22
Asplinter of early morning sunlight wavers over the hardwood floor. Worry rolls through me like a storm cloud, black and heavy with rain. I shouldn’t be in this bed with Elijah’s arm around me, but my heart wants nothing more than to make me afool.
Closing my eyes, I chew at my lip and exhale. Here I am, sick that I feel more passion in one stroke of this man’s hand than in all the combined kisses of alifetime.
I agreed to let people watch us, and while you’d think that’s what bothers me most about last night, it isn’t. He said he wanted to fuck me, and when a man like Elijah Banks fucks a woman, he tears her in two, limb from limb. But I’m still in one piece. What we did was make love behind the guise of taboo whispers.I’d give up everything for you if I could.His words echo through my mind, along with the ghost of histouch.
This is so messedup.
My heart beats erratically in my chest. In a matter of weeks, he’s caused me to slowlyunravel.
With every day I’ve given him, I’ve offered him more power to completely obliterate me. Everything about this is irrational, impulsive, self-destructive—the very definition of love. Love is the one thing that will never make sense. It exists whether you want it to or not. I’m falling—have fallen— in love with a man who doesn’t even know my realname.
My throat threatens to close with panic as I carefully slip out from Elijah’shold.
Elijah’s clothes are piled on the thick wool rug, and I realize my dress is somewhere in the hall. I want out of this room, out of this stranger’s house, away from the man who makes me unable tothink.
I grab his white dress shirt from the floor, slipping my arms through the sleeves. The distinct, earthy scent of his cologne surrounds me. I turn my face into the material, breathing that in while fastening the buttons. He’s going to be so hard to letgo.
With my back to the bed, I slide my heels on and stare at my reflection in the dresser mirror. If this doesn’t look like a mistake, I don’t know whatdoes.
The door is right there. I should leave. Pretend I’m Lot and Elijah is Sodom and Gomorrah, but I can’t resist the temptation to look at him once more, and against my better judgment, I turnaround.
He’s sprawled out on the bed, the sheets crumpled around his waist. A sharp tug forms in my chest, begging me to lie down next to him and curl into his side. I want to comb my fingers through his messy hair, trace the maze of tattoos on hisarms.
I fight a swarm of emotions while trying to burn him into my memory. Once I’m satisfied that I’ll always have this moment where I can say I took a risk, that I didn’t play it safe, I quietly slip out of theroom.
_____
My mind is stillin a fog by the time I reach the York Street Station. I move against the flow coming up from the tunnel, lost in my thoughts, only half aware that I’m in nothing but a man’s button up and a pair of blackstilettos.
I can’t possibly love him.That’s insane. Foolish. Love is something that should taketime.
I wait on the platform, trying to recall the moment I knew I was in love with Harold. I chew at my lip, my eyes trained on the trash laying on the empty track as I sort through those filed away memories. But, try as I may, I can’t recall everknowing. I can’t remember craving Harold’s company. He was just…comfortable. After a while, I assumed that was what love was—comfortable.
“Shit,” Iwhisper.
The ear-splitting screech of metal on metal fills the tunnel as the train brakes, sending hot air blowing around me. I fight to keep Elijah’s dress shirt down. People file off, cell phones in hand, briefcases in tow—all giving curious glances as I blindly stumble on. It’s New York City. Out of all the crazy things you see in the subway, you wouldn’t expect a woman in a man’s dress shirt and heels to garner suchattention.
One man in a suit stands, offering me his spot. I thank him as I drop onto the orange plastic seat. Shortly after I’m settled, the doors ding and the train starts down the subway, jostling and clanging as it picks upspeed.
I loved Harold. I must have…but when I compare the way I felt about him to the way I feel about Elijah, there is a stark contrast. Elijah consumes my every thought. Being around him gives me a buzz, a high. Harold never gave me so much as a flip in my stomach until I caught him screwing thehousekeeper.
Groaning, I drag my hands down my face, wishing I could pause my racingthoughts.
Before long, the train comes to a stop. I hear the announcement: “This is a Queens-bound F-train to Jamaica-179 Street.” But I don’t get off. I keep sitting, stop afterstop.
The crowd thins out at every station, but I’m too lost in my thoughts tomove.
My entire life has been the next step. Everything has been logical. Predictable. Safe—Until Elijah. Something about him made me leap out of my perfectly constructed box. I called love at first sight bullshit, but maybe I only believed that because I was a disappointedidealist.
My phone dings with atext.
Elijah: We need totalk.
Me:Okay.
Elijah: Aroundsix?
Me:Sure.
Elijah: I’ll pick youup.
The doors chime. “Jamaica-179Street.”
Ironically, I’ve reached the end of theline.
