She gets up, crossing the room with sudden energy she didn’t exhibit on the couch. “It’s set.”
Since she’s not volunteering much information, my mind wanders the corners of the worst scenarios searching for something to make sense. “You have a gambling problem, or owe someone some money?”
“No, Warner.” Her smile is gentle, matching her tone as she touches my chest. “I don’t gamble. I owe someone money but not from debts I created.”
“Then why do you owe them money?”
She stares at me like the answer is on the tip of her tongue, but she’s lost the will to voice it. “It’s complicated.”
“Money always is.” I know firsthand. Walking onto the balcony, I reach the edge and lean my left side against it. The thickly carved balusters support the smooth railing and are reminiscent of the age of the prewar building. I always liked the balance of clean lines with modern conveniences, and then Delaney brought her chaos into my orderly world, fucking it all up.
Leaning against the railing in front of me, she shakes her head as if she has any shame. “I know this is uncomfortable. Imagine how I feel having to ask.”
I chuckle, but it’s lost to the sounds of the streets so many floors below. It’s incredible how even night doesn’t bring reprieve from the hustle of the city. Not even in the form of someone I was beginning to trust. Looking into her blue eyes, the skies are gone, replaced by clouds and lies. “You want me to imagine how uncomfortable you are in this situation?”
“I know it’s not fun for you.”
“Not fun? Uncomfortable?” No humor is heard in my laughter as I walk away from her because I need space to process the absolute absurdity of this conversation.
“I’m sure I’m not the first person to ask you for money, Warner. Look at tonight.” She lifts her arm as if some great point is being laid at my feet. “You didn’t think twice about donating that same amount to a museum that makes millions each year. I’m asking?—”
“Don’t.”
Her head jerks back. When her arm falls to her side, she asks, “Don’t what?”
“Don’t assume you know what the fuck I think once or twice about.” I turn my back to her, crossing my arms over my chest, and stare down the street that cuts through the buildings. How did I let this get so out of hand? Why did I? I shake my head as regret infiltrates not only my thoughts but also my veins. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I can’t stop thinking about how foolish I was to think I could play along, and no one would get hurt. Someone always gets hurt. It’s just not typically me.
The feel of her hand on my back has me moving out of her touch. With my back still toward her, I say, “Don’t touch me and don’t ever ask me for money again.” I walk inside, leaving the door open for her.
She can enter or stay on the other side. The choice is hers—physically and metaphorically. Though I have no reason to allow this woman to remain in my life. I’m so fucking stupid for allowing myself to think I could trust her in the first place, but here I am, contemplating whether she’ll choose me or the fucking door.
Fuck me.
I walk down the hall and cut through the bedroom to the bathroom. The trash bag to protect my arm from water,and the elastic tie hang over the side of the tub. I never take baths. I was about to turn on the shower, wanting to drown out everything outside the bathroom door, but a bath would be a whole hell of a lot easier to manage on my own.
Turning the faucet, I wait until the water runs warm, then I close the stopper. Sitting on the edge of the porcelain tub, I contemplate life. Not in the grand scheme of things but the day-to-day. I still have no memory of the accident, but I remember how much I worked to avoid the emptiness of the apartment.
Am I really feeling fucking sorry for myself?
I need out of my head and to bury my thoughts, so rogue emotions don’t become a regular thing. I need to be working again. Taking a candle from the wooden stool next to the tub, I find a lighter next to the plunger under the sink. I light the wick and then set it on the counter. After squirting soap under the running water, I strip off the sweatpants and tee I had changed into when we got home from the event and step into the water before it’s too full, so I don’t send water overboard. I fill it up a little more before cutting off the water and resting my cast on the stool, so the plaster doesn’t get ruined.
Maybe a shower would have been easier, after all.
Sinking a little more, since that’s all I can between my size and the tub’s capacity, I lean my head back on the tiled wall and close my eyes. I don’t know if Delaney will still be in the apartment when I come out. I have strong doubts about how I left it, but even if she’s not physically here, she’ll remain in ways I can’t use soap to get out or sweep into a dustpan.
I could use a drink, but I’m not getting out to retrieve one. I don’t want to run into her if she’s still here, and I don’t want to be the one to have to tell her to get out. Thehints are there and not subtle enough to miss. I also don’t want to drip through the apartment, making another mess for me to clean up. She’s done a fine job of that on her own.
A knock has me sitting up. “Go away.”
“Please, Warner. Can we talk?”
“I’m good. I think enough has been said.”
She opens the door like she legitimately lives here. That happened fast. Fast is probably how she’s used to operating with her targets. Too much time leads to covers being blown. Peeking in, she says, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what exactly?”
“Sorry for asking you for money, for assuming money meant nothing to you, that you spend it without thinking, that you even have that much to spare?—‚”
