Late Three
Late Three By Systematic It was around nine or ten when the maid barged in. It wasn’t the maid I’d been expecting, and it really wasn’t how I wanted to start the day. “I’m back,” she said, standing in my doorway, hands on her hips, grinning. Or I assumed that was what she was doing. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet. “Yes,” I said. “You are.” Was I decent? I was, more or less. The sheets were twisted, but I could feel that they were covering me from the waist down. That was something. “Thanks.” I waved a hand, eyes still closed. “Don’t be so cold,” she said, sounding huffy. “It’s been a whole month.” Yes, and hadn’t that month gone by quickly? I opened my eyes and sat up. I call her Red, even …