50. I Touch Myself #3
This is the point of Hell Week.
Push them to leave, see if they stay.
And it’s not like you could ever trust him now anyway.
So breathe.
He’ll see Brandon,
…and he’ll leave, like people do.
For good. 'Cause I fuck up.
I’m Allison Taylor,
all rain, thunder, and lightning,
my heart kept safe
in the eye of my storm.
I snatch the wine bottle and walk out onto the terrace. When I reach the hot tub, the skyline looks the same as any other night.
The cold is as cold as it’s been.
Everything looks normal,
except this feeling creeping inside me,
like an absence looming,
sound around me muffling,
my world slowly falling mute.
I’m not yet without him, but I can already feel the dark hole it’s creating.
Brandon turns as he slides his shirt off his back, pretty green eyes trailing down my bathing suit. “Ain’t even gonna bullshit you, this hot tub? I missed the hell outta it.
“This penthouse too.
“And, uh… yeah.”
He pauses, sliding off his boxers.
“You.”
Dick.
Brandon’s dick.
I point at it.
“Yeah, boxers stay on.
“Hell Week for me, remember?
“Don’t need you wavin’ your dick in my face.”
Brandon throws his head back with a laugh. “That’s right. Hell Week. I still got PTSD from the night I woke up and you were on the livin’ room floor starin’ at the ceilin' listenin’ to that Teddy guy with an ice cube meltin’ on your clit. Scariest shit I ever saw.”
He keeps talking, but I keep hearing phantom elevator dings. My eyes are flicking to inside the penthouse every ten seconds. My heart’s slamming so hard my chest burns.
And suddenly, I want to throw up.
I try to take in a full breath.
He lied to you, I remind myself.
He went on a date with another girl.
He’s sleeping on fifty grand
with your panties up his nose,
two phones in his pocket,
and an arrest record from his past!
You don’t know this man, Allison.
He’s probably been lying since day one.
My chest starts heaving, sweat sliding down the back of my neck even though it’s the middle of December.
Maybe he’s not who I thought he was,
but…
I can’t hurt him.
I can’t—
He can crush me,
lie to me six different ways,
but I can’t do this to him.
This will hurt him.
I think.
I glance at the clock.
3:26 a.m.
I glance back at Brandon, who’s stepping into the hot tub without his boxers. And all I can picture is the light in Andrew’s eyes,
dusk plunging into night.
Navy dimming,
dimming,
gone.
Fuck—“You gotta go.”
I set the wine bottle down,
rush around the deck,
snatching Brandon’s clothes up—
boxers,
jeans,
shirt,
shoe,
other shoe,
goddamn sock—
my hands moving faster than my brain.
He’s naked, arms up,
pale ass mooning the city.
“I changed my mind,” I say, wild-eyed, shoving his shoe into his chest. “You can’t be here. Out. Go. Elevator. Now.”
He stops with the water bubbling at his shins, confused.
“Yo—what the fuck, Baby?
“You’re freakin’ out for nothin’.
“We’re literally just chillin’.”
I pile his clothes in his arms.
He tries to step back out of the hot tub,
juggling them,
looking at me like I’m crazy.
“Grab your shit!
“Move! Brandon, MOVE!”
He stumbles backward, clutching one sneaker to his crotch. “Alli—Jesus—okay, damn! I’m goin’!”
I shove him,
herding him back into the penthouse.
He drops a sneaker in the hallway,
trips over it.
I snatch it up and shove it into his gut.
“Walk faster!” I snap, pushing him toward the elevator, then jam the button until my finger turns red.
“You’re actin’ mad weird.
“What’d I do? Can I get dressed—”
“No!” I blurt,
jamming the button harder.
A stunned laugh leaves him.
“You serious, this is wild.
“When I said scariest shit I ever saw,
“I was fuckin’ jokin’.”
The elevator pings,
and I let out an exhale.
The doors slide open—
Andrew glances up.
And everything inside me collapses.
I freeze.
He freezes.
For a handful of heartbeats,
no one moves,
no one says anything.
Andrew’s jaw goes tight,
eyes darting between me,
and the naked guy standing next to me.
All hope drains from his stare,
leaving nothing behind but flat black.
The look on his face is one that hurts.
It hurts so much that if I could move,
I would walk back out onto the terrace,
swing my legs over the barrier,
and jump from thirty floors high.
And while I’m staring into his pained eyes, I picture it, wish it, replay it, killing myself again and again in my head, jealous of the girl who hits the ground.
“Oh shit,” B says, “You gotta be one of the new Boys. Nice, nice. I’m Brandon,” He lifts his chin, shifts in place. “I’d shake your hand, but uh—” He looks down at the clothes covering his dick. “Kinda holdin’ my business together here.”
When I thought it couldn’t hurt any more, Andrew's throat dips, brow slanting as he looks at me with devastation in his eyes.
In that moment, we’re both suspended.
Like time moved on without us,
forgot us after the crash.
Then the doors automatically slide shut around him with that little ding,
taking him.
And I keep standing in his absence, staring at my distorted reflection in the silver doors,
but seeing nothing,
hearing nothing,
feeling so still
and so empty.