"Really. Just... give me an hour after I get off work to get ready."
She smiles brightly, clearly thrilled that she’s won. "You're going to have fun tonight. I promise."
When I leave work and get back to my apartment, I stand in front of my closet for a long time, trying to remember who I was before all of this started. Before the gifts, before the rose, before the hand. Back when I felt like an energetic, successful, vibrant woman.
The vampire analogy returns to me. I feel drained, the vitality pulled from me, drop by drop, by a man who clearly thinks he has some claim on me. I feel like Lucy, like Mina, slowly sapped of my life force by a man too arrogant to think he could do anything but win.
Letting out a slow breath, I pull out one of my favorite dresses—a crimson red slip dress with black lace at the cleavage and hem. With my black waxed cotton jacket and velvet Docs, it’ll be the perfect 90s-styled outfit for the martini bar.
I shower, wash my hair, and put on makeup for the first time in over a week. When I look in the mirror, I almost recognize the woman staring back at me.
The bar is exactly the kind of place Claire would choose, and honestly, it’s very much my scene, too. It’s all marble and tile so shiny that I can almost see my reflection, with black accentsstanding starkly against the veined surfaces. The barstools are black velvet, and it’s packed with the usual weekend crowd: finance and tech bros in clothing that’s meant to look casual but is still obscenely expensive, women dressed similarly. Everyone is beautiful and successful-looking.
It feels normal, and a small smile makes its way onto my mouth as I spot Claire, Emma, and Jess at a high-top near the back. They wave when they see me, and I weave through the crowd toward them, hyperaware of every person I pass. Is anyone watching me? Is he here? Does he know I left my apartment?
"You look amazing!" Emma pulls me into a hug as I approach. "God, it's been forever."
"I know, I'm sorry. Work has been crazy."
"Well, you're here now. That's what matters." Jess slides a drink toward me—something vaguely pink and garnished with herbs. "Try this. It's got elderflower and gin and I don't know what else, but it's delicious. I guess if you put any drink in a martini glass, you can call it a martini."
I take a sip. It is delicious. I take another, longer sip, and feel the alcohol start to work its way through my system, loosening the knot of anxiety that's been in my chest for weeks.
The conversation takes off immediately, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else, which is good. We talk about Emma's new job, about Jess's nightmare roommate, about Claire's on-again-off-again relationship with a guy who works in advertising. Normal things. Safe things. Things that have nothing to do with stalkers or severed hands.
But I can't fully relax. Even as I laugh at Emma's story about her boss, or offer advice about Jess's roommate situation, part of me is scanning the crowd. Waiting for something to happen.
"Earth to Mara." Claire waves a hand in front of my face. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just... a lot on my mind."
"Work stuff?"
"Something like that."
She studies me for a moment, and I can see her deciding whether to push. She doesn't. "Well, tonight is about forgetting work stuff. Tonight is about having fun and maybe meeting someone cute." She nods toward the bar. "Speaking of which, that guy has been looking at you for the past ten minutes."
I follow her gaze and find a man at the bar watching me. He's handsome in a conventional way: with dark hair and eyes, clean-cut. He has a good jawline and flashes me the kind of smile that probably gets him whatever he wants.
He looks very normal. Very safe. He doesn’t look like he sends women severed hands if someone else touches them.
A part of me thinks that’s boring, and that alarms me almost as much as anything else that’s happened in the past weeks.
"Go talk to him," Claire urges, finishing off her martini.
I hesitate. "I don't think?—"
"Go. Talk. To. Him." She practically pushes me off my stool. "You need to get out there. Forget whoever that other guy is.”
The man smiles at me again. He looks nice. His hair has a light curl to it, like that new actor playing Superman. He’s very handsome, I realize.
Taking a deep breath, I slide off the velvet stool to the semi-drunk encouragement of my friends, and head over to where he’s sitting.
He's even better looking up close—tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled up in that way that shows off muscled forearms with just a hint of veininess. His smile broadens when I reach him.
“Hi.” He holds out a hand. "I'm Daniel."
I shake it. He has a good handshake, firm but not too aggressive. His palm is warm and he has callouses on hisfingertips. It makes me wonder if he has an interesting hobby, like playing guitar. “I’m Mara. Nice to meet you.”
