Chapter 19
Imake it as far as the hotel bar, a bottle of water and another glass of whiskey in front of me. And then I’m wandering back into the elevator, feeling like an idiot.
I’m going to tell her who I am.
But it only takes me peeking inside the room to realize she’s asleep.
And that stops me in my tracks. While I’m frozen in place, I glance over to the desk and see my coat still hanging on the chair.
I don’t immediately move to grab it, instead, I just lean against the wall and contemplate my life decisions.
I watch her longer than I should.
She lies on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other curved over her ribs like she’s guarding something soft. The sheet has slipped halfway down her back, baring one shoulder and a stretch of her spine. Her hair spills across the pillow like ink over parchment.
I find myself matching the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
She looks peaceful.
Like she belongs in this big bed, soft blankets surrounding her.
It should be my bed, not this hotel room. I keep telling myself that, like I haven’t just made the most deliberate mistake of my entire life.
No. Not deliberate.
Stupid.
Selfish.
Fucking reckless.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t… I’m still not. That’s the problem.
I’d told myself it was for proximity. A behavioral test. Observation outside the variable set of the app. I’d keep it simple. Maybe a conversation. A few minutes of quiet confirmation that she was as human as she seemed through the screen.
But then she looked at me. That was all it took to ensnare me… The attitude she gave me was what sold my decision, though.
There was a moment when she tilted her head, staring at my mouth when I spoke, like she was already imagining how I’d sound in the dark. That could have been wishful thinking at the moment, but I don’t think it was…
And I didn’t walk away.
Of course I didn’t.
I still can’t.
Addiction doesn’t always come with warning signs.
Sometimes it walks up to you in a bar, orders something strong and amber-colored, and dares you to smile for the first time in years.
Sometimes it confesses a loneliness no one admits aloud and doesn’t flinch when you don’t try to fix it.
Sometimes… it ends up in your arms, warm and quiet, while you stand at the edge of your own disaster pretending it’s still an experiment.
I move slowly. Carefully. Like if I make too much noise, I’ll wake more than just her…
I’ll wake her doubt.
Or worse.
Mine.
I reach for my coat, watching the way her inky black hair slides off the edge of the white pillow with the slightest turn of her head. Before I leave again, for the last time, I pat my pockets, checking for my phone, then my wallet, then my keys, taking my time even though I know I shouldn’t.
I pause at the foot of the bed, wishing to trace the dip of her waist or run my fingers along her neck and cheek. I imagine that’s how I would wake her up if she were in my bed.
Her leg shifts under the sheets.
And I freeze, caught between her and the door.
She doesn’t wake. Thank god.
I can’t handle her eyes, those piercing gray orbs prying into my deepest regrets. Not tonight… Not when I still haven’t figured out what part of me wants to protect her and what part wants to own her.
Because it isn’t just lust.
This isn’t even curiosity anymore.
It’s gravity.
Inevitability.
I stand there longer than I should, memorizing details I don’t deserve to keep… The soft features of her profile, the faint bruise on her wrist where my thumb pressed too hard. I soak it all in, needing it to fuel me until the guys and I can sort out our shit.
I’m torn between hoping this means something and knowing it doesn’t.
Hope is a fickle thing I shouldn’t bet on.
No. She doesn’t even know who I am. That I’ve been cyber-stalking her…
I leave before I can test my fraying patience any further, gently clicking the door closed and checking to make sure it locks behind me. At least I know she’s safe while she’s here.
The hallway feels colder than it did minutes earlier, sterile and too bright. The kind of light that makes me aware of every flaw I just exposed, every lie I told myself while the moon was the only thing shining across us.
My phone buzzes as I reach the stairwell, and I take the deepest breath I can muster.
Whisper:
Are you with her?
I stare at the screen, contemplating another lie.
Cipher:
Not anymore.
His reply comes fast.
Whisper:
We’re all screwed, aren’t we?
I don’t argue or agree. There’s no point in trying to deny it, which is exactly what I should be doing.
But I can’t.
Because we are.
We have been since the night she typed her name into the app and asked the void if she should flirt or confess.
Hollow:
We were the second she appeared in our system.
I stop midway down the stairs, glancing back toward the stairwell door. The need to stay is clawing at my throat. But I know I should leave. It’s the right thing to do.
This was the only right decision I’ve made in weeks.
I can still see her in my head… Bare shoulders, tousled hair, eyes that can flay me open. The ghost of her stays under my skin, behind my ribs, like something I’ve buried too deep to get rid of.
I don’t breathe properly until I hit the street.
And even then, I don’t stop thinking about her.