Page 99 of Whirlwind

Chapter 1

Angel

Angel looked at the mountains of boxes and sighed. She’d paid the movers to unpack most of her kitchen things, and the large furniture was more or less in the right places due to her meticulous labeling and mapping. And she’d unpacked her suits when she moved in last week and had mostly been able to find everything that she needed when she’d started work on Monday.

Now she was just stuck with all of the other odds and ends that would hopefully liven up the barren rooms. She knew that when she had them unpacked they’d make her home look expensive yet tasteful, projecting exactly the image that she’d so carefully maintained in New York.

She opened a box at random and put an expensive vase on the mantle. Her new home was gorgeous, of course. Dark wood framed large bay windows and a wide fireplace, which was offset by creamy walls and open spaces. The vase would draw the eye to the craftsmanship of the wood, while giving the space a stylish, modern look.

Like she was living in a catalogue.

Why did she own this vase? It was expensive, but honestly, kind of ugly and bland. It looked kind of like a buttplug, which would be sort of funny if she had anyone to laugh about it with, but otherwise it was just boring. Where had she gotten it? Some art exhibit? Patronizing some charity? Had it been a gift?

She thought back… Definitely a gift. From Tamika. Who had bought it to patronize some charity. Or maybe Angel had bought it for the same purpose?

What the fuck was this vase doing here? Was this who she was? Still trying to live up to other people’s standards? She’d spent most of her life trying to conform to her parents’ vision of genteel affluence, then rebelling against it. Yet here she was again.

The urge to smash the vase filled her, but she was too practiced in holding back her emotions. She set it quietly in a box while the guilt and anger swirled inside her. This was probably why she hadn’t unpacked a damn thing beyond the necessities.

Of course, Tamika would have loved it. Tamika loved anything pretentious and expensive. She thought bitterly of all of the locally-made souvenirs she hadn’t brought back from her trips. Every adorable market stall, local gallery, and street artist that she’d been badgered into walking past. Tamika had called them all kitschy.

And that was when she was being kind. Often it was trashy or ugly. As though the price were somehow correlated to the resonance a piece of art might have to the viewer.

It was ironic that Tamika’s dad was a janitor and her mother taught preschool at the local Y. They were good hardworking people who’d accepted Angel for what she was. It was just Tamika who’d been too good for them. She should have seen that as a flashing red warning sign.

Thank fuck that she was done with that relationship.

She set the vase back in its box. She would donate it to Parker’s queer legal project, she decided, the one that she’d start volunteering at in a week or two once she found her footing with her day job in Ben’s firm. Surely, they had a silent auction or something coming up. She could focus on that… giving other people the chance at a better life.

She knew that she should be grateful to Ben, but sometimes, late at night, it still felt like admitting defeat. She’d proven to her parents that she could make it in New York City as a hot-shot attorney and a transwoman. But after six years of hundred-hour work weeks and coming home to a cramped, expensive apartment only to discover that Tamika had just dropped another thousand dollars on a dress to get back at her for working so much, she realized that she needed out.

And she needed out in every way. She loved practicing law, but she couldn’t handle the frantic pace, the all-consuming commitment. There were other lawyers in her practice who seemed to balance it better. They had families at home. They ran marathons on the weekends. One wacky colleague even played accordion in a band. Fucking New Yorkers.

But she just had her career and a brat who was using her for her money. At first she’d thought the brat act was cute, but when Tamika sat at home all day spending her money and inviting friends over, and then couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone to order dinner for them to share, it had gotten old. Hell, even their plants had died because Tamika said that she didn’t have time to water them.

The thing was, Angel actually thought that she wanted someone to take care of. She thought she’d wanted someone who was dependent on her, someone who would devote themselves to pleasing her, while she devoted herself to taking care of them. Someone who she could lovingly whip into their most perfect self, reprimand when they went off course, and praise for their obedience and affection.

Well, it had been a nice fantasy.

It had taken her almost two years to realize how far her life had gone off course, when Angel stopped trying to rack up billable hours and started trying to avoid going home.

If Angel dated again, and that was a big if, she would be on the lookout for someone who could stand on their own two feet. Someone who was an equal partner outside of the bedroom.

Angel tossed some crumpled packing paper back over the vase and tucked the flaps back in. This was her new life.

She might not know what she wanted from it, but it wasn’t this vase.

She stacked the box back up on the pile she’d taken it from.

The first week after the move had felt like freedom. Unadulterated joy in making her own decisions and not being beholden to anyone. Now that she was settling in, though, she was realizing something sobering. She didn’t know who the fuck she was or where she was going. Working with colleagues she liked and getting off work at 5:00PM like a civilized human being was throwing her for a loop. And her new home, which was easily five or six times the size of her much pricier Manhattan apartment, echoed emptily around her.

What was she supposed to do with all of this space. And so much time?

At least tonight that wouldn’t be a problem. Her house didn’t feel like a home yet, but drinks at Whirlwind gave her the sense that it could. She’d heard there was a good kink club, and maybe without all of those jaded New Yorkers she could find someone for a good scene or two.

Someday.

When she was ready to take that risk again.