“My Apartment”

I left $20 million possibly. In today’s money. I was wealthy. But not that wealthy.

The price of everything has skyrocketed in New York City.

This was very similar to my apartment.

Lacey’s decoration:

This light fixture:

Except larger and antique.

The bannister would be ripped out. Unless it’s original.

The walls papered with a very 19th Century pattern. The trim and ceiling painted dark green. A vastly different rug. Something exotic. A grand piano and accompanying sitting. Including a chaise and a sofa and two chairs. A coffee table. An oil painting of a war hero on the wall. From the early 20th Century. Lit properly. An oil painting of Paris over the fireplace. Another Impressionist painting on the wall of the stairs. A clock on the mantel. A brass floor lamp near the piano.

Lamp shades on chandelier. Darker wood. White walls. Leather furniture. Thick blue and white wool rug. Sound system. Victrola. A violin and cello. And a huge (safe) wall of books. Rare books. Hundreds of books. A lovely family portrait above the mantle.

A mural ceiling. A grand Iranian rug, muted to accentuate the ceiling. Dining room table. Silk white curtains. Two layers. Slightly off white. Nothing too grand. But nothing too prim and simplistic either. Silver pieces on the mantle. And Wedgwood.

This would be the study. My desk. A sizable terrarium. More books.

I’ve brought her here. But she thought it was part of another apartment.

This would mostly just be painted yellow. And a new fan put in. And recessed lighting. And a cheap sofa. And milk glass and Depression glass put in the shelves. And tons of antique and vintage maps perfectly displayed on the walls.

We’ve already styled this room.

A television. Vases. Photos. Few books. Similar furniture arrangement. Cream ceiling. Red fabric furniture. Possibly floral, possibly not.

Loads of flowers. And a breakfast table.

Chicken. Everything else similar.

Herbs and many perennials. Only some seating.

It would look like an English country home. With a posh Dutch accent from the 1600’s.

My style…was…an attempt at happiness. And yet…it was so damn lonely.

You think I was happy!? WHY!? …This was a HUGE house to live in alone if I did. And I was MISERABLE.

Why THE FUCK wouldn’t I have been?

Later.

“Why aren’t you too toxic!?” asks a Black man of Lem.

“EXCELLENT QUESTION!” says Lem. “The problem with me being potentially homosexual is actually more about me either not being able to love her…more than Jack…and/or one of me being incredibly toxic.”

“They don’t understand that.” says the man.

“No. Whoever she’s talking to…does not.

I actually was not too toxic.

I was molested. And I internalized a faulty view of many things. But at my core I was not a toxic person. And…as I slowly killed myself…in a state of misery. Being trapped. …I found myself…in incredible despair about the way my life had gone.” says Lem. “She’s my twin flame. I’m sorry.”

“So you were trying to kill me?” says Bobby.

“Yes. …Not like a psychopath. Like a desperate man. Bobby…I believed you were likely insane. And obviously very evil.” says Lem.

“So you faked being in love with me?” says Bobby.

“Yes. To an extent. …But I didn’t fake it that much.” says Lem. “I was never really obsessed with you.”

“The people at my school think otherwise!” says Bobby.

“Do they!?” says Lem. “Well…I wasn’t.”

“But you were always there!!” says Bobby.

“Not that often. …But I did make a pest of myself. …I wasn’t in love with you or obsessed with you though. That’s not what happened.” says Lem.

“No. You were!!!” says Bobby.

“Not really Bobby.” says Lem. “Not really.”

“Why did you try to break up my relationship with my girlfriends?” says Bobby.

“Because you were pure evil.” says Lem. “I was trying to protect them.”

“But you said it was because they weren’t good enough.” says Bobby.

“That was a lie. I knew no one would question it. Or bother me. And I didn’t give a shit what people thought of me. …You are a TERRIBLE husband?” says Lem.

“Yes.” says his ex wife who hung herself.

“Nobody lies about stuff like that in that way!!” says Bobby.

“Why not!? There’s no reason they can’t. It’s entirely possible!” says Lem.

“But you didn’t sound like you were lying!” says Bobby.

“Not true! …Lacey would have noticed. My kids would know. My sister would have known. …It was your family that couldn’t tell.” says Lem. “You’re tormenting her because you feel lied to?”

“Yes.” says a reader.

“Well there’s nothing I can do about it. …And I’m working on killing her.” says Lem.

Later.

“I wasn’t toxic. I am her twin flame, as you call it. And she’s starting her life after death early.” says Lem.