I maintain my composure, smiling through more introductions, laughing at more bad jokes, ignoring the glances at my figure. I know what they are thinking—if she's anorexic or something, if she's an actress, why isn't she thin?
They do always say that men prefer curvy women. As if I give a fuck what any of these assholes prefer. As if I give a fuck about anyone besides Luke.
I glance back at the bar. Luke is on his next drink, embracing the whole “it's my firm's party and I'll cry if I want to” mentality. Not that I can blame him. I'd kill to shed this stupid, happy expression I've plastered on my face.
Ryan never gets it. He thinks because I'm an actor, I can act happy to deal with this phony bullshit. I've tried to tell him that acting isn't pretending or lying. Acting is the opposite. It's finding truth and belief, and really being in that moment.
It's not putting on a smile and a low-cut dress to show off to your fiancé’s idiotic friends.
And, just when I think I cannot stomach another fake smile and fake conversation, I look at Luke and all the hurt in his big, brown eyes. I try to maintain my composure. I blink away a tear. I choke back a sob. But I can't manage this for long.
Ryan stares daggers at Luke. He grabs my wrist and pulls me aside. He slips two little, white pills into my hands—another dose of Ativan. “I know it hurts, but it was just a fling,” he says. “You'll get over it without causing a scene at my party.”
***
In the bathroom, I wash away any signs of my misery. Cold water to dull the redness on my face. Toilet paper to wash away my running makeup. A fresh coat of eyeliner and mascara.
The Ativan feels so light in my hands. I know it will calm me down. I know it will shut down every feeling in my body, until I am a comfortable numb. I know Ryan wants me to be good, to be quiet, to avoid making a scene.
I know Ryan wants me to take it.
His mentality is idiotic. If I try to numb myself with alcohol or food, I'm self-destructive. But if he deems me too emotional, then he's free to suggest a dose of drugs to ease my anxiety.
I'm not anxious. I'm miserable because I hate him.
I crush the Ativan between my hands. The paste sticks to my wet fingers, but I wash my hands, over and over again, until every bit of residue is gone.
Do I really need another way to numb myself? It used to be food. I tried so hard to be good, to stick to my diet, to maintain my perfect actress frame. I tried so hard, but I was weak, and I was empty.
And I was vacuous, because there was no room in my mind for anything but fantasies of my next binge. Sure, for the hours I spent binging and purging, I didn't feel any hurt, or anger, or rejection. I didn’t feel anything except hatred for my stupid, pathetic failure.
I used to think Ryan rescued me. He got me into treatment. He forced me to follow a plan. He watched over me. He took care of me. He loved me.
But then why has the last year felt like a prison sentence? Why did I let my life slide into nothing but waiting for Ryan? I used to have hobbies. I used to have friends. I used to be a part of the world.
I used to feel things, amazing things I didn't want to numb.
Like I do with Luke.
Or, like I did.
I used to think Ryan saved my life.
But maybe he destroyed it.
***
Luke is still at the party, looking as miserable as I feel. I try to come up with an excuse for my behavior, anything I can tell him to earn his forgiveness, but I have nothing. I have nothing to offer him. I have nothing to offer myself.
I watch Ryan make the rounds, laughing and schmoozing and finishing glass after glass. Maybe I should have taken the Ativan. Maybe all I need is a few hours of drug-induced calm to convince me I can handle a life with Ryan.
But that isn't what I want.
I watch Luke take a seat in the corner of the restaurant, sipping another skinny margarita. I want so badly to see his face light up, to do something to wipe away the misery I caused. He should leave. How could all this be worth it for Luke? What does he really get out of the firm? What does he really get out of being around me?
But, still, he's here. He must be here for a reason.
Deep breath. I make my way towards Luke. He tries to look away, but his eyes stay on mine. I can't find the right words to explain all this. I can't find the right words to make this up to him.
So, all I say is, “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” I move closer to him, until I can feel the warmth of his body.
“Alyssa, don't…” he says, but he doesn't stop me from pulling him into a hug. “You made your decision,” he says, pushing me away ever so gently. I guess that's what I deserve.
I take a deep breath. I need to keep my voice steady. To keep my breath steady. I can't cry or scream. I can't show how much this hurts.
And then I feel Ryan's hands on my waist, a tight grip that can only mean she's mine. He takes my left hand as if to show off my engagement ring. His stupid move works, and Luke's eyes dart to my adorned ring finger. Then, his eyes connect with mine. I'm not sure what passes between us. It hurts to have him look at me like that, like I'm the one who did this, like I'm the one who broke his heart. It's not angry or accusatory. It's sad.
“You're bringing down the mood,” Ryan says.
“I asked you not to bring Alyssa.”
“She's my fiancée. I'm not going to leave her at home.”
“I'll leave,” I say. “It's not like I want to be here.”
“You're not leaving.”
“Let her go,” Luke says.
“Why? Because you're both hurt over your fucked up affair?” Ryan asks. I bite my lip. There's no way to respond to that without angering Ryan.
“I don't feel well,” I say.
“You've both done enough to stick a giant middle finger in my face. If you can't handle being around each other, that's your problem,” Ryan says.
“You can't boss me around. We're partners,” Luke says, and he looks at me as if to underscore his implication. Ryan and I may be engaged, but we are absolutely not partners.
“Then go. But do it quietly. This is for the firm,” Ryan says. He turns to me. “Don't pretend like you're tired or stressed or sick. I'm not putting up with any more lies.”
“Please,” I say. “I don't want to be here.”
“Then explain it to me. Tell me why I should let you go home? Tell me it's not because you can't handle being around the asshole you were cheating with.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“Explain it, Alyssa.”
“Ryan, please,” I say. “Just let me go home.”
“Let her go,” Luke says.
“Mind your own business,” Ryan says, and he grabs my arm, trying to pull me away. But the room is packed and there's no way for us to move without making a scene.
“I don't want to be here,” I say.
His hand tightens around my wrist. He moves closer, his hazel eyes boring into me. “I don't care if he hurt you. I don't care if seeing him makes you want to cry and scream and lock yourself in your room. I'm not going to watch you wallow in misery over another man. I'm not going to let you fuck up my life because you can't handle your mistakes. You're not leaving.”
“I am.”
“Suck it up,” he says. “There are consequences for being a whore. You're lucky your only consequences are a few hurt feelings. It could be much worse.” He pulls his hand away and straightens his suit. What are these much worse consequences Ryan mentions? Is there really any worse consequence than your fiancé having so little respect for you he drugs you and calls you a whore? What could really be worse than this?
Luke shakes his head as if to say, really, are you going to put up with that? I shake my head. I'm not. Not anymore.
“I'm not a whore,” I say.
“You fucked another man. What do you call that?”
“I'm not a whore.”
“What do you call it, Alyssa?”
“I'
m sorry I cheated on you. And I'm sorry I hid it from you. I really wish I'd told you the truth. But I'm not sorry I slept with him. I'm not sorry that I love him.”
“He's not going to take you back.”
“Maybe not.”
“He's not going to take care of you the way I do,” Ryan says.
“Good,” I say. “I don't want you to take care of me. I don't want you.”
Suddenly, I'm aware of eyes on us. Half the party is watching this conversation. All of Ryan's friends are watching this conversation.
“Keep your voice down,” he says.
“So it's okay for you to scream about how I'm a whore as long as your friends don't overhear?”
“You're mad, fine. Are you going to fuck another one of my colleagues just to prove a point? Are you going to take home the next guy who gives you a little attention?”
“I fucked him because I wanted him, not because of some attention. And I kept fucking him because he was good. No, because he was great.” I can only imagine the smug look on Luke's face. “And I spent all that time with him because I love him. I love him more than I've ever loved you.”
“You'll be dead in six months without me.”
“Better than six months with you,” I say. I pull my engagement ring off my finger and press it into his palm.
“Alyssa, stop,” he says. “We can talk about this.”
“No, we can't. We've never talked about anything. You've talked and I've listened. That's it.” I turn to the crowd, avoiding meeting any particular person’s gaze. There are too many people. I can't see Luke.
“Alyssa,” Ryan says. “You can't do this to me. You can't embarrass me like this.” I feel his arm on my wrist. I shake him off and push past the crowd.
I spot Luke on my way out the door. He's looking at me with some kind of inscrutable expression.
Maybe there's still a chance.
Chapter 36
Everything is quiet outside. The gentle waves of the marina lap against the docks. I stand on the boardwalk, my hands pressed into the cold, turquoise railing, under the soft, yellow glow of a streetlight.
It's over. Those months stuck in Ryan's apartment, convincing myself I needed him, convincing myself I loved him. No, that's not right. I did need him. I did need him to protect me, to keep me safe in the prison of his apartment, tucked away from any experience that could make me feel.
I'm free.
I'm free to chase my own life again, to pull together or fall apart on my own.
I watch the stars and moon bounce off the water. I close my eyes and open them again, to make sure I am not in a dream. I feel the air brush against my skin. I feel the metal railing on my fingertips. I feel relief flooding my body.
I am free and I am effervescent. Whenever I imagined being without Ryan, it was always him leaving me, getting tired of protecting me, realizing I didn't love him, realizing I was cheating on him. And, whenever I imagined being without Ryan, I always had a dull ache in my body. There was an empty spot that needed filling.
But now I see that Ryan was that empty spot. He was a black hole in my heart, sucking away any chance I ever had for happiness.
Maybe Ryan cared about me once. Maybe he even loved me. Or maybe he watched over me out of some misguided sense of duty.
Why didn't I do this sooner? Why didn't I listen to Luke sooner? Why did I spend so much time with someone who rooted against me?
I can see now how foolish I've been, staying with Ryan because I was afraid to fall apart. Sure, Ryan kept me from falling into my old habits, but he didn't keep me sane. He didn't make me happy. Spending the whole day in his penthouse, nothing to do but read or watch TV, was no life. I had no reason to try to get better. I had no reason to stay healthy. Sure, I followed my recovery diet. I went through my daily exercises. I even went to therapy, until I convinced Ryan to let me stop.
But I never tried. I never wanted to get better, not really. I never had a reason. Binging and purging was my only outlet, the only thing I could control. Even though I was “in recovery,” even though I hadn't purged in months, it was the only thing I looked forward to.
It worked for a while, in inpatient treatment, when I still believed I would go back to acting, when I still believed I could have a life. But once I moved into Ryan's condo and surrendered to his control, I gave up. I gave up on getting better. I gave up on keeping friends. I gave up on living my life.
Now, I have a second chance. I have a reason to get better again. I have my job.
And I have Luke.
Even if he's done with me—and, let's face it, I deserve it—I have the feelings he roused inside me. I know what it's like to feel alive again. I know what it's like to want again. I know what it's like to love.
It's not going to be easy. I've been ignoring my recovery for a long time, and I'm going to have to deal with it. I'm going to have to drag myself to therapy and suffer through the dread I feel when I go near a scoop of ice cream. It was easy to avoid binging when I followed strict rules, but I can't live my life by strict rules anymore.
I have to step out of my prison and into the world.
And I have to see if Luke will give me another chance.
I hear footsteps, but I don't turn to face them. I need to savor the possibility that it's Luke for as long as I can.
Then, he gets closer, and closer, until I can hear his breath. I turn around and my body floods with relief. I look up at Luke, his face lit by the yellow streetlamp, his expression hesitant.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“This party is a real bust.”
“What about that crazy woman who caused a big scene breaking up with her fiancé?”
He looks at my hand again, his focus on my bare ring finger.
“So that was a forever breakup?” he asks. He moves a little closer to me. His fingers graze my arm. This is a good sign, right?
“Forever,” I say. “As in, I'm forever done with Ryan.” I look at the water. Luke must have heard what I said to Ryan, but he deserves to hear it again.
“So that 'I love him' stuff…was that for his benefit or mine?” Luke asks.
“I love you,” I say. “I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry it took me so long to leave Ryan. I never realized it was an option. I thought I'd never be okay without him. But I didn't realize I wasn't okay, not really.”
My fingertips graze his hand.
“Then, you came along to rouse me from my daze and force me to feel again. And it hurt to feel so much, to feel happy and jealous and miserable all at once. It hurt to want you so much,” I say. I look up at him, into his big, brown eyes. “I understand if you don't want to give me another chance. I probably don't deserve it.”
“You don't,” he says.
“Oh.”
“And I'd be smart to run now, and get the hell away from you,” he says.
“I hope there's a ‘but’ coming,” I say.
“But I love you, and I'd rather be miserable with you than miserable without you.”
“I love you, too,” I say.
Luke's fingertips graze my arm. He leans towards me, his body pressed against mine, his lips pressed against mine and I feel it again, the electricity, the fireworks, the joy of being alive.
Jesus, I missed him.
His hands slide around my back, my body melting into his.
“I missed you so much,” he says.
“You read my mind.”
“No,” he says. “I know you have something much, much more illicit on your mind.”
“Pervert.”
“You love it.”
I smile. I do, I really do.
***
I wake up to a torrent of sunshine. Luke stands in front of the windows, naked, light surrounding his amazing body in a soft glow.
I suppose that's one way to roll out of bed.
He looks at me with a smile, stretching his arms above his head so I get a long, hard look at his b
ody. I start at his thick, black hair and work my way down. Big, bright eyes. Soft lips. The curve of his neck as it meets his broad shoulders. His arms, so strong and safe and comforting.
God, it's like he gets hotter every time I see him.
I brush my teeth and wash my face. I didn't manage to get all my makeup off last night, but it's close enough, and when I look in the mirror, I don't see the cheating bitch who hated herself. Okay, I see something pretty close to that, but I know I need to work on it. I know I need to change it.
Luke fixes tea in the kitchen. I actually missed stealing sips of his tea, and I don't complain about my lack of coffee. He hands me a cup—Earl Grey, with honey and almond milk—and I sip it slowly, finally allowing myself to think up all kinds of alternate uses for the honey.
“It's really not fair for you to come out here naked,” he says.
“And you're not wearing any clothes because…?” I slide my fingers across his shoulders, running them down his back and sides. God, his body feels good. And it's mine. It's all mine.
“Because I want to drive you mad with lust.”
“It's working.”
“I know. I'm very attractive,” he says.
“And humble, too.”
“I know. My humility is one of my many amazing qualities.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But, see, my dear Alyssa, the plan only works if I can somehow avoid having my way with you.”
“You're what, 35, 40?”
“Excuse you. I'm 28,” he smiles.
“Then you should have some self-control.”
“You're making it very difficult,” he says. “Standing here, naked, with that look on your face that says you want to fuck me.”
“I guess you're at an impasse,” I say. “Either you can keep driving me crazy, or you can release both of us from this frenzy of lust.”
“I can't just give in. You'll think I'm easy,” he says.
“I guess I should get dressed then. I have a lot to do today.”
“No, no, no. You aren't going anywhere today.”
“And how are we going to spend the entire day in your apartment?”
“I have a few ideas,” he says. He slides his arms around me and presses his lips into mine.
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