Page 73 of Deeply Examined

The minute we enter the condo, West moves toward me, but I hold up my hand.

“Just…just leave me alone. I need to think. To process.” I can’t stand to look at him right now. “I’m sleeping up in my old room. Please, don’t follow.”

His face falls. A little part of me wants to go to him, to reassure him everything will be okay, but the louder part of me is still reeling. Without waiting for his answer, I wind up the spiral stairs, dragging my feet like I’m going to my execution.

My bed is just as I left it, neatly made with the nightlight shining beside it. I don’t bother turning on any other lamps. The covers are smooth and cool as I climb in and pull them over me. Once I’m lying down, all the questions I’ve been holding back come flooding in.

Why didn’t he tell me?

How could he have lied for so long?

Was this entire thing a setup? Did he plan to lure me here to his home, into his arms, or was it a series of coincidences that spiraled out of control?

The clock ticks away the hours as I toss and turn. Anxiety and insecurity gnaw at my insides, leaving me hollow. My mind replays the look on Kent’s face, his malicious glee as he exposed West’s secret. I see West’s pale expression, the truth unraveling in his silence.

By 4:30 a.m., I’ve had enough. Frustration boils over, and I fling the covers aside.

The condo is silent when I wander downstairs. The door to West’s room is partly opened, which is how he always leaves it. I’ve learned he hates to be in a closed room, although he’s never explained why. Chalk it up to one more secret he hides from me.

I peek through the crack in the door and see he’s asleep. The top of his dark hair sticks out from twisted and tangled blankets. Looks like he had a restless night as well. One muscled arm extends to the empty side of the bed where I usually sleep, like he’s reaching for me…but I’m not there.

The sight sends a pang through my heart.

For a minute, I think about going to him, crawling into bed so he can cover me with kisses, so he can soothe me, but I resist. The sting of his betrayal is too sharp.

I turn away, heading for the kitchen.Coffee, I decide. Something to occupy my hands, my mind, since I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon. As I pass the door to his private examination room, I notice it’s open. He never locks it anymore.

Nostalgia tugs at me, begs me to enter.

The lights are bright when I hit the switch, making me blink. I go to the exam table, where West has tested me, taught me, loved me in ways I never would have imagined, and trail my fingers along its surface. I’m not sure if I’ll ever lie here again.

My tears fall silently, splattering like raindrops on the upholstered surface.

The security monitors catch my eye, their screens glowing faintly in the corner. They’re always on, showing every angle of the condo. Wanting to get a closer look at the place I once called home, I sink into the padded chair, the leather creaking under me, and lean forward.

The keyboard offers five options:

Play. Stop. Rewind. Fast forward. Search.

I press rewind, sending the footage spinning back in a blur of motion. Images fly by—West pacing at the bottom of the stairs, glancing up toward my room. I slow down and watch as he takes a step forward, then retreats, repeating the motion like a man at war with himself. The timestamp says this was earlier tonight. At a slower pace, I fast forward. Hours pass, and he doesn’t leave that spot. At 3:00 a.m., he finally gives up and trudges to his room, collapsing onto the bed fully dressed.

This isn’t the comfort I was looking for.

With a sigh, I rewind further, going back days, weeks, until I find a memory. West and I are on the couch, with the fireplace casting a golden light over us. I’m laughing, holding up my romance book, teasing him about a ridiculous sex scene.

“There’s no way,” a giggling, blissfully ignorant, past version of me says. “No one can do it in that position.”

Dramatically, West tosses his own book over his shoulder. “Sounds like a challenge.”

He pulls me into his arms, his laughter infectious. We tumble onto the couch, the memory glowing with the warmth of love and lust and everything we used to be.

How I wish we could go back to being those people.

Eyes blurry, I rewind again.

This time, it’s my bedroom. It must be late because the cameras are in night vision mode, which paints the scene in muted tones. I’m asleep, my hands tucked under my cheek. Movement catches my eye, and I see him—West. He’s sitting in the armchair, watching me.

What?

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