Two daysbefore the beginning of the new semester, nerves are starting to kick in with a vengeance. After I quit the casino, and on Ariel’s advice, I changed my cell number and email address, cut all ties with Bastien Murray, and convinced myself that it was the only way.
Out of sight, out of mind.
At least that was the premise. Only, no one ever tells you that it doesn’t always work.
For the first few weeks, I felt torn. With his connections and the resources at his fingertips, Bash could’ve found me if he wanted to. That he didn’t come to the residence halls and recreate aPretty Womanmoment by climbing up to my window and handing me flowers was proof that I meant nothing to him. It hurt like crazy, but it should’ve been enough for me to let it go.
Only it wasn’t.
My heart, and every other part of me that remembered how it felt when he kissed me, clung stubbornly to his voice in my head.I think you’ve bewitched me.
How does someone forget that?
I never told anyone, not even Ariel—especially not Ariel—but I stood outside the Rinse too many times, battling the need to ask him directly if I was just a quick fuck. I wanted an answer to put me out of my misery, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hear it. It would’ve been too final, and I wasn’t prepared to switch off the light and lock the door behind me.
So I never went through with it.
While the door was still open, there was always a tiny glimmer of hope that he would find me one day and tell me that he felt the same way. Tell me that I was the last thing he thought about when he closed his eyes at night, and his first thought when he opened them in the morning.
But as the days turned into weeks, I was forced to accept that I was fooling myself, and perpetuating the dream was doing more harm than good.
I avoided the Rinse. I stopped scrolling through social media, my heart pitching every time his name appeared on my feed. I tried to control my heart rate whenever footsteps approached our dorm room from the corridor.
The tears kept coming though.
I spilled coffee on my T-shirt and cried.
I gave someone a lemon and poppy seed muffin instead of blueberry in the café where I now work and cried. Even though the customer was fine about it.
I saw an old couple holding hands on a bench in Central Park and cried like it was a scene fromThe Notebook.
Now, I’m so consumed by my crazy erratic emotions that I can’t eat, and the smell of coffee is making me feel nauseous. Not ideal when I work in a café.
Gagging at the mere thought of going to work, I dash into the bathroom I share with Ariel and barely make it to the toilet before I’m sick.
Panting, I sit on the floor and rest my head back against the cold wall tiles. I need to get a grip. How can I let one man have this kind of effect on me; I can barely function without feeling queasy, semester starts in two days, and Ariel has already threatened to hide my cell phone until I can prove to her that I’m over it.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and Ariel comes in without waiting for me to reply. She takes one look at me on the floor, takes a deep breath, and sits next to me.
“How are you feeling?”
“Do you want the truth or the polite answer?” I manage a small smile.
“This is me you’re talking to. Don’t sugarcoat it for me. I’ve got little brothers and sisters which means I’ve seen more puke than you’ve seen hard di?—”
“I think I get the picture.” I stop her before she can finish. I fill my lungs with air and realize that I’m trembling. “I feel like shit.”
“Uh-huh. Anything else you want to tell me?”
I roll my head against the wall to look at her. Now that I’ve been sick, the nausea is passing, but I still can’t shake this uneasiness that has been weighing me down for weeks. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know, like you might be pregnant.” She holds my gaze, and I don’t even try to look away.
“No,” I say eventually.
“No, you don’t want to tell me, or no you’re not pregnant?”
“I can’t be.” My voice has either shrunk or flushed down the toilet. I sound puny, feeble, and with it, I feel my body curling up and trying to make itself invisible.
