I have no idea how I make it into my apartment, but the moment I slam the door behind me, the noise in my brain begins to fade.
Leaning against the cool wood, my chest heaves as I catch my breath. My heart is racing, and as I peel off the jacket of my tuxedo and loosen the bow tie, I realize my face is still damp.
I don’t bother wiping my tears.
Tossing the bow tie onto the floor, I go straight to my bar cart, pulling the top of a crystal decanter off, and chug straight from the bottle.
It burns going down, reminding me a liquor of this quality is meant to be sipped—savored—but right now I choose to see it for what it truly is: a means for getting drunk.
As I lower the decanter, my gaze lands on the leather chair that faces the window, and an urge so powerful overtakes me, whispering for me to go destroy it.
Instead, I stalk toward it, glaring at the piece of furniture like it is the one who stole my future.
My fingers connect with its back, feeling the soft leather as I grip it tighter, tilting it so it teeters on its back feet.
Then I let it go.
It lands back in place with a thud as I move to the front and sink down into the welcoming, traitorous cushions.
I take another swig of bourbon.
This is the first place me and Vinnie made love.
Where I watched her dress fall from her body, the moonlight illuminating the soft curves of her skin as she stood before me in nothing but her heels.
The recollection burns worse than the drink.
I take another swig to drown the pain.
Tilting my head against the back of the chair, I close my eyes, replaying our earlier dance. She had nothing but excitement in her eyes when she realized it was me behind the Phantom mask.
It had taken me far too long to think of a costume where a full mask would be appropriate, but when she mentioned the Halloween party, I knew I had to be in attendance, if only to surprise her with the ability to hold her for a few stolen moments in public.
“She said yes.”
How could she?
The next mouthful of alcohol doesn’t burn so badly.
“Sly!”
Pounding on the front door rattles through the apartment, snapping my eyes toward the frantic, feminine voice that accompanies it.
“Sly! Please. Are you in there?” She sounds as heartbroken as I feel, her voice cracking when she saysplease.
Simply hearing her voice begins to mend my heart.
“Sly.” It’s desperate and sad. It hurts to hear—the pain in her voice is almost too much to bear.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to say anything or alert her of my presence.
Vinnie knocks again, gentler this time.
I watch the door, seeing the exact moment she tries the handle. It gives way, having never been locked after I arrived home.
“Sly?” She pushes the door open further and walks in, looking around my apartment. The moment she sees me sitting across the room and our eyes connect, she slams the door closed behind her and is on her way to me.
Her golden ball gown somehow shines even though the apartment is dark, as does her tear-soaked skin.
