Page 29 of Shade
We’re back to time. Again. Always. But still, it’s irrelevant.
11:49 p.m. Eleven minutes to midnight and I’m in the living room, again, somehow, moved from the bathroom floor. I try beer, about the time my breathing begins to slow and the tension in my muscles start to relax.
It does nothing, so I move onto something harder. Falling back into the chair, the bottle of tequila in my hand as I watch the city below, my phone in hand as I hit the Play button on the stereo. Mumford & Son’s moves through me, a slow steady beat to a song I know well, the opening drum matching the rhythm of my heart.
Every muscle in my neck burns to turn away from the sky, focused on nothing, but I don’t look away.
Sparks burst in the night, flashes of red, blue, green, pink, the most vibrant display I’ve seen in a while.
I lean back, resting my head against the chair and close my eyes, tears falling. A flood of emotions rage through me. Pain, anger, sadness, pity, but most of all, devastation that I wasn’t there in her darkest moment. She needed me tonight, but I think the only reason she needed me was so she could let go of herself completely.
It’s when the song ends that I see a figure in the room, setting the cupcakes on the table. When I look closer, it’s Mila, the manager of the hotel. I didn’t even hear her come in the room.
I stand, swallowing over the lump in my throat and draw in a few breaths. My eyes meet hers, maybe then she’ll know I don’t want her here. This isn’t our first interaction with one another. I’ve known her for years, but I can fuckin’ guarantee she’s never seen me like this.
“Thanks.” Despite my attempt to keep my words solid and unwavering, it doesn’t work. I turn back to the window not wanting her to see the tears. “Willa will take care of you.”
I want Mila out of the room, now, and when she doesn’t leave, I glance over my shoulder at her, hoping by my glare she gets the point and leaves.
Get the fuck out.
She doesn’t.
“Sorry,” she mumbles and then I hear a bang behind me. She trips over the chair by the door. The same one Tiller got a lap dance in last night from some chick he brought up here. I told him to move the chair, but he didn’t.
“Are you okay?” I jog over to her. I may not want her here, but I don’t want her hurting herself, either.
Carefully, I reach for her, my trembling hands cradling her elbow she just smashed into the tile floor. “Should I call someone? Are you hurt?”
“Call the fire department.”
I blink. Twice. “Really?”
She sits up, her back against the wall. “No, not really. I’m fine.” She’s staring at me, wanting to ask more than I’m willing to give her, but thankfully she doesn’t press for an answer.
Probably because she knows I won’t give her one.
I sigh heavily, attempting to rid my body of the pain, but it’s no use. This feeling isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. My knee bumps hers when I sit on the floor next to her. This isn’t exactly how I assumed I’d be spending New Year’s. “Happy New Year.”
I think about kissing her. I don’t know why, but I do. Maybe it would offer me something other than the agony raging through me.
It won’t. Rhya’s face flashes in my head, but my heart doesn’t jump this time. My stomach doesn’t flip. My eyes don’t flinch, but then again, I don’t breathe either.
Until I need to.
Sighing, Mila laughs lightly, a soft sound I haven’t heard in a while. “Not exactly how I thought I’d be spending it but yeah, happy New Year, Mr. Sawyer.”
Yeah, me either.
My lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s annoyance, it’s sadness, it’s every other emotion rushing through me. I think about my dad, right then, suddenly, and the name he gave me, and the man I am now is nothing close to the image I have of him, the one of a strong man who did everything he could for his sons.
“It’s Shade, Mila. Mr. Sawyer’s my dad.” I help her up. I want her to leave, but I also don’t want to be rude to Mila of all people.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you for those.” Lie. It’s all a lie. I motion to the cupcakes with a flick of my wrist at the table.
I hand her money. I don’t know how much I give her, but I also don’t care.
