"I’m not asking for your number since you made it clear you need space," he says, tearing off the piece of paper and offering it to me. "But I’ll give you mine anyway. If you ever need anything, call me."
"I—"
"No strings," he adds quickly. "I had a great time with you today, but I can understand where you’re coming from. I don’t want to be that guy."
With trembling fingers I accept it and look at the digits. They mean nothing to me and everything all at once. Ink, blue and messy, like he scrawled it in a hurry. And now he waits. And waits. And waits.
I stare at the paper, at his hands, at the sharp angles of his jaw and the way he holds himself like he knows exactly where he's going, with or without me.
My eyes start to sting, and I know it’s tears. I know they’re from repressing my emotions this past year. They’re threatening to spill, but I suck in a lungful of air and will myself to remain calm. I can't be a stupid cliché crying on the tour bus of a guy who’s too good to be true.
"Okay," I breathe out. "Thank you."
"I mean it, Wendy. No strings."
And I'm well aware he does. Even if secretly I don't want him to.
17WENDY
The next morning,I’m back at the Munich International Airport, ready to board a plane to take me back to LA.
The terminal buzzes with a soulless, electric noise while I stand in the center of it all, a tiny dot drowning in a flood of steel and glass and plastic chairs, feeling just as inadequate as I did when I arrived. Faces blur into a featureless mass as I clutch my luggage and try not to think about what happened over the weekend.
I got assaulted. More than once.
Broke up with Jett.
Slept with The Deviant’s bassist.
Oh, and I’m homeless now.
In the privacy of my mind, I’m cataloguing all my friends who might be able to help with a temporary place to stay, but I know I can’t be couch-surfing like I did right after my move to the city. It’s different now that I’m in school. I need a room where I can work on my portfolio, and I can’t be doing it in my friends’ living rooms.
The thought of going back to my mother’s and just commuting to classes from Antelope Valley has my stomachchurning. I have too many shitty memories tied to my childhood home. I told myself I’d never return there unless I was rich so I could throw some bills at Catherine Fields and prove her wrong.
Yes, I can do it on my own. I don’t need to be some guy’s possession to do well in life.
But as it stands right now, I can’t do it on my own.
And it feels like the Universe is laughing at me.
"Next?" the airline rep shouts my turn.
I reach the counter and hand her the boarding pass.
She tries to scan it, and a frown appears on her forehead. She wiggles the pass in front of the scanner a few times, then checks something on the computer. "I’m sorry," she says, "but it seems that your ticket has been voided."
"What do you mean?" My grip on my gym bag tightens.
"It’s no longer valid."
"But I need to go home," I counter in disbelief.
"You’re welcome to purchase another ticket. Would you like me to check if there are any seats left on this flight?" She smiles at me from behind the counter like this is just some small hiccup, but I’m not having it.
"I don’t want to purchase another ticket," I hiss out. "I had a ticket. I want to use it."
"I’m sorry, but once it’s voided, we can reverse the transaction. You’ll need to purchase a new one."
