“Nothing.” I pause. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.
She offers a sympathetic nod. She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push it. How can I condense years of feelings into words? How do you explain the constant prickling of anxiety under your skin, or the feeling that your world is one bad moment away from collapsing? How do I explain that I slept on a cold tile floor last night because even though I checked the door three times, I still convinced myself that I imagined the click of the lock? Or that I spent the night listening for any slight shuffle in my apartment, and every time the pipes gurgled, I’d already mapped out the worst-case scenario for the imagined threat?
Some things are easier left unsaid.
We both kick back, resting on our palms as we let the midday sun seep into our bones. Enjoying a rare warm moment before the dead of winter hits.
“I saw Nathan yesterday,” I offer, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
She sits up, her eyes narrow. “Where?”
“At Steve’s Spinners. He said he was planning a surprise for you, and I shouldn’t say anything,” I reply tentatively, not wanting to ruin the moment just in case he surprised her.
“That asshole,” she mumbles under her breath. “No, he didn’t fucking surprise me, and hestillhasn’t called me back.” Her chest rises and falls as her jaw tightens, the muscle tickingunder her skin. She’s angry, and not one ounce of me blames her.
“I’m sorry, Harp,” I say, resting my hand on her knee in support.
“He probably didn’t want you to tell me because he’s seeing someone else. Which is fine, we were never official. But what slimeball doesn’t call someone and then acts like nothing’s wrong?” The question is rhetorical, but I feel the need to say something anyway.
“He doesn’t deserve you.” I give her thigh a gentle squeeze. “You need to get back at him somehow.”
A devious grin spreads across Harper’s face. That smile never means anything good.
“I know what we should do,”
“We?” I exclaim. “I love you, Harper, but I don’t think sleeping with me is the best way to get back at him.”
“No, silly. While I would absolutely love to show you a thing or two, that will have to wait until we’re both widowed at ninety years old in our nursing homes,” she says, giving me a playful shove. “I know this club downtown. NINE. It’s a sex club. Nathan and I went a few times.”
She says it so casually, like she’s talking about a new Italian restaurant that’s opened downtown. I can’t stop my eyes from widening. Not really sure where she’s going with this, but my mind is wandering.
“You don’thaveto have sex at the sex club,” she says, noting the look on my face. “It’s just a place where sexcanhappen.”
We notice two teenage boys peering over the fence at our conversation, their eyes wide with bewilderment.
“Didn’t your parents tell you never to listen to private conversations?” Harper asks them, and their eyes grow impossibly wider. “Run on home now. I’m sure it’s past your curfew.”
They drop from the fence, and we listen to their frantic footsteps and giggles as they fade into the distance. Harper turns back to me as if nothing happened.
“Look, I’ve had a shitty week. Judging by your deathly pallor, you’vealsohad a shitty week. Let’s go let off some steam and dance. Nothing else needs to happen.”
“You’re doing this because you know Nathan might be there?” I ask carefully, watching her features.
“Maybe,” she says after a beat of silence.
“I can’t,” I reply.
She quirks a brow in response.
“I’m seeing someone.”
Am I seeing someone? We haven’t even had that conversation yet. My palms grow sweaty, so I rub them against my jeans. Am I just assuming things? I know I don’t want to fuck anyone else right now, and I know that I’ve never felt so safe with anyone either…
But does he feel the same?
“Yes, yes. Hottie with a body, Elias, who I’ve also seen there,” she adds casually, watching me out of the corner of her eye.
My stomach dips. The words settle deep and heavy in my stomach. Well, I guess that answers my question. I had a feeling I was just one of many girls, but I hoped it wasn’t true. I wanted to believe that I wasn’t. I wanted to believe I was different. Mymind betrays me and wanders back to his office, the last time I saw him. The way his hand felt against my thigh and how his beard felt against my most sensitive part. Has he been doing that with other women? Sure, you don’t have to have sex at a sex club, but what the fuck else was he doing there? Watching? Waiting? Touching someone else the way he touched me?