Page 134 of Disgrace

“I cleaned.”

Siena smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and nodded. “You didn’t sleep last night, either. I saw the shelves on the way down the stairs, too. You moved everything around again.”

“I didn’t like the way it was.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Siena tightened the belt on her thigh-high, white silk robe, accentuating her tiny waist a bit more. “You just, what, suddenly wanted cake?”

“Listen, I’ll just go drive around until I find fucking cake, Siena.”

“It wasn’t a big cake, John. They finished it off. I’ll make you one tomorrow.”

No, he kind of wanted one now. And when he fixated on something—like cake at the moment—he was willing to do just about whatever he had to in order to get it. It was not as simple as a promise of eventually getting what he wanted.

“That’s not going to work,” John said.

Her blue eyes showed no surprise, and little concern at that point. “Do I have to take your keys from you?”

“Why would you—”

Siena started ticking things off her fingers in that calm, sweet way of hers that always lulled John into a sense of comfort. “You’re not sleeping. You’re fixating on different things. Your energy is through the roof. If and when you sleep, it’s maybe an hour at a time. You’re watching clocks like time is the only thing tangible to understand at the moment. You’re distracted at every turn unless it’s something you’re obsessing over. You’re not quite nasty—yet—but your moods are flipping up and down depending on who’s around at any given time.”

John cleared his throat, not bothering to deny anything Siena just said. None of it was a lie, and he knew it. “It’ll settle.”

“Likely not at the moment,” Siena countered. “Leonard has had you off your stabilizers for the antidepressants for what, a couple of weeks or more?”

“Something like that.”

“I think you need to get him to switch them back over now, John.”

John’s ability to rationalize emotions and his situation at any given time was often hindered by his current phase of bipolar. The more hypomanic he became, the less concerned he was over his behavior and actions. He gave it all very little thought because that was just how his disorder worked. Right and wrong became whatever he could get away with a lot of the time.

All over again, he was reminded of how difficult it was to live his life, be a made man in the utmost control of himself, and manage his disorder.

“It’s all right,” Siena said like she could read his mind. Her hand came up to stroke his jaw, and she pulled him close until the two of them were just a breath apart. Damn, he loved his woman. “We can call Leonard in the morning, and get the meds switched back around.”

“Always have my back, huh?”

Siena flashed him a smile. “You know it.”

“People know now—about me, I mean,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But they can’t know this shit, too. They can’t know these things, too.”

“They won’t.”

Her words felt like a promise.

She didn’t break promises, he knew.

“It’ll always be just you and me for this,” Siena told him. “We’ll handle it. It’s your life—your business. Those doors are shut, John.”

“Where did you come from, bella donna? You seem a little too good to be true when it comes to us.”

Siena laughed. “I came from Brooklyn. And you know damn well I was made for you, John.”

He gave her a quick kiss and said, “Damn right.”