Page 17 of If He Hadn't Cheated
I stand there. He doesn’t move. Neither do I.
Then, for some reason I don’t understand, I walk toward him. I get in the passenger seat. We drive in silence.
His car smells like leather and exotic cologne.
I close my eyes. For a moment, I forget the world.
When he parks outside my apartment, he says nothing.
Neither do I.
I get out.
But before I close the door, I whisper, “Why now?”
He doesn’t answer. I can see in his dark eyes he is battling something I can’t name. He just looks at me like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. I shut the door. Then he drives away.
And I stand in the cold, wondering if maybe, just maybe, someone still sees the girl I used to be.
8
Idon’t remember falling asleep. I just remember the nightmares. And the sweat. And the sound of my own voice gasping in the dark like I was drowning in nothing.
I sit up fast, heart racing, breath shallow, soaked in panic. My sheets are tangled around my legs. My pillow is wet. I don’t know if it’s from tears or sweat or both.
The sun hasn’t risen yet. It’s that strange gray between night and morning where the world feels like it’s waiting to exhale. I climb out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. My hands shake as I turn on the faucet. I splash water on my face until the cold stings.
I look in the mirror and see a stranger. Eyes dull. Skin pale. Hair stringy and lifeless. In bad need of a trim. I look like I’ve been sick for years and just woke up.
I sit on the edge of the tub and press my forehead to my knees. I need to pull myself together. The silence of the apartment is louder than any club. And it’s worse now that I know someone from my past sees me.
Knox.
His name is a weight in my chest.
Why did he show up?
Why did he care?
Why did it make something in me ache in a way I didn’t expect?
I crawl back into bed and stare at the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come again.
Just numbness.
By afternoon, I’m dressed and at work early.
The Velvet Room is half-lit, quiet, almost peaceful before the storm of bodies and noise arrives. Jazz is already there, wiping down tables with her headphones in. She doesn’t see me come in, and I let her stay in that moment of peace.
I like seeing people when they don’t know they’re being watched. It’s the only time they’re real.
I go behind the bar, pull out the bottles, start organizing like my life depends on it. Maybe it does. Every motion is a distraction. A delay.
I need to stop thinking.
I make myself a mocktail, citrus and soda, something tart enough to remind me I’m still alive.
The doors open at six. The usual wave of people floods in. Loud, laughing, already half-drunk.
