by Mia Asher
He spreads my legs and settles between them, entering me in one swift thrust. I let him fill me over and over again, come inside me, claim me until I can’t feel or think anymore, and I’m swallowed by darkness. Welcome it.
There’s no more music. No more laughter.
I do anything to make the pain and memories go away until there’s nothing but numbness. But it doesn’t work.
Every part of my soul cries for another man.
Oh, Sébastien …
NIGHT HAS FALLEN, but the wedding reception is just getting started.
The rich scent of roses drifts in the air, and the band’s playing a Tony Bennett oldie, the male singer crooning charmingly for the audience. The expansive lawn of the country club has been turned into a magical forest lit by twinkling lights. Part of me says, enjoy, Valentina! But I can’t bring myself to feel anything. Not one damn thing.
As I look around me, surrounded by so many people, so much exuberance, I have never felt more alone. There are times when I feel like a small fish in a vast sea, swimming against the direction of the current, unable to break free from it. And the more I fight the current, the harder it is to swim. I’m drowning, and I can do nothing but smile.
I take a sip of wine and watch the bride as she slow dances with her handsome husband, one of William’s cronies from grad school. He leans forward to whisper something in her ear while his pinky finger caresses her shoulder, and she throws her head back, laughing. It’s the perfect shot. I hope the photographer caught it. I hope they remain that happy for as long as they can …
“Hey, you,” a woman says, bumping my shoulder with hers.
I turn to look at my friend and smile naturally for the first time in what feels like a long time. “Gigi, hi.”
We kiss on the cheeks and stare at each other. “Couldn’t miss the wedding of the year,” she adds saucily.
I chuckle. “Like you would care.”
Her gaze lands on the bride and groom, her features softening. “Actually, I love weddings. Always have.” She shrugs, raising her glass to her lips and gulping some of the white wine down. “Anyway, I’d heard you were back,” Gigi says, focusing on me once again.
“Yep,” I say, popping the sound of the p. “Paris was nice, but it was time to come home.”
She raises a perfect eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” But I know. I know.
“What about, oh I don’t know…” She traces a crack on the balustrade. “A certain gorgeous French man?”
And there it is again, the pain. The kind that no amount of alcohol will soothe or make you forget. I hide it behind smiles I don’t feel, but my heart knows. It remembers every single day. And no matter how long it’s been, there are times when it hurts so much I can hardly breathe.
“We were just friends,” I say softly.
She scoffs in an unladylike manner. “Friends don’t look at each other that way, Val.”
“Please, Gigi. I’d rather not talk about it.” Suddenly cold, I fold my arms across my chest and look at the ground, dispassionately noticing green and brown stains from the grass on the bottom of my gown. “It’s all in the past.”
“Is it?” Gigi asks wisely.
Ever since I came back a month ago, I’ve thrown myself into my old life while trying to make a new one with William. Days have turned into more days and more days, and William has been true to his word. Gone are the long hours at work. The lonely nights. He showers me with love and affection every chance he gets. He’s also accepted to go to marriage therapy with me. But late at night, when my guard is down, it’s hard not to admit that it’s all a fraud.
I’m a fraud.
Sébastien is everywhere. In rainstorms. The taste of wine. I close my eyes, and he’s there waiting for me to come back to him. Lost in agony, I wish, beg, for one more glimpse of him. But I continue to hold onto this pain because it’s all I have left of Sébastien, and I would rather live in hell for the rest of my days than to let him go. It’s his memory alone that sustains me, giving me the strength to keep going in the empty vastness that is life without him.
I place my hands on the stone balustrade, still warm from being exposed to the sun all day. Raising my eyes to the sky, I try to admire the dark blanket twinkling with embedded stars. It reminds me of another evening similar to this when the night was young and a hypnotizing man invited me to dance. In that single, eternal moment life was full of magic, beautiful possibilities.
I chuckle when I really feel like crying. Bring a hand to my chest almost expecting to find a gaping hole there. I ripped my own heart out when I left him, and now there is nothing there. Nothing. Sometimes doing the right thing breaks you the most. “You know why people lie, Gigi?”
“It’s easier than facing the truth?”
I bite my lip, a rock lodged in the back of my throat. “Because sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie ever could.”
She reaches for my hand. “Val—”
“There you are,” I hear my husband say before he wraps an arm around my waist, his heat seeping in my bones. He places a soft kiss on the curve of my neck. “I’ve been looking for you, my darling.”
I give my head a tiny shake as I try to compose myself, pasting a smile for William. “Hey ... I’ve been here catching up with Gigi.”
For a few tense seconds he studies me as though he knows I’m full of shit before addressing her. “Gigi, how do you do? Long time no see.”
“William,” Gigi says, watching him with open dislike. She’s one of the few who isn’t dazzled by William and his perfect looks.
“I’m going to have to steal my wife for a moment.” He smiles at her and then focuses on me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He grips my arm, starting to guide me toward the bar. “Gigi. Great seeing you as always.”
“Let’s catch up soon, all right?” I throw the words in the air at her before following William.
“Sure, you have my number.”
I glance over my shoulder to find her gazing at us, a frown lodged between her eyebrows as she raises her hand and waves goodbye.
“Are you all right, my darling?” I hear William ask, drawing my attention back to him. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body warming me. “You seemed upset just now.”
“It’s nothing really, just a little under the weather.”
William pauses mid-step, turning toward me. Cupping the side of my face, his thumb rubs the crest of my cheek. “Would you like to go home?”
The concern in his voice unravels me. This is why I stay. Without giving my actions another thought, I turn my lips toward his palm and kiss it. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s my Val.” He smiles his most charming smile. “Come. I see my friends that I want you to meet.”
We join a small group of people. I recognize some, and William introduces me to those whom I don’t. He makes a joke. Tells an anecdote. It doesn’t matter. All eyes are on him. Eating out of the palm of his hand. You can see the women falling in love with him, and the men secretly hating him while wanting to be him.
I take in the line of his aristocratic nose, the curve of his full lips, his razor-sharp jaw and sculpted cleft chin. He’s mesmerizing. Larger than life. He runs his fingers through his longish blond locks, and memories of his hair blowing wildly in the wind the day we drove to meet his grandmother, both of us living life out loud, momentarily hold me captive. I should be happy. Elated that he’s mine. But as I stare at my husband laughing bombastically at some kind of joke, I have to keep telling myself—reminding myself—that this is what I want.
I repeat those words over and over again until I carve them on my bloody skin.
Maybe then, I’ll finally believe them.
THE HOTEL BAR IS EMPTY. Just the bartender and me. She asks if I want another one as she wipes the counter with a tablecloth, and I raise my half-empty beer bottle.
“I’m good.”
&nbs
p; But am I? I don’t even fucking know anymore.
I’m split in two. Agony and anger. I go from missing Valentina with an ache in my soul to wanting to erase her from my heart, from my head, cursing her for leaving me. I tell myself that I’ll forget her, but even those words sound empty to my ears. Her memory is my tormentor and savior.
My hell and paradise.
I focus my attention on the bottle in my hands before bringing it to my lips and taking a swig. My life was empty before her, but I was content. Satisfied. And now? My body is here. It appears whole. But there’s nothing inside. She took it all with her when she left.
The air in my lungs…
The beating of my heart…
There is only silence now where there was laughter before. Only darkness where there was once blinding hope. She showed me how beautiful life could be again, but she didn’t fucking teach me how to live without her, how to breathe without her. So I welcome the numbness, seeking—waiting for the abyss to swallow me whole. I’ve been there before, after all.
The bottle empty, I ask the bartender for one more. I drink to forget, but the more I drink, the more I remember her. The more it hurts.
Oh, Valentina … why did you have to fucking leave me, too?
As she places a new one in front of me and takes away the empty bottle, I stare at her. She’s a brunette with a friendly smile. Pretty. “Merci.”
“De rien.” When our gazes connect, she says, “A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, ‘why the long face?’”
“Good one,” I say without laughing.
She shrugs. “Thought you needed a good laugh, but I don’t think it worked.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’ve been scowling at the poor bottles in your hand this past hour, and you’re still scowling. No wonder my bar is empty,” she teases again.
“Have I been here for that long?” I ask dispassionately, noticing the tattoo of an orchid vine crawling up her arm for the first time. The image is like a visceral stab to the gut, slicing me fucking open.
“Longer.” She frowns. “Everything all right?”
Shaking my head, I pretend to smile when every part of me howls in pain. “Everything’s fine.”
“All right,” she says, doubt embedded in her gaze. “Give me a shout if you need anything else.”
Another customer arrives at that moment sitting on the other side of the bar. She goes to him to take his order, and as I watch her walk away from me, a sudden yearning for her company comes over me. Maybe talking to her will silence the taunting ghost of Valentina, and offer me a brief respite from the hell I’m drowning in.
When she makes her way back to my side, she smiles politely before going back to polishing glasses meticulously.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, peeling off the label of the beer to keep my hands busy.
“Fire away.”
I focus on the colorful array of bottles behind her, tracing back my steps that day, searching for the moment when everything went wrong.
I left Valentina standing outside her apartment, my soul and body at her feet. She had to go to work, and I had to deliver some paintings. We made plans to see each other later that night. On my way back from the gallery, I got a call from a frantic Sophie. Her babysitter had cancelled last minute, and she needed my help to watch the kids while she went to an appointment. I told her not to worry, never imagining that by the time I made it back to the apartment, Valentina would be gone.
I went looking for her. After knocking for about five minutes, I gave up, sat outside her door, and waited. I knew she would eventually come. Maybe she got stuck late at work. Sophie had mentioned she’d seen her earlier in the day and had placed a large order of arrangements. Maybe that was it. But after an hour turned into two, a bad feeling sunk its teeth around me, and no amount of excuses would shake it off. I told myself to calm down. To not worry. There was an explanation why Valentina wasn’t here yet. Before I drove myself crazy, I decided to go back to my place and wait for the next morning. I would go downstairs, and she’d be there. Everything would be all right again. It had to be.
But when I went downstairs the next morning, I didn’t find Valentina. Instead, I found a real estate agent along with a cleaning crew erasing all traces of her. Hiding behind neighborly concern, I asked the agent what had happened to Valentina. The agent told me the apartment was being put on the market again. The woman who had lived there had gone back to the United States and wasn’t planning on coming back.
I broke out into a cold sweat. She had left me without an explanation. Without even saying fucking goodbye.
And like a stupid, pathetic fuck, I waited for her to come back to me. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks. Eventually I gave up, drank heavily, and took random women to bed. Fucking harder, fucking to oblivion.
I laugh bitterly. I tried so damn hard to do the right thing by Valentina, take it at her speed. I didn’t even fuck her.
I lost her anyway.
What a fucking joke.
She was once my hope, but the love I felt for her became my prison. The spiral down was a brief relief. Yet late at night, with the smell of sex surrounding me and the taste of stale beer on my tongue, I couldn’t fool myself anymore. It wasn’t working. Nothing was. I still felt the pain. Raw. Unforgiving.
When Poppy and our unborn child died, I didn’t think I could go on without them. Sorrow, anger, disbelief, they all drove me to madness. I purposefully threw myself in danger’s way. If they couldn’t be with me, I’d join them. One day, I sat there with a knife in my hand. I was fucking done. Tired. I couldn’t handle the pain anymore. I kept thinking that it would be very easy to put an end to my pathetic, worthless life. But as I felt the sharp bite of the blade on my skin, I realized that I couldn’t do it. Poppy wouldn’t have wished for this. She would have wanted me to fight. Be the man she fell in love with.
I sought help the very same night.
Not everyone is lucky enough to get a second chance, and I did. I was gifted one in Valentina.
Or so I thought.
And no matter how low I sink in debauchery, I still can’t let go of her.
There are times, though, like right now when I try to replay the whole sequence of events. Search for a sign that Valentina was lying to me. That what we shared had been nothing but wishful thinking. It would make it so damn easy to hate her. To move on. But deep in my heart, there’s a voice screaming that what we had was real. That something happened to make her leave.
“Well?” the bartender asks, bringing me out of my reverie. “What was your question?”
Blinking repeatedly, I focus on her.
She grabs a bottle of whiskey, and pours a shot, handing me a small glass filled with liquid courage. “On the house. Now drink and then talk.”
“Cheers.” I down it, enjoying the burn as it is going down. “Thanks.” I grin ruefully. “Guess I needed that.”
She shrugs a tiny shoulder. “You pick up some tricks along the way working here. So, who is she?”
“Am I that obvious?”
She laughs. “No. Just a lucky guess.”
I slide the shot glass back and forth between my hands, avoiding meeting her gaze as I consider what and how much to tell her. I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey or her soothing presence, but I find myself opening up and unloading all of my bullshit. I tell her about Valentina and our time together, about the last morning I saw her, and how it seemed like it was finally going to work out only to come home and find her gone.
“That’s my pathetic story.” I grip my hair in my hands, wanting to pull it out. “It just doesn’t make any sense that she left without even talking to me.”
“Do you love her?”
I nod. “Fucking hopelessly.” Even if William loved her for the rest of his life, it would only be a fraction of how much I love her in one beat of my worthless heart.
“There has to be a reason why she left.” She remo
ves the empty bottle and shot glass in front of me. I notice this time she doesn’t ask me if I want another one. “Call me crazy, but there has to be more to her story. When you love someone, you just don’t up and leave without a word. Husband or not. And by what you told me, I don’t think it was an easy decision for her. There has to be a reason why she left the way she did. And if I were in your shoes, I would find out. I’d want closure.”
“But what if—” I suck in a breath, an earthquake of emotion rolling through me. “I’m fucking afraid of what I’ll find.”
“We can’t live our life in fear.” She places a hand on my forearm, the touch welcoming—fortifying. “Imagine what you could lose because of it.”
Her words bounce around me like a wrecking ball, little by little tearing down the walls I’ve erected since Valentina left. She’s right. I’ve given enough of my life to fear, letting it rule over my every decision. And I’m done.
Done.
If there’s a chance that Valentina returns my love, I will seize and fight for it.
And if …
No. I won’t allow those doubts to haunt me.
I stare at the woman standing in front of me and thank God for sending her to me. He knew I needed her.
I take out a bill large enough to cover my drinks and then some, and place it on the table. She smiles, her eyes twinkling with pleasure.
“Had enough to drink?”
“Think so.” I crack the first real smile I’ve felt in a very long time. “Thank you for everything.”
“No problem.”
I stand up, pushing the chair behind and heading toward the entrance. I’m almost past the threshold when I hear her ask, “What are you going to do now?”
I glance back. “Choose life.”