She looks down, picking at the hem of her silky pajama top. “I—I need you to stay with me. I’m so lonely, so scared.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You have to.” She grabs my forearm. Her blunt fingernails dig lightly into my skin, the tiny bite of pain sobering.
Frowning at where she touches me, I say, “I have given you everything you need. I cannot stay.”
“Please, Damiano.” Her grip on my arm doesn’t falter. “I miss you. Don’t you miss me?”
I try to shake her off, but she stands up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine.
“No, Alessia.” Anger spreads through me, wicked and hot. I grab her shoulders, as gently as possible, and push her down and away. “This is not acceptable.”
“You cannot push me away like that.” Her voice rises and she gestures between us. “We belong together. You are my husband. I am your wife.”
19
MADISON
Grocery shopping when I actually have money is a very different experience from what it was before. I still look at the prices of things and try to find “the deal,” but I don’t need to worry about that anymore.
I still buy the deals.
I get fresh fruits and greens to make smoothies, which reminds me of yesterday morning with sulky Seth. He’s so antagonistic. It’s like he blamed me for ruining his quiet weekend, when I’d had zero idea he would even be there.
But then at night? He had no problem watching me get myself off. And I heard that groan of satisfaction when he came.
Damiano called in the morning as promised, and he whispered filthy things to me until I was coming again on my own hand, his deep voice filling my ears. Then he apologized for not being able to drive me home.
“It’s fine,” I’d said. “I understand.”
Although I don’t, not entirely. He had time for these elaborately sexy phone calls, but he’s still dealing with an emergency?
This morning’s ride back to San Esteban was quiet and tense. Seth didn’t speak much. He asked overly formal questions about whether or not the air conditioner was on too high, or whether I needed to stop at a rest area. Otherwise, nothing. He didn’t bring up last night’s hot tub activities, so I didn’t either.
When I leave the grocery store, I’m surprised that the sun has dipped below the horizon. Was I really wandering around in there for an hour? I guess I was distracted by my thoughts of Seth and Damiano.
I put the groceries in my car and start home. A new episode of Night Walkers dropped today. I’ll eat some bread and cheese, drink some wine, and enjoy.
All by myself.
The way loneliness grabs me by the throat is swift and fierce. Shit. I resigned myself to not having real friends a long time ago. But every now and then, I think about what it would be like to watch Night Walkers with an intimate group of friends, all of us laughing at bad special effects or complaining about the hero’s savior complex or the way the love interest is taking him back yet again, after he already betrayed her twice.
Instead, I’ll be muttering into my glass of wine, “Must be some Grade A dick to go back to him again.” And nobody will laugh with me.
Would I be less lonely with roommates? Should I ask Felix and Hugo over? As soon as I ask myself the question, I know the answer is a big fat no. I’d never get them to leave.
I wonder what my fundamental flaw is. Why can’t I find or keep friends?
When I turn left off of Caro going toward Old Thirty-Three, I notice another car turn after me. Which is fine, lots of cars are probably going this direction.
But a paranoid little whisper has me making an extra turn. Just in case.
The car behind me makes the same turn.
Coincidence. Right?
I take a meandering route home, even doubling back at one point. The other car falls back farther behind me, but I can still see those headlights, taunting me. My heart speeds up and my hands get cold. I grip the steering wheel like it’s a lifeline, like if I hold it tightly enough, the other car will poof out of existence.
