Page 42 of Backslide
Disgusted with myself or maybe with life in general, I jump into the shower, lather up roughly, let the stream wash away this stupidity. Turn the water to cold plunge and refuse to give in when my mind drifts back to her pouty lips, her citrusy perfume, her smooth upper thighs peeking out the bottom of her oversized shirt.
When I climb out and the steam settles, I am resolute. I’ll go back to giving her space, which is what she wants anyway.
Once I’m dressed, I pop open the door to our common room, grabbing my key card and wallet and stuffing them in the back pocket of my jeans, so I can meet the others to head into town. I don’t check to see if Nell took the iced coffee I offered because I’m not a stalker—but she did.
And when I hear her faint voice from behind her closed door, I don’t move closer to that side of the room and strain to hear, in case she’s on the phone withhim—her fiancé. I just happen to be checking out the record collection nearby, which actually does include some pretty dope albums.
She said they just moved apartments. Did they move in together?
There’s something itching at the edge of my consciousness, something bugging me about this absentee fiancé with his journalism pedigree and stupid British name. I mean, it tracks. Don’t get me wrong. Of course she’d be with some super-cerebral political writer. That’s not surprising at all. Too busy to fly across the country to hang with her silly high school friends. That’s who—in my heart of hearts—I always figured she’d choose. Not some jock like me. Not when she was coming from an intellectual family like hers. I was always going to be an anomaly.
But still, something feels off.
I hear her murmuring, but I can’t make out most of the words.
“You can do this,” I think I hear her say.
I picture this guy nervous about some big interview. Calling her for support. Kind, fortifying words. Inside jokes. And suddenly I hate him with every fiber of my being.
“You can do this!” I hear her say again, this time with more feeling.
And then I happen to catch my reflection in a wall-mounted mirror, ear practically pressed to her door, and it is a wake-up call. What the hell am I doing? I’m suddenly aware of what a fucking clown I’m being, eavesdropping on my ex-girlfriend from high school in some hotel suite. I shake my head and step toward the main door.
But then she yelps. And it’s loud.
“Fuck… me!” she shouts. But not with enthusiasm.
And I realize maybe she’s not on the phone at all. Maybe she’s talking… to herself?
I pad back over to her door. Exhale. Knock lightly with my knuckle. “Um, Eleanor?”
There’s a rustle inside and then, “Yup?”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. Great! All good,” she says, but her voice is muffled.
“Really? ’Cause it kind of sounds like you’re talking to yourself.”
“If I am, then your participation is not required.”
“Right. But it’s a little concerning.”
“Feel free to ignore.”
“If you say so,” I say, shrugging at my reflection. “Then, I’m headed out to meet the group.”
“Great. Leave! Good riddance! Bye!”
This is not my problem. Nell made that clear. And I’m already running late, which means she is too, so I walk toward the exit of our suite and place my hand on the knob… but I can’t help but double back again.
“Nell.Eleanor. Is it possible that you maybe, just maybe, need help?”
“Not from you.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “You want me to go get Cara or Sabrina?”
There is a prolonged silence. Then a loud exhale. “Yes. But I think that’ll take too long. I don’t want to screw up Cara’s schedule. Everyone is probably already waiting on us.”
