took it.
"Well, I have some work to finish up," he said.
"Yeah. And I should probably get going," Joel replied.
The two hugged and exited the coffee shop, each going their separate ways. Joel going to the right and Don to the left. The cold, early winter air ruffled Don's fur. His mind still lingered on Joel's unsaid comment. He made sure not to let his tail drag and kept his ears low as he padded down the sidewalk. Historic structures surrounded the red wolf as he made his way home. The coffee shop he just left, while a modern commodity, had been set up in a structure equally as old as the others.
Don lived not too far away, right on the edge of the historic district. His apartment complex sat on the rim of past and present. The building had had its modifications over the years while still trying to hold true to its original glory. As a result it looked positively ugly and had cheap living space. Don needed the latter and was willing to sacrifice living somewhere nice. Plus, it was not too far from a modern cinema.
Don ran his claws across the brick wall on the front of the building as he approached it. Taking a sharp left into the entrance leading to the apartments. He approached the closest staircase and made his way up. His paw rubbed against the banister, had it always had this many nicks? Carving of initials and profanities covered most parts of the wood. Don passed the second floor and made his way to the third. Upon reaching the third landing he turned right and went to the second door, Room 321. His key entered the lock and jiggled around. Don pulled the door towards him by the handle and turned the key, managing to unlock it. He had been bothered by this when he first got the apartment. Now after so many years of the ritual it would feel odd to do otherwise.
Don's apartment felt only a tad warmer then outside. It wasn't that he need to save money and keep the temperature down. Most winters he would be down to just his boxers in there. This time around his heater did not work. Don had called the building manager several times about the issue and the weasel had promised to get to it soon. Don could not help but suspect the manager wanted the red wolf to not use so much heat.
The smell and feel of home calmed Don. His studio apartment looking the same as always. On one end sat the kitchen with a table and a couple of chairs for if Don ever found himself entertaining a guest. Near the door was his queen sized bed and nightstand with the last book he had been reading. A novel on the history of the Academy Awards. The sheets on the entire bed were ruffled as he liked to spread out at night. He never had to share the bed with anyone.
His desk and computer sat beneath the window which showed the empty street outside. His television set and couch sat in the corner across from the desk with a bookshelf nearby. All on the apartment walls were memories of home. His diploma from Northern Atlantis University and picture of his large family were positioned near each other above the bed. On the adjacent wall hung a dreamcatcher and special drum from his tribe he received for a birthday a decade ago. A pair of treasures he had kept throughout college. Don had even got into a fight with a dorm roommate when the hare had jokingly played the drum. He acted like a speciesist fool when he did so.
Don wanted to curl up under the several layers of blankets on his bed. Unfortunately he had to get some work done before that happened. Don shed his grey coat on the floor and took a seat in his swivel chair. His tail resting on the cold, wooden floor. Three new e-mails. One from Don's mother. A simple check in to see how Don was doing. He cringed at the thought of how to respond to her.
Another e-mail from YouTube telling him to check out some new videos. Don hated the notifications but he could never bring himself to unsubscribe. Mainly because he forgot to do so every time he clicked the delete button. The last new e-mail had been from his boss, Penny. The vixen editor had always made Don's work and life a hassle. With a subject like "Edits for This Week's Review," Don knew it was not a kind little note from her.
"Donnie," the message began. Don could not stand her calling him that. No one ever called him that and it just infuriated him every time she did. "This review appears really dialed in. I would like you to write it again." Fuck. "I expect better from you."
Short and painful. Just as Don hated it. He really preferred the wordy and drawn out explanations of why his reviews sucked.
"That film was the best example of a quick cash-in by a movie studio," Don argued to the screen. "It was the most generic teen film ever!...I could hardly focus on it anyways..."
Don's gaze fell on the message in his inbox from his doctor he had received a week prior.