5. Egypt
EGYPT
T he silk ties were still wrapped around my wrists.
Loose now, but still knotted, the fabric warm against my skin from how long they'd been holding me in place. I didn’t even remember closing my eyes at first. Just remembered the sound of Nasseem’s breathing; slow, heavy, right on top of me.
He laid on my stomach, the weight of him grounding me.
One hand on my thigh. His chest rising and falling with mine.
Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to.
For once, it wasn’t about the friction, the rush, the need to get off.
It was about something else. Something slower, much deeper.
I didn’t know what name to give it, but I felt it.
I felt him. I felt his chest pressed into mine, his head buried between my shoulder blades, like he was listening to my heartbeat, like it soothed him. And maybe… it did.
His fingers reached up, loosened the silk ties around my wrists one by one.
No words. No eye contact. Just his hands, gentle and careful.
He untied me like I was fragile. But the moment the ties dropped onto the bed beside me, he didn’t move far.
He slid right back between my thighs, wrapped his arms around my waist, and laid on top of me again, his skin melting into mine like he couldn’t get close enough.
I should’ve moved. I should’ve gotten up like I always did.
But I didn’t. Instead, I used one hand and ran my fingers through his curls the other traced back and forth along his back.
I soothed him, and just...held him. And he let me, no resistance, no cocky remark.
He just wrapped his arms tighter around my waist and exhaled.
Like whatever storm he was holding inside had finally settled.
Maybe it was because I could feel he needed this. Maybe it was because, for the first time, I needed it too. But I closed my eyes, let myself go, let him stay. And for the first time since this whole twisted thing began…I fell asleep in Nasseem’s arms.
When I woke, I was warm, wrapped in silk sheets, tucked under the covers, body sore in the best way. But the spot beside me was empty. There was no sound, no movement, no scent of him on the pillow next to mine. He was just…gone.
I sat up slow, blinked in the low light still glowing overhead. He’d left the room and left me. After everything that happened between us tonight, after I let him in deeper than I ever intended, he walked out like it was nothing, like I was nothing.
I climbed out of the bed slowly, jaw clenched. Didn’t even bother with the shower in the private bathroom. Just wiped myself down, got dressed, tied my hair back, and grabbed my phone. There was still no message and still no call from him.
Bet.
I walked out of Room 34 without looking back. It was the walk of shame, and I felt every damn step of it. The main lounge was mostly empty now, just a few stragglers in corners, tangled and drunk off desire. Mason gave me a nod from the bar, but I didn’t stop.
The sky was cracked open in soft blues and pinks when I walked outside—sun barely rising. I slid into my car, turned on the ignition, and stared straight ahead. My stomach was tight. My chest hotter than it should’ve been. Anger bubbling beneath my ribs. Not because he left, but because I stayed.
I knew better. I told myself this would be the last time. That I’d end it after tonight. But the moment I saw his face at the bar, all that resolve melted like it didn’t even exist. But I wouldn’t let it happen again. Never again.
The water scalded my skin, but I didn’t move.
I let it. I let the heat sting. Let it burn away everything I didn’t want to feel.
I stood still, hands pressed flat to the tile wall, head bowed beneath the spray.
My hair was already tied up, bonnet securely in place so the water trailed down my neck, my shoulders, my back—soothing the places he touched like it was supposed to cleanse me of him.
But it didn’t. It just reminded me of every place his hands had been.
My wrists ached from the ties. Not in a painful way—but in the way that lingered.
Like he was still holding me, like we were still in that room.
But we weren’t. He left me when I had been vulnerable and opted to stay with him.
There was no note, no whisper. No kiss to the shoulder. No “see you later.” He was just… gone.
And the worst part is I knew better. I knew not to stay. I knew the rules because I was the one who made them. I had insisted on no sleepovers, no soft moments, and no feelings. We were supposed to fuck and forget.
But last night was different. He’d held me.
Really held me. Like he needed it, like he needed me.
I felt his heartbeat pressed to my chest. Felt the way his breath synced with mine.
He didn’t say a word, but his body had spoken loud as hell.
And I believed it. I let myself believe, just for a moment, that maybe there was more there.
But maybe I was just lonely, or tired, or desperate for something that felt like real connection.
I pressed my forehead against the tile and let the tears fall silently, but only just a few.
Tears I wouldn’t let him see. Hell tears I barely let myself feel.
I wasn’t even mad at him. Not really. I was mad at me.
For opening the door when I told myself I wouldn’t.
For giving in again. For thinking this time would be different.
Maybe this was God saving me from myself. Maybe Nasseem leaving before the sun came up was the universe putting a period on the end of something I should’ve stopped months ago. Maybe it was God telling me to “ Let it go, Egypt. You saw what you needed to see .”
I pushed off the wall, reached for my lavender body wash, and scrubbed harder than necessary. I washed him off my skin. I washed the tears off my face and washed away the night I never should’ve stayed for.
By the time I stepped out and wiped down the mirror, my face looked calm again; empty. Like always. But my chest was still cracked open. And this time, I wouldn’t be the one to reach for the glue.
I got dressed in a pair of leggings and a cropped hoodie along with some thick socks and Air Jordan 1s. I grabbed my purse and phone seeing that Nas still hadn’t reached out, so I took it upon myself to reach out to him with one last text.
Me: We’re done Nasseem. We can go back to being frenemies. That’s all I got left for you.
Then I blocked his number and didn’t give myself time or space to reconsider.
I slid my sunglasses lower on my nose and shuffled forward in line, heart still hammering from the silent rage I hadn’t let go of.
I wasn’t even awake enough to be outside, but I needed caffeine if I was going to survive a full day on set.
They called my name, or so I thought. I grabbed the drink, pulled the lid off, and took a sip instantly knowing it was the wrong order.
“Excuse me,” a smooth baritone voice called from behind me. “I think you just jacked my order.”
I turned, about to be on the defense, and stopped mid-eye-roll.
Damn. He was tall, like very-tall, and suited up. Chocolate brown complexion, tapered cut, black-rimmed glasses, and a perfectly tailored gray suit. He looked like the type who didn’t break a sweat under pressure, didn’t raise his voice when he argued, and probably had an 850 credit score.
“My bad,” I muttered, licking foam off my top lip. “You sure this yours?”
He smirked. “Unless you’re also Marcus who drinks oat milk cappuccinos with cinnamon and three pumps of vanilla?”
I smiled a little. “I’m not. But now I’m questioning my own order.”
He reached for the cup gently, fingers grazing mine. “No worries. Coffee thieves are welcome if they look like you.”
“Smooth,” I said, amused.
“Thank you. I try.”
We stood in a light silence as I waited for my actual drink. “You work around here?” I asked, more curious than I expected to be.
He nodded toward the glass building next door. “I’m at Pemberton & Chase. Investment banking. I’m on my early morning grind.”
“Fancy.”
“You? It’s pretty early in the day.”
“I’m in entertainment,” I said vaguely. “An actress, on my way to set.”
He tilted his head. “Anything I’d know?”
I smiled behind my cup. “Doubt it. I’m just a minor actress trying to make a name for myself.”
“Well, Miss Minor Actress,” he said, extending a hand, “I’m Marcus Pemberton.”
“Egypt,” I replied, shaking his hand. No last name and he didn’t ask. I liked that.
My name was finally called, and he walked with me out the door, both of us sipping our coffees.
“You ever do regular people stuff?” he asked. “Like dinner?”
“I do. Sometimes.”
“Wanna make that sometimes… tomorrow?”
I paused, looking him over. He was clean, calm, safe. And definitely not Nasseem, looked like the complete opposite in fact.
“Sure,” I said. “Dinner sounds nice.”
We exchanged info then he walked me to my car, opened the door and smiled like a gentleman. Maybe this was the kind of man I needed.
I made it to set not long after, pulling into my parking spot and getting out with an extra pep in my step. I don’t know why Marcus inviting me to dinner had me so giddy, or maybe it was hope. Hope that I could actually be on the right path now that I had let go of a major distraction.
“Why are you cheesin’?” Serenity asked, tossing a robe over her costume as soon as I entered the makeup trailer.
“I met somebody,” I replied, settling into my chair.
Averi’s eyes widened. “Wait—you met somebody? A new body?”
I smirked. “Just a regular dude. No tattoos, no gym-rat tendencies. Wears a suit and everything.”
Serenity gasped. “You met a man-man!”
“Girl yes and he was fine, smelled good and listen, I’m just tryna do things different,” I said. “And we’re going to dinner tomorrow.”