The texture of his skin made slick by the water.
Her fingers tracing the hollow of his throat.
She flopped over, hoping to leave her mind on the other side. But the words they’d exchanged came through like taunting ghosts.
He’d said, I’d love to continue this, but . . .
She’d said, no of course.
He’d said, it’s probably better to leave it.
She, crushed under the weight of her lies, could only agree.
Then he’d touched her scar. Simple, unencumbered, natural.
Then Blah screamed, Monster.
She opened her eye. 3:18 A.M. Unbelievable.
She flipped once more, reached compulsively for her phone, but there was no message since the one Carlos had sent hours ago: Blah had stabilized, she hadn’t needed to go to the hospital. But they’d keep the Ativan in her for a few more days. Probably best if Sewanee gave her some space.
No message from “Brock,” either.
How would she get over being someone’s–God, she’d hated the term since the first time she’d heard it from some walking jockstrap in junior high–sloppy seconds?
But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t even the right terminology. What was she trying to . . .
She’d been used. That was it, that’s what had happened. Plain and simple. She’d been used by a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He was Brock McFuckingNight. He’d appeared to her like a hero out of a Romance novel because that was precisely what he was. That’s all he was. But she? She was all too real.
Except for the lying.
“You have got to get some sleep,” she groaned out loud, parenting herself. She flipped one more time, squeezed her eye shut, and refused to open it.
3:19 A.M.
Dammit.
WHEN SEWANEE FIRST heard the knocking, it presented as church bells in the dream she was having. A foreign city, springtime sun, the vague sense of unease, as if she were late for something she couldn’t remember. But church bells shouldn’t sound so deadened, so inelegant.
She opened her eye into silence. Waited. The knocking came again. This time more of a banging.
Adaku! The ride to the airport!
She sprang out of bed, tripping over her purse from the night before, and flung herself toward the door.
The sun was full behind Adaku’s new military-short afro. “Morning!”
Sewanee brought a hand up to shield her eye. “What’s going on?” she croaked.
Adaku misinterpreted her unwelcoming tone. She grinned and stage-whispered, “Am I interrupting?”
“What?” The night rushed through her like an express train through a station stop. “Oh. No. Not at all.”
Adaku deflated. “Boo. Why?”
Sewanee tried to form words, but she couldn’t. She just stood there. Speechless. Motionless.
“Oh, babe,” Adaku murmured. “Okay, okay! Inside!”
Adaku set her on the couch, buzzed around the kitchen for a minute, and then there was a glass of water in front of Swan and a command to drink it. She did and another minute later there was a cup of coffee in front of her and her feet were in Adaku’s lap on the love seat and Adaku said, “What happened?” and Sewanee told her. Everything.
They were on their second cup of coffee by the time she was done. It was sad, and still surreal, but not quite so dire as it had seemed when Adaku arrived.
“I’m so sorry about BlahBlah,” Adaku said.
“At least she won’t remember it.”
Adaku huffed a bittersweet chuckle. “True. Now Brock on the other hand, or should I say Nick–”
Sewanee held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about him. Them.”
Adaku persisted. “Okay, but, I mean, from where I’m sitting, it seems . . . insane.” The last word came out in a giddy laugh. “One night stand turns to unwitting correspondence! That’s Fated Mates stuff–”
“More like bad Fantasy,” Sewanee interrupted, stood, and wandered into the kitchen. “Don’t romanticize it. It’s awful. Humiliating. It’s–” She saw a white paper bag on the counter. “Did you bring me a breakfast burrito from Beachwood?”
“I did,” Adaku responded from the living room.
“Aww, thank you.” She tore into the bag. “Where’s yours?”
“No can do. The only part of a burrito I can eat right now is the paper it’s wrapped in.”
Sewanee put the burrito in the microwave, shook her head, and continued talking from the kitchen. “I probably shouldn’t eat this, either, huh? Oh, you’d be proud of me, I started doing push-ups last week. I mean, I figure they’ll give me a trainer, but thank God I’m not doing the boot camp with you right now, I would not survive–” She gasped, covered her mouth. “Oh my God, A, I’m such an idiot. I left my car at Seasons last night. Shit! I’ll order us a ride, I’m so sorry–”