“Depends. Are you feeling okay? I had the doctor check on you, and he reported everything was well, but you seemed like you were still feeling sick this morning.”
“I’m feeling much better now. I think the nausea was just a one-off.” She responds. I narrow my eyes a little, debating whether she’s telling the truth, but I ultimately end up nodding and grabbing the keys from the counter.
As we prepare to leave, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m making a mistake letting her go. But I also know I can’t keep her here against her will—not yet, anyway. Not until she wants to stay on her own. And she will want to stay. I’ll make sure of it.
Cassandra
My heeled boots from last night look absolutely ridiculous paired with the rolled-up sweats Mikhail let me wear, but stepping into the icy morning air, I’m more grateful than ever for the borrowed layers. At least no one will recognize me, I guess. Before we left, Mikhail wrapped me up in a huge black North Face puffer, which I now happily curl into, a steady barrier against the biting wind. Luckily, we don’t have to walk far; a dark SUV is already waiting for us across the sidewalk from the building’s lobby.
Since I had barely remembered the trip up to his apartment last night, taking the elevator down with him feels surreal. Was I really that out of it? The lobby, for one, is way bigger than I expected, and an entire staff of security guards seems positioned at every single entrance. It helps that I’m actually right side up this time, though maybe the fact that I’m no longer drugged into a vegetable state helps just a tiny bit too.
Mikhail opens the passenger door to let me in, but I have to literally heave myself up to the platform since the stupid thing is elevated a billion feet off the ground.
Of course, it’s built like a tank.
It’s obviously made for the overgrown, ate-too-many-wheaties men that Mikhail likes to employ, if Ivan and the security team are any indication. What kind of life does this guy live that requires this level of security? I shoot him a glare as he stifles a chuckle at my efforts before shutting the door and circling to the driver’s side.
The drive over is draped in uncomfortable, anticipatory silence, and I spend most of the time staring out the window at the chilled grays and blues of the city, thinking about the bizarreness of the last twenty-four hours. It’s funny how the man I practically considered the boogeyman for the past few months could turn into someone who holds so much meaning to me in the span of a night. I can’t bear the thought of our meeting becoming a hit-and-run—that dirty, dizzy secret you bury beneath your monotonous life and only take out late at night, all alone.
The clicking of the turn signal, a sharp curve down the crosswalk, and suddenly, we’re here. The only problem is, neither one of us seems to want to move. I should say something. Anything.
Finally, my shadow does move, leaning over the console to grasp my unlocked phone. I watch his fingers move across the screen, curious enough to let him without a fight. When the device is returned, a string of numbers is written into a new contact card under the name: Mikhail.
He wants to stay in touch.My face warps into a wide smile before I lean toward him and throw my arms around his neck. He tenses for a moment, then closes his limbs around me to pull me closer into the embrace.
Then I’m climbing out of the car and up the stairs of the stained brownstone, wondering how I’m supposed to explain any of this to my best friend. The one thing I’m certain of is that the truth isn’t an option. I’m not going to let her blame herself for leaving and having her own fun last night.
“I can’t believeyou had your first-ever one-night stand without me!”
Rather than telling one of my favorite people in the world that some fucker drugged me five minutes after she left me alone in a bar, I chickened out and told her I went home with a stranger. Coward.
I mean, it’s notnottrue.
Technically, I did go home with a man last night, but it was anything but a sexy experience. If only she knew what really happened. I just know that if I tell Soph the truth, she’ll take on the responsibility for what happened because she left me alone, and she just doesn’t deserve that.
“Yeah, a bit overrated if you ask me,” I say, climbing into my car for the trip back upstate.Understatement of the year.Sophia offered to drive, which is great because there’s a lingering headache throbbing between my eyes.
“Absolutely overrated, but still can be fun,” Sophia agrees, nodding along.
She continues pestering me for details the entire drive, seeming to accept my short, curt answers as the aftermath of a hangover. I guess I kind of am hungover—it’s just not from alcohol. I whip out my phone and open a browser, googling whether date rape drugs have any lasting side effects.Please let this nightmare be over.I relax a bit when I find that a single use doesn’t seem to cause any permanent harm.
When we finally arrive back at Soph’s house, I help her pull her bags from the back and give her a hug before moving over to the driver’s side. I watch her wave from her door and let herself in before starting the engine and rolling back onto the road, finally alone with my thoughts.
As I glide down the road, the sky gets darker and darker, until it completely covers the struggling warmth of the sun, and a flurry of white flakes beats down on my dashboard. The sight draws a giddy feeling in my chest, and I happily switch on the wipers and enjoy the unexpected fall of snow. Something beautiful after such an ugly night.
I pull up to my driveway and click my seatbelt off, but I don’t leave the car. Instead, I lean back in my seat to watch the blizzard in this rare moment of peace. The wipers continue, gliding rhythmically against the glass.
Should I text him? I reach for my phone resting in the cup holder and open up my newest contact.
Cassandra:
Hi. Just wanted to let you know I got home ok. Thanks again for all your help last night. I have no idea what I would’ve done without you there.
I reread the message three times before sending. Too formal? Too desperate? I sound pathetic.
Not even five seconds go by before I get a response.
Mikhail:
