The clock on Dana’s bedside table said two a.m.
Two in the fucking morning and sleep wouldn’t come anywhere near her.
She rolled over in bed and squeezed her eyes shut. The minutes crawled. Hunger and thirst alternately plagued her, causing her to toss. She tried rolling onto her stomach. Whenever she couldn’t sleep, laying on her belly seemed to help. For some reason, in that position, sleep always overwhelmed her.
This time, it didn’t.
On her stomach, her cheek to the pillow, she was too conscious of the ache inside her. Laying still, her hearing muffled on one side, she became aware of her heartbeat. The steady pulse grew louder in her head, echoing in a void.
She was a vacuum. Tumbleweeds rolled around inside her, scratching the walls of her womb.
Kicking off the covers, Dana launched herself out of bed and began pacing in the dark. When she stubbed her big toe on the corner of a table, she shouted. “Fuck!” Grunting, she fell back on the loveseat opposite her bed, clutching her toe. “Fucking piece of fucked up shit. Fuck you. Fuck.You.”
Startled by her own outburst, Dana reached for the closest light stand and flicked the switch. She caught her reflection in the mirror hanging opposite.
A haunted woman stared back at her, one she didn’t recognize. Her tired eyes, so dark and lined with shadow, made her look older than her years. The lines around her mouth seemed deeper. Pain was etched in every crease.
Dana hated that woman. She hated Tommy. She hated fucking Tiffany.
He just had to go and cheat on her with a Tiffany. She’d never met a single Tiffany she liked. It started in grade two when Tiffany Atkinson pulled her hair in class, initiating a cycle of bullying. It had all gone downhill with the Tiffanys since then.
Now, as darkness put a chokehold on her room, she wanted to unburden herself.
She wanted to talk to Alex. More than anything, she craved his company.
Which wasn’t possible.
She couldn’t be that person, and certainly not after leaving his last text unanswered.
If she ran to him now, for sex or solace or whatever the hell she needed, it would be just plain wrong.
Because he wouldn’t turn her away.
Or would he?
Walking gingerly on her sore foot, Dana walked into the kitchen. She opened her fridge and reached for a bottle of spring water hiding at the back. Right next to it was half a bottle of white wine she’d forgotten. She had opened it up a few weeks ago when a friend came over for dinner and must not have finished it.
Right now, it looked eminently more drinkable than spring water.
Dana hauled the bottle out of the fridge and walked over to her sink. She didn’t bother to grab a wine glass, or even a plastic cup. She unscrewed the lid and lifted the bottle to her lips.
All at once, she remembered that first night at Covet, when she’d drunk so much she couldn’t even find her own purse.
All her breath rushed out of her lungs.
She poured the contents of the bottle out into the sink and watched the liquid disappear down the drain.
Fighting tears, she grabbed her cell phone from where it was charging on the kitchen counter.
No new messages. Of course.
Alex’s last text was still at the top of her message feed.
Alex: I hope you’re doing okay.
She wasn’t okay. In truth, she probably hadn’t been okay for a while.
Would he still care?
