Page 17 of Laced in Longing

I drag myself up the six flights of stairs, each step heavier than the last. Inside my door, the space feels smaller than usual as the walls press in around me. My gaze is drawn to the jar.

“Where are you?” I whisper to the empty apartment. I want to talk to him. Question his presence outside my head. Nothing happens, though. I’m alone.

But for the first time in my life, that solitude feels wrong, the emptiness of it aching like a phantom pain.

As I categorize my new crystals, the words of a woman crazier than me repeat over and over.

Not everything unseen is harmful. But not everything beautiful is safe, either.

After I’m finished, a curious calm settles over me. Whether from the crystals or simply the act of creating order from chaos, I can’t say. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

I step away from the table and wonder if they’ll be enough to keep him away.

Or if, in my secret heart, I’m hoping they won’t.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MAVEN

Restlessness crawls beneath my skin like a thousand eager spiders, each one testing the boundaries of my patience. I pace the insignificant length of my apartment—five steps in one direction, turn, five steps back—a caged animal trying to exhaust itself. The Saturday night quiet should be comforting, and instead I cannot breathe.

The hairs along my arms raise all at once, responding to a chill that isn’t present in my overheated body. A prickling awareness glides over my neck, as if someone’s watching me spiral, which is ridiculous because I’m alone. Always alone. Except in my sleep, where he waits.

But I haven’t been able to sleep today. Not since I arranged the crystals from the shop in their respective new homes. Hours of watching them flicker with the weak winter light.

Maybe I just need to get laid. It’s been, what, a year? Longer? Not since that comedian in Boston who didn’t ask questions when I said I wasn’t looking to get his number, just company for the night. He’d served his purpose. For a few hours, at least, the constant hum of emptiness had quieted under the weight of another body against mine.

I groan. Should I download a dating app? My lip curls at the thought. Sifting through profiles, hyper-edited photos, and making small talk is the perfect recipe to have me throwing my guts up from the discomfort. Besides, those apps are for people wanting connections, not just an expectation free night.

A bar, then…somewhere I can order a drink, make eye contact with someone who looks equally desperate for distraction, and be done with the whole thing before sunrise.

I’m not about to trek across the city, though. Not in this cold, and not for something as disposable as sex with a stranger, which leads me to my search. Wincing at my phone’s screen brightness, a quick search reveals three bars within walking distance, all of them with acceptable reviews. I choose the closest one—a place called The Black Door that promises ‘craft cocktails in an intimate speakeasy setting.’ Whatever. As long as they serve alcohol and attract men horny enough to overlook my general aura of misery, it’ll do.

Even a quick shower isn’t enough to relax the coiled tension in my muscles. A shadow shifts behind me through the steamed glass, and I whirl around, heart slamming against my ribs. The bathroom is empty, of course it is.

Just nerves. Brain playing tricks on me, trying its best to convince me not to leave the safety of my apartment. Well, fuck that. Everything is too much today—I need something new.

I snatch the only thing in my metaphorical closet that is acceptable for a night like this: a mid-length black dress with a low neckline and thigh-high boots. Simple and enough to draw attention. My fingers shake as I line my eyes with black, accentuating their gray.

The finished product isn’t half bad…the kind of woman who knows what she wants and refuses to be too afraid to go after it. A convincing mask for someone who has no idea what she’s doing or why she’s suddenly so eager to do it.

The bar is just around the block, which is an immeasurable blessing. Even with my heavy coat wrapped tight, cold slithers into every crevice, biting at my ears and nose. I hunch forward against the wind, regretting this decision with each step.

But turning back is impossible. The apartment that waits for me, with its crystals and dead flowers, is not something I can bear alone tonight.

The Black Door lives up to its name; a simple ebony entrance tucked between a closed bookstore and cafe. No formal sign, just the door and a nearly imperceptible brass plaque beside it etched with the bar’s name. I push my way inside, welcomed by a gust of warm air scented with a nice blend of cinnamon and citrus.

Inside, the ceiling hangs low, making the space feel both intimate and slightly claustrophobic. Vintage light fixtures cast a honey glow over wood tables and leather booths. It’s busy but not packed—groups of friends clustered around tables while a few solo patrons at the bar.

I shed my coat, draping it over my arm as I approach the bar to an open seat at the far end, settling onto the leather stool with as much grace as I can manage. The bartender, a woman with sleeves of intricate tattoos, raises an eyebrow in question.

“Gin and tonic,” I say, placing a twenty on the bar. “Double.”

She nods and prepares the drink. I scan the room, assessing potential candidates. Not the group of businessmen in the corner, laughing too hard at their own jokes. Not the guy nursing a beer at the center of the bar, wedding ring gleaming under the lights. Maybe the man two seats down, dark hair cut close to his scalp, shoulders broad enough to suggest he spends time at a gym. That one could work.

The bartender returns with my drink, placing it on a small napkin before collecting my money. The first sip burns pleasantly, and I take another, longer this time, savoring the alcohol as it warms me from the inside out.

I keep my gaze down, studying the wood grain of the bar as if it holds the secrets of the universe. This is the tricky part. I need to make myself available without looking desperate. It’s a dance I’ve performed before, but tonight my steps feel clumsy and agitated.