Chapter 3: 3 a.m.

She's gotta little bit of something, God it's better than nothing
And in her color portrait world she believes that she's got it all
She swears the moon don't hang quite as high as it used to
She only sleeps when it's raining
And she screams and her voice is strained

She says baby, it's 3 a.m., I must be lonely
Yeah she says baby, I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes
And the rain's gonna wash away, I believe this

She believes that life is made up of all that is used to
And the clock on the wall has been stuck at 3 for days and days
She thinks that happiness it a mat that sit on her doorway
Oh but outside it stopped raining

"3 a.m." by Matchbox 20

It's been three days, and I miss him. So I leave a message for him to meet me at Harry's tonight, when he's free. Not like there's a lack of action at work, the office ladies are making noises about pay raises, and the corporate heads (all male, of course) are making noises about layoffs during this tight economy. And I'm stuck in the middle, because I'm a woman. A successful, driven woman, yes, but a woman nonetheless, which makes the OL think I'm on their side, and the heads nervous that I might be on the OL's side. I hate when office politics gets in the way of good business, and lately, it has been.

When I come home for a quick change of clothes, I see it's a dark apartment devoid of Robin's fancy boots, and I'm giving up, at least for now. Robin is sort of like my thermometer, if she's out late working, then Amon's working harder. And that means no time for us. Well, if there is an "us."

So I do the wimpy thing and leave another message. I try to be brief and businesslike, the way I'd like to come across in work and personal life, but even to my ears, I sound like a lovelorn, desperate woman. Damn. Oh well. It's not like he cares one way or the other how I sound like, the important thing is that I don't blow his cover and reveal how all-too-human he is. Well, there's something I'd like to blow, but it isn't about to happen anytime soon.

So I sigh, flip on the lights, wander over to the kitchen and grab a can of beer. Then I flop down on the couch and channel surf, but I don't pay attention to anything on the TV. I try to do the admirable thing and figure out some solutions for the tension at work, but all I can think of is Amon, and how much I want him here. How much I want him, period.

Maybe we started backwards. Maybe that's the problem. If we'd met like normal people, gone through the usual flirting and semi-courtship and falling in like, or lust, then it would be okay. Maybe I wouldn't miss him so much. Or maybe it wouldn't make much of a difference, since he doesn't talk enough for any sort of getting-to-know-you phase to be even remotely reasonable. I know enough about him, and he knows enough about me. That's all that matters.

I find I've reached the last of my beer, and sigh again. Idiot. I can't tell whether I'm talking about him or myself, and don't bother to figure it out. I walk back into the kitchen to grab another beer, determined to anesthetize myself with alcohol and bad TV for the rest of the night. It's worked before, which is the sad part, so I flop back on the couch, determined to be asleep by the time Robin comes home.

Episode 5: "Smells like wandering spirit"