It was Alex.
I only had to think of his name to bring up vivid details. I thought about how his breath trembled when I touched him and his eyes dilated with desire. I couldn't forget the surprising strength in his hands as they roamed across my body.
I closed my eyes, and the memories only intensified. I tasted the saltiness of his skin on my tongue. The quiet, broken sound he made when I entered him filled my ears. He'd curled against me afterward, his breathing gradually slowing, trusting me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
"Goddammit," I whispered to the empty room.
My phone sat on the coffee table. I picked it up, opened my contacts, and scrolled to his name.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
Reach out to him. Tell him the truth.
I nearly did. Then, another thought came to mind.
No. You'll drag him down, too.
Alex deserved better than to be pulled into my mess. He'd already lost enough—his wife and the future they'd planned. He spoke of her reverently when he showed me her photograph. He was still healing and finding his way back.
I'd been selfish enough to complicate that journey with my own needs and desires.
I'm poison now. Tainted. Dangerous.
Anyone I brought closer was likely to suffer. The best thing I could do for Alex was to stay away. Let him return to his ordered, academic life without the chaos I'd brought crashing into it.
I wandered into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Stared at nothing. Closed it again.
I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels without seeing any of them. News, sitcom reruns, and a cooking show. Each image slid past without catching hold. I let it all blur together, the remote slipping from my fingers as I sank deeper into the couch.
Hours later, the whiskey bottle was empty, a defeated wreck tipped on its side near the couch.
My phone lay on the coffee table, daring me to touch it. My thumb trembled slightly as I opened my contacts and retrieved his record from the archive
Alex.
I opened a new message and stared at the blank field, waiting for the words to come.
I'm sorry.
I stared at it. Too small on its own.
I added:
You don't deserve this. You deserve better.
My finger hovered. I could hit send. I could shatter the distance between us in an instant.
Another line appeared beneath my thumbs before I thought about it:
I wish—
I stopped. What could I possibly wish that wouldn't make it worse?
That we met under different circumstances? That I'd been someone worth reaching for? That I wasn't already dragging ruin behind me wherever I went?
The blinking cursor waited.
Slowly, I backspaced over every word.
