“Jesus Christ,” Julian snaps.
“What?” I start, but then I see my face on the phone screen illuminated by the streetlight, and I realize what they’re both so appalled by. I look like someone who’s just been chewed up and spit out. The parts of my face that aren’t bruised are covered in dried blood or swollen beyond recognition.
“Have you been to the hospital?” he asks.
“Guys, I’m fine,” I bite back, wishing I didn’t feel so irritated by their reaction.
“You’re not in pain?” Freya asks.
“A little drunk if I’m honest.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, and I silently pray that they don’t push the issue anymore. I just want to enjoy a nice conversation with my two new favorite people, not be hounded about my bad behavior.
Thankfully, Julian takes the opportunity to crack a joke. “Looks like I’m the hotter guy now.”
I chuckle, pulling my coat tighter around me. “You always were.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
I think I catch a hint of a blush on Julian’s cheeks.
“I think you’re both equally hot,” Freya adds. “Even with your broken face.”
“Thanks, Chef.”
For the rest of my walk, the three of us talk about work and the restaurant and how excited we all are for tomorrow night. Not once do any of us bring up our expectations for tomorrow, because I think we’re all too scared to face what’s really happening here. This is about more than sex.
By the time I reach my apartment and the doorman winces at my appearance, Freya is nearly asleep. Julian is playing the piano quietly, and none of us have said anything for a few minutes. I’ve been perfectly entertained watching his face relax as he plays, staring down at the keys as if they are somehow soothing something inside him.
Freya breathes heavily, clearly asleep with her phone propped up against a pillow.
I press the button for the elevator, and it opens with a chime. As I step inside, my finger hovers over the button for my floor. I don’t know why I hesitate, but the button for the sixth floor is calling to me.
I could easily knock on his door. Let him tend to my wounds. Stare into those ocean-blue eyes and let them heal the broken parts of me. But in the end, I don’t.
Why? Because I am a mess. He is like a diamond, and I am the dirt in the mine.
When I reach my apartment, I see Julian yawn. “Get some sleep, fancy pants.”
“Are you home now?” he asks.
“I’m home.”
There’s a hint of indecision in his eyes as he stares back at me through the phone screen. It’s as if he’s thinking the same thing I am. That I’m just a few floors away from him. But I don’t want him to really see me like this.
So instead, I smile softly. “I’m gonna shower and hit the sack.”
“Okay,” he replies with disappointment. “Night, Archer.”
“Night, Julian.”
With that, I end the call and toss my phone on the counter. Pressing my palm to the edge, I let my head hang as I tell myself that after tomorrow, everything will be different. I’ll get my shit together. I’ll stop beating myself up so much. They’ll make me better. It has to work, because for the first time in my life, I want it to.
Then, with an aching pain in my shoulder and head, I walk into the bathroom and start up the shower. Wincing, I strip off my clothes and step under the hot stream of water.
My shower is slow and painful, and while it washes away the blood, sweat, and grime on my skin, it does nothing to wash away the pain and shame burrowed deepundermy skin.
Not bothering with clothes, I climb into bed on my stomach and try to fall asleep. I’m nowhere near quieting the voice in my head when my phone rings again. Picking it up off the nightstand, I see an incoming video call from Freya. Quickly, I answer, and it takes a moment for her face to pop up on the screen. It’s dark in her room, but I can still make out the soft glow of her skin from the phone’s light.
