Chapter 39 #2
My body reacts before my mind can catch up: my fingers go cold and the sound around me warps, until all I can hear is the sudden rush of my own pulse.
What the fuck is he doing here all the way from Seattle?
The last time I saw him, his hands were on me after I told him not to touch me.
The memory flashes through me so violently that my stomach twists.
I’d had enough of the messages and the fake apologies, so I blocked his number and his profile on every platform. I erased him from every digital doorway I could think of and told myself that was the end of it.
But men like Markell have a way of showing up where they’re least wanted.
“Tiana?” Alana says, her smile fading. “You okay?”
I blink, realizing I have stopped laughing, stopped breathing, possibly stopped being a functional person altogether.
“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Sorry. I just need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh, it’s inside, down the hall to the left.”
“Perfect. Thanks.”
I turn before Markell can look my way. My heels click against the floor as I cross the rooftop and slip inside the building.
The air here is cooler, scented with expensive candles and perfume.
I pass a couple taking selfies near a neon sign, a woman touching up her lipstick in the reflection of a framed print, two men laughing near the coat check.
When I reach the bathroom, my hands are shaking.
I push through the door and find it mercifully empty. I lock myself in the last stall anyway, lowering the lid so I can sit before my legs decide to betray me.
For a few seconds, I just breathe. Or try to.
It stays tight and shallow, my heart kicking against my ribs like it wants out of my body.
I pull my phone from my clutch with unsteady fingers and stare at the screen. I don’t know who to text.
My sister would answer, but she doesn’t know everything. She knows Markell and I ended badly. But she doesn’t know about that night, and I can’t explain all of that from a bathroom stall miles away.
Griffin would answer too, and the thought of his name sends a different kind of ache through me.
And then there is @built2last. The stranger who has somehow become a constant presence in my life.
@tianawithlove
hypothetically, if someone you really didn’t want to see was suddenly at the same party as you, what’s the least dramatic way to not lose your mind in a bathroom?
I stare at the message after I send it.
The response comes almost immediately.
@built2last
Is everything okay?
My throat tightens. Of course he catches the part under the joke.
@tianawithlove
technically yes. there’s someone here I don’t want to see.
The typing bubble appears.
@built2last
Are you safe right now?
@tianawithlove
yes. I’m in the bathroom.
@built2last
Alone?
@tianawithlove
yes.
@built2last
Where is Renee?
@tianawithlove
she’s outside somewhere.
@built2last
Text her. Tell her where you are.
@tianawithlove
I switch threads and text Renee.
I’m in the bathroom. I’m okay but can you come find me when you can?
I exhale for what feels like the first time in five minutes and go back to Instagram.
@tianawithlove
texted her. happy?
@built2last
Not the word I’d use, but yes.
Something in my chest softens despite the panic still crawling under my skin.
@tianawithlove
it’s not like I’m in danger.
There is a pause before he responds.
@built2last
You don’t have to be in danger to want backup.
I press my knuckles to my mouth.
@tianawithlove
I hate that he still gets a reaction out of me.
@built2last
Who is “he”?
My fingers freeze above the screen. He doesn’t know what happened.
I almost type Markell’s name and explain the way he touched me, the harassment afterward, the blocking, the disgust that followed me around like a second skin.
But the bathroom door opens.
I jolt so hard my phone nearly slips from my hand.
“Tiana?” Renee’s voice cuts through the bathroom.
I unlock the stall and step out.
The second she sees my face, hers changes.
“Oh, honey,” she says, striding toward me. “What happened?”
I shake my head, because if she keeps using that soft tone, I might cry, and I refuse to ruin my makeup for Markell. “My ex is here.”
“The ex?” I nod.
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you want to leave?”
The answer should be easy: Yes. But then I think about the shoot, the contacts I’m supposed to make, and the fact that I have spent years trying to build something. I refuse letting a man take space from me.
My jaw tightens. “No.”
Renee’s eyes search mine. “You don’t have to prove anything by staying.”
“I know.”
My phone buzzes again in my hand and I look down.
@built2last
Still with me?
I don’t answer as Renee reaches for my hand and squeezes.
“We can leave right now. We can also go back out there together, get your things, say goodbye to who matters, and leave after. Or we can find a corner far away from him and let me glare at him until he understands death is possible through telepathy.”
I stare at her, then let out an almost-laugh.
My reflection in the mirror still looks a little pale, but my eyes are clearer now, my spine straighter, my hands steadier.
I can handle this.
I breathe in slowly through my nose. “I’m good, Ren.”
She loops her arm through mine. “Ready then?”
Not really, but I lift my chin anyway. “Yeah, let’s go.”