Page 70 of Omega Artist
I thoughtI’d never recover and would revisit my old habits to cope with the loss. The bottles of wine that Aliénor left behind in the Hamptons were damn tempting, and I contemplated giving in on several occasions. Every single time, I sprinted to the bathroom to indulge in a freezing shower while jacking off to the memories of our sexual encounters.
By the end of Chloe’s birthday weekend, I had a gut feeling that my French obsession had blocked me, told my friends that she unexpectedly had to return to Paris to attend to a pressing matter, and convinced myself that she’d made a fair point about us failing to keep this casual. For all I knew, all of these could be accurate.
I considered deleting my social media accounts altogether, but Alie’s clever advice had increased my visibility, my clientele, and my income in a short amount of time. It would have been foolish to throw everything away, and the same applied to my typical hookup app. I didn’t need it anymore and considered deleting it, but the thought of keeping the option, like I had before Alie, was far too tempting.
After a while, when my friends would inquire about Alie, I became a broken record. Swearing that Alie and I didn’t have a fight. Repeating that Alie and I agreed to keep this relationship casual. Claiming that Alie and I knew it came with an expiration date.
And after all, none of this was a lie, right? Skirting Chloe’s questions when she innocently asked if I’d heard from Alie was a dick move, but I couldn’t bring myself to confess how things ended between us. I’m still too upset to process it.
I fucking miss her beautiful and eager body. I fucking miss her smart and talented mouth. I fucking miss her… Naturally, I refuse to bare that to anyone. I don’t need to witness their fleeting pity-filled glances. Not again. So I’m keeping busy.
I owe it to myself to move on. Denying the impact that Alie had on my life would have been stupid, but dwelling on where I fucked up wouldn’t inspire me to become a better version of myself. Instead, I buried myself in work because that’s how I roll.
“I’d have expected at least a lisp to make fun of, man.”
“You wish, fucker!” I stick my recently pierced tongue out at Lucas and roll the barbell with my teeth. “Claire’s work is impeccable, and that guarantees no speech impediment.” Another Sunday night at Mike and Troy’s packed bar. Another seltzer-fueled night with my friends. Another swamped week at work easily gone by.
“The ladies will enjoy his latest accessory, I’m sure.”
“I hear you, Claire. Tig doesn’t have enough stamina to please women and needs enhancements to compete.”
I smack Lucas’s bulging bicep, and he chuckles. “Oh, damn, it’s a sausage fest in here. I need some fresh air…”
I lumber over to the bar to meet Troy while waiting for Marco and Leroy to arrive. We make small talk, and he soon informs Lucy, the other bartender, that he’s taking a break, so I follow him outside.
When he asked me to be his best man, I was both surprised and touched. I can’t deny that his wedding brought us much closer. He’s been flashing depleted looks my way since I set foot in his bar. On the outside, he remains a cool and amiable guy to his patrons, but I know him well enough to see that something’s bothering him. I have no doubt that he misses his husband who’s in Florida with Eileen and her new love interest.
Unease settles in as we stare at one another in silence for a long while. “I promised that I wouldn’t say anything, but…” His inability to finish his sentence, delivered in a strained voice, increases my sense of dread. My friend clears his throat. Tense face. Stiff body. Foot stamping the pavement.
“Man, speak up! What’s the matter?” My hand lands on his shoulder. “I’m here to help, so spill the beans and tell me what’s wrong for fuck’s sake.”
Very subtle, Tig. Good job!
He mumbles some incoherent words. He shoots some frustrated glances. He mutters some chosen expletives. “I can’t keep my mouth shut!” He grabs his phone from his back pocket and fumbles with it, balancing his weight from one foot to the other.
“Does this have to do with Mike?” I ask, alarmed.
At last, he peers my way. “Yes, it has to do with Mike.”
“Shit! Did you guys break up and that’s why he left?”
He doesn’t answer and instead flashes the screen in front of my eyes, too close to see properly. “You know how Mike and Alie bonded right away?” I nod approvingly, tapping my foot on the side of the building. “Well, my stubborn husband couldn’t get a hold of her and she wouldn’t answer Eileen either, so he—”
I cut him off and my shoulders instantly slump when I hear her name. “What about Alie?” My cock stirs when I acknowledge that I haven’t seen her in twenty-three days. Twenty-three excruciatingly lonely days. Twenty-three ridiculously meaningless days.
“Mike made me swear not to tell you.” His nervousness increases as the rushed words tumble out of his mouth. “Well… since he’s not here!” He hands me his phone. In a flash, my surroundings vanish and there’s just Troy, me, and his damn phone.
One. I stare at the screen. Two. I gawk at the screen. Three. I curse at the screen.
Her blog. Her mission. Her words. “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World… But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl…”
A girl, who lured me in the name of proving a point. A girl, who used me as a scapegoat. A girl, who ran from me after I opened up to her. The sickening thing is that I’m not ashamed of uttering those words. The funny thing is that my assertion about my commitment phobia was all too real at the time. The odd thing is that I unknowingly crossed that line, and so did Alie, I believe.
My rage seethes, and the back of my neck itches. I rub it with my free hand, failing to relax. I feel the weight of Troy’s stare, but he somehow disappeared from my line of sight. There’s just me and his fucking phone. There’s just me and her painful revelations. There’s just me and our pseudo relationship.
Did you ditch me because you got caught in your own game or were you calculating and dishonest from the get-go? Fuck, I miss you. Tell me you miss me, too.
“You told her that you loved her, and she split, is that it?” His question tears me from my inner conflict. I nod.
